Sixteen
SIXTEEN
Mia
MAYBE IT WASN’T FAIR to invade Emiel’s private space while I was pumping out horny pheromones, even if my goal was to deliver the cake that he’d inspired. I really did feel kind of bad about it when he stiffened in his desk chair, his shoulders going tense as I mounted the top of the stairs to the attic bedroom.
“Hi,” I said, trying not to make a big thing of it. “Your cake was a hit, just so you know.”
“It’s your cake, not mine,” he replied, and at least he was still feeling comfortable enough to communicate with me.
I shrugged, nonchalant. “I wouldn’t have had the idea if not for you. Thank you for agreeing to lay off the pheromone suppressors for a bit, by the way. Have you decided if you’re going to start taking them again?”
I set his cake and a fork on the edge of the desk, then retreated to sit on his bed with my own plate. Princess, who was curled on one of the pillows, opened an eye. Then she promptly yawned at me and went back to sleep. Emiel picked up the dessert and swiveled his chair to face me. His heavy brows furrowed. The fading marks from brutal punches and kicks still marred his temple and cheekbone.
“Might hold off a bit longer,” he mumbled, turning his attention to the cake. “Going without them isn’t so bad. Saves money.”
“I’m glad,” I said, and took another small bite of my spiced chocolate and citrus confection.
Yup... it was still a winner.
Emiel followed suit. I watched him experiencing the first bite, the worried wrinkle between his brows disappearing as they shot upward.
“Good?” I asked, shamelessly fishing for compliments.
He took another bite, savoring it this time before swallowing. “Yeah,” he said. “I really like the way the chocolate in the center’s all gooey.”
I smiled, inordinately pleased. “Guess I nailed it on the first attempt after all. Congratulations, it looks like you’re officially on the Elderflower Inn’s revamped menu.”
He glanced up at me; a shy flicker of a gaze. I was struck, not for the first time, how little of the usual alpha swagger he showed in private. Outside of the fighting ring and that ill-advised, sweetly brutal sexual encounter during my heat, Emiel Hamilton was gentleness itself—whether he was cradling a frightened stray cat or tasting a new dessert.
“That right? How much do I cost, then?” he asked, in what sounded perilously close to a joke.
“That’s yet to be determined,” I told him solemnly. “The others were very insistent that you not be undervalued.”
He snorted. Somehow, during the course of the short conversation, he’d finished the entire small cake and was running the tines of his fork over the plate, gathering up the crumbs with some smeared bits of chocolate lava.
“Tell ‘em to fuck off,” he said. “I ain’t that fancy. Just make sure you make a good profit on every cake, that’s all.”
“Noted,” I told him, amused. Awkwardly, I played with the remains of my cake, aware that my perfume was still signaling my anticipation of what might be waiting for me downstairs in Byron’s room.
“You’re going to be with someone tonight,” Emiel said, surprising me. “Or thinking about it, anyway.”
I set my fork on the plate, aware that heat was rising to my cheeks.
“Does that bother you?” I asked, rather than answering directly.
He hesitated.
I let the silence settle, giving him time.
“I worry they’re not giving you what you need,” he said at last. “Byron’s a selfish ass. Luca’s not selfish, exactly... but he’s messed up, like me.”
I stared at him, flummoxed. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Not that, though. Possible answers flooded my mind, some of them defensive, some of them deflections.
It’s just sex.
That’s my problem, not yours.
Really? I didn’t think you’d even noticed .
Making myself actually think about the question was surprisingly difficult. I licked my lips, thrown completely off balance by Emiel’s concern for my emotional wellbeing in the face of his own struggles.
“I...” Again, I hesitated. “I’m not sure I even know what I need right now. Byron... he’s really good at making me stop thinking for a few hours. When I think too much these days, it’s... not good.”
Emiel nodded, like he was really listening to what I had to say. Like it mattered to him, even though I wasn’t completely sure why it should.
I cleared my throat and continued. “Being with Luca is different. It makes me feel like I belong somewhere, even if it’s just for now.”
“He’s been pushing you away,” Emiel said. “Since...” He gestured vaguely at the bruising on his face, neatly encompassing the cage fights and their ugly aftermath.
“He just needed some private time,” I said, too quickly. “The last couple of weeks have been hard on him.”
“You’re allowed to need things too, Mia.” Emiel’s voice was quiet; a low rumble that brought an unexpected surge of tightness to my throat.
I swallowed hard, pasting on a cheery smile with the ease of long practice. “All I need right now is for the restaurant reopening to go well. But... thank you for saying that. I mean, thank you for caring enough to say it.”
For a moment, I could see the acute discomfort that seemed to come over him whenever too much attention came his way. I watched him push past it to meet my eyes and hold them.
“Everyone’s always wallowing in their own shit,” he said. “Too wrapped up in their problems to see anyone else’s. You came here and made us start to look past our own noses. I just wanted...” He broke off, losing the battle to hold eye contact with me. “I just wanted you to know that I see you, Mia Dimitriadis.”
My chest hitched once before I could stifle it. Breathing carefully, I waited until I was sure my voice wouldn’t waver before trying to speak. Where the hell was this sharp stab of feeling coming from? I was fine . I mean, things were complicated right now, and there was a lot of shit going on... but I was fine.
“You don’t need to worry about me, Emiel,” I said carefully. “I’ve got things under control.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I know you do. Better than anyone else in this house, except maybe Zalen. Still doesn’t mean you should take our shit sitting down.”
I had no idea what my pheromones were signaling right now.
“Thank you,” I managed, and more or less fled from Emiel’s bedroom. “Glad you liked the cake!” I called over my shoulder.
When I reached the second-floor landing, I took several deep breaths and sank down on the top step for a minute, my half-eaten cake balanced in my lap as my thoughts spun.
This was ridiculous , I tried to tell myself.
It had just been an emotional day, that was all—what with Nat dropping the divorce bomb, and all the uncertainty around SSG, not to mention the restaurant’s relaunch. I stared down at the leftover cake, as a little voice whispered in the back of my head. You know exactly how to distract yourself for a bit , it said.
And... oh, hell, yes, I did. Rising on shaky legs, I turned down the hallway and walked toward Byron’s door in a daze. It was open a crack, the light inside dim. A moan drifted out from the interior, tailing into a low whine. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind me.
A circle of warm illumination from one of the table lamps played over two figures—one lounging on the leather couch, the other kneeling next to it. They were both still clothed, although Byron had discarded his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He was scooping up the smashed remnants of a piece of cake on two fingers—holding them out for Luca to suck clean.
An unexpectedly powerful wave of relief washed through me at the prospect of putting Emiel’s words out of my mind. I could deal with everything else, as messy as it might be. But for some reason, it felt like dealing with his unexpected concern for my wellbeing might be the thing to finally shatter me inside.
“I brought more cake,” I said hoarsely, as both of them looked up. “So, who’s volunteering to lick it off me?”