Chapter 41 （continued）
Conrí
My eyes had drifted to the door again.
I inhaled slowly, deliberately—and got nothing useful. Whatever Nora had doused herself in this morning was doing significant damage to my ability to read the air. I made a mental note to address the fragrance policy at my earliest opportunity.
My excuse? An allergy.
“Hello.” Cuán’s voice. Pointed. “I’m down here. Why are you staring into space?”
I dragged my attention back to the laptop screen.
He sat behind his desk adjusting his tie with the unhurried authority of a man who believed his time was the most valuable in any given room. The tie sat at his throat in a neat, snug knot.
An excellent noose, if one applied oneself.
Stage the scene carefully. Wear gloves. Act distraught at the appropriate intervals. Nobody would question it—I was his twin, grief would be expected.
“I took time out of my busy day for this,” he muttered.
His busy day. The man had arrived at work at ten fifteen.
“I appreciate it,” I said, in the tone I reserved for things I did not appreciate.
The tension had been building since morning.
Since before morning if I was honest—since the moment I’d woken with Kael already alert beside me, restless in a way that had nothing to do with the run or the rose garden or any of the careful groundwork of the past weeks.
Something was shifting. Close now. The event that would seal everything between us, tip the balance from building toward arrived.
It could happen at any moment.
I heard the lift.
Faint. Three sets of doors between us and it. But I heard it.
Kael went absolutely still.
I inhaled—long, slow, my chest rising until the buttons of my shirt pulled against it—and beneath Nora’s considerable contribution to the atmosphere of the floor, underneath everything, I caught the edge of it.
Her.
“I have to go,” I rasped.
“No.” Cuán leaned forward. “Don’t you dare—”
I slapped the laptop shut.
Blissful silence.
I reached for my keys and phone, listening.
Her voice in the outer reception—low, clipped, the distinct quality it got when Bad Girl was close to the surface.
Nora’s response. A pause. The sound of Nora deciding, with great professional dignity, that this was an excellent moment to take a personal break.
Smart woman. I’d approved her raise last quarter and it had clearly been the correct decision.
I never made it out of my chair.
The door flew open.
Kael made a sound in my chest that I had no intention of repeating in polite company.
She was flushed—colour high in her face, hair escaping around it, one hand locked on the door handle with a grip that suggested it was doing some structural work in keeping her upright. Her eyes found mine immediately.
The scent hit me like a closed fist.
I sat very still and breathed through it with every resource I had.
“You,” she said, pointing at me with the focused energy of someone who had identified the source of their problem and was prepared to deal with it directly. “Need to fix this.”
A beat.
“Right now.”
She stamped her foot.
I looked at the foot. Then back up.
This was the reward of patience. Of plants and rose gardens and hands held for three seconds on the way home. Of Kael pressed back and back and back again while I made careful, considered decisions about timing and trust and the delicate architecture of something that couldn’t afford to go wrong.
She had just stamped her foot at me.
I slipped my keys and phone into my pocket.
And stood up slowly.
She didn’t move, but her jaw went slack when she inhaled. Her reaction to our scent was the most beautiful moment of connection — deep-rooted instinct, raw and undeniable.
I strode across the office and slipped my arm around her waist. She leaned into me with a distressed moan. I could feel the heat radiating off her skin. Her hand clung to my shirt and my eyes closed as she buried her face in my chest and breathed me in.
“Your place,” I declared, leading her past Nora’s desk.
Everything was in the boot of my car. All of my preparation was about to pay off—down to Killian and Dubhán standing ready to deliver supplies throughout her heat.
I hit the button for the basement. It would get her out safely and put us closer to the car.
She gripped my shirt with both hands and pressed herself against me. I eased my knee between her legs, sliding the soft black fabric of her skirt up her thighs. A rumble of approval vibrated from her as she rocked against me.
The scent hit instantly.
Deep.
Lush.
Dripping.
Even through the layers of fabric I could feel it.
The lift stopped.
Not our floor.
The man stared.
“Take the next one,” I snarled, pulling her into me—one arm around her head, the other around her waist.
He nodded and backed away.
She was our mate and in a vulnerable state.
No one would come near her.
Not now. Not ever.
Kael’s growl rumbled between us.
I felt her shudder and her heat seeped through my trousers.
I stabbed at the button like a maniac.