32. Jamison #2
The morning stretched around us. Somewhere far off, bells rang from the estate, probably announcing food, or another coded ritual I would be expected to endure later. House Alder remained quiet. Ours.
For now.
I liked that too much.
Dangerous, this private domesticity The knowledge that no one in Harlan needed me in this exact second more than she did. Or maybe I needed her and was too proud to phrase it honestly.
Her fingers traced shapes over my chest.
She smiled, then yawned.
I touched her chin, tilting her face up.
“You’re sore, tired, and staying in this bed until I’m satisfied you can walk without making me homicidal.
” I cupped the back of her head and brought her mouth to mine.
The kiss stayed gentle. I made sure of it.
Last night had rewritten us in ways neither of us fully understood yet, and her body needed care more than hunger.
But she still melted into me, and that made gentleness harder than it should have been.
When she shifted her hips, I caught her waist. “Careful.”
Her eyes lowered. “I forgot.”
“No, you tested.”
Her mouth twitched.
“Brat.”
“Maybe.”
I stared at her.
She blinked up at me, a picture of false innocence.
“You’re becoming a problem.”
“I thought you liked problems.”
“I solve problems.”
“And me?”
I brushed a thumb over her lower lip. “I keep you.”
I kissed her before the emotion could overwhelm either of us.
A knock came downstairs twenty minutes later. Two soft taps. Staff, not family. Reeves had clearly threatened the universe into obedience.
I made Sienna stay in bed while I pulled on trousers and went down to receive the tray. The girl delivering it kept her gaze on the floor with the terror of someone who had been informed that upper-level eye movement could result in exile. Excellent.
The tray was excessive.
Coffee. Tea. Fruit. Eggs. Toast. Pastries. Butter curls arranged with insulting skill. Jars of jam, each labeled by aunt, which meant Reeves had failed to prevent ideology from entering the cottage.
I carried it upstairs. Sienna had pulled the sheet to her chest and sat against the pillows, looking so thoroughly fucked.
“You look happy,” she said.
“I had an excellent night.”
Her blush came back fast.
Good.
“Eat,” I said, placing the tray across her lap. Sienna reached for toast and winced slightly as she shifted.
The smugness left me at once. “Baby.”
“I’m fine.”
I sat beside her. “Don’t lie to me about pain.”
She sighed, then relaxed because my hand was already at her thigh under the sheet. “It’s tender.”
“I’ll get a bath ready after you eat.”
Her eyes warmed. “You don’t have to.”
“I do.”
“You’ll make it too hot.”
“I can regulate water.”
She took a bite of toast, and I watched her eat with a satisfaction that felt absurdly close to pride. Sienna in my bed. Eating breakfast I had arranged. Hair a mess because of me. Body sore because of me. Smiling anyway.
The wrong ring still sat on her finger when she lifted her teacup.
My gaze caught on it.
The morning shifted.
The ring in the drawer downstairs waited with the same heavy patience it had held for days. The one I should have given her before I touched her.
She noticed my attention and lowered her cup. “What?”
I took her hand and kissed the knuckle above the token ring. “Nothing for breakfast.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
“Eat.”
She narrowed her eyes but obeyed, which meant she was either too tired to fight or learning that obedience could be its own game when she wanted to make me insane.
After breakfast, I did run the bath.
Correct temperature, despite slander.
I carried her there because I wanted to and because she muttered only one protest before sinking into my arms with that secret little smile that made me suspect she liked being carried far more than she intended to admit.
I sat beside the tub while she soaked, this time with the curtains closed, windows locked, and no line of sight for any man with a survival instinct.
She leaned her head back, eyes half-closed, while I smoked near the marble edge and drank coffee instead of whiskey because she had looked at me with sleepy concern when I reached for the decanter.
Another sacrifice.
I was becoming unbearable.
“You’re staring,” she murmured.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You’re in my bath.”
“It’s House Alder’s bath.”
“Currently mine.”
She smiled without opening her eyes. “Because I’m in it?”
“Yes.”
“That’s romantic in a very Crow way.”
“I do my best.”
Her hand drifted over the water, fingers making small ripples. “Do you feel different?”
I studied her face. “This morning?”
“Yes.”
I thought about lying. Choosing something sharp or simple. Making a joke. Saying that I felt tired, or hungry. Instead, I watched steam move over her skin and gave her the truth.
“Quiet.”
Her eyes opened.
“Inside,” I said. “It’s quiet.”
Her expression turned soft enough to make my chest ache.
“I like that,” she whispered.
“So do I.”
She reached one wet hand out of the bath. For a second, I only looked at it. Then I took it, her fingers curled around mine. Sienna in bathwater, holding my hand because she wanted to.
The phone buzzed once on the counter.
I glanced at it.
A message from Reeves.
Breakfast inquiry repelled. Mrs. Bellemere accepts lunch as compromise. Mr. Bellemere attempted to negotiate. I implied you were armed.
I showed Sienna. She laughed so hard water moved over the edge of the bath.
“Reeves deserves a raise.” She smiled and squeezed my hand.
The morning stayed ours after that. Bath.
Towels. Soft clothes. More tea. Sienna curled on the chaise near the window while I sat beside her with one hand in her hair and my phone on silent.
She dozed again with her head on my thigh, and I watched the lake through the curtains, planning different ways to keep Bellemere relatives from reaching the door before lunch.
It should have bored me.
By late morning, Sienna stirred and looked up at me, one hand finding my wrist automatically.
“Still here,” she murmured.
I looked down at her. Her fingers traced the ink over my pulse.
“Yes, baby.”
She smiled, eyes closing again. “Good.”
I stayed exactly where I was.