Page 38 of The Dragon's Mate Proposal

She wasn’t going to give it up easily, though.

“Your reply,” I said. “It was just a little bit sarcastic. It was also one of the first times we’ve talked about my people and not just me. Even if only for a split second.”

“Maybe,” she said, sighing. “It’s, just, I was heavily involved during the war, Cade. I saw a lot of things other people didn’t.”

“You fought?” I asked, surprised. She didn’t strike me as anything like a trained soldier. Certainly not the ones I’d spent eight months fighting.

“No, no, not like that.” She waved a hand at me. “I mean, I worked in the White House. I was assistant to the Secretary of State.”

“That’s high up,” I said, my approval going up a notch. “Must’ve been nice.”

“It was good. Until the war. I saw the ugly underbelly of it all, and like any war, it wasn’t pretty. And, of course, working in proximity to your ex is never fun.”

I raised both eyebrows at her back as we walked through the overgrown forest path. Samantha kept herself facing forward, not letting me see her face.

“Your ex?” I asked cautiously, unsure if I was supposed to pry or not. But I was curious. Had she broken up with someone to come to the isles?

“The General,” she said mockingly. “One of the youngest to ever achieve such a position. We were married for years. Unfortunately, he kept getting promoted until he was working in the White House, too. Though, I was there first.”

Her pride in that fact was obvious.

“So, he was a soldier?”

“An officer,” she confirmed. “That was his life.”

“I see.” I hesitated before asking the next question, but it was inevitable at that point. Besides, a part of me had to know. To make sure they were done. “So, you split?”

“Yes,” she said without a hint of regret. “Yes, we did.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she said, the house coming into view at last. “He had a priority in life.”

I stared at the house, imagining what it contained—somewhere. My ticket out of there.

“And I wasn’t it,” Samantha finished.

Chapter Twenty

Samantha

The next week passed in a blur of dirt, grime, and slow restoration of the house. Cade found a bin somewhere, and time and again, I filled it with swept-up debris. If he was around, he would haul it out to the forest and dump it. Then I would fill it again.

When I was busy with other projects, including the deep cleaning of the kitchen and one of the—finally—running showers, he was out on the property, working away. He always came back sweaty. Together, we would head back to the wading pool and clean off.

Every time, he dried me off. By the fourth day, I could do it without getting the urge to feel his hands all over me, and by the end of the week, his cock was only stiff when pressed against me, not raging hard.

Not once, however, did he make a move on me. Looks were exchanged, and I caught him staring more than once. But Cade was the perfect gentleman. Holding back.

Even if there were times I didn’t want him to.

I recalled that first real shower I’d taken. The hot water tank was filled and cleaned, pouring the near scalding liquid over me. Eyes closed, I’d stood there, letting it fall.

And my hands had wandered.

Although he hadn’t touched me for a week, there was still an undercurrent of tension. That first kiss and what it had nearly become was an unspoken constant between us. There was no getting around that, and my body reacted as I lost myself in memory in the shower.

My fingers had slid down between my legs, touching my throbbing clit. It was as if I’d spent the week edging myself. That first orgasm had come on swiftly and without warning, shaking my knees and nearly taking them out from under me. Only my hand braced on the shower wall kept me upright.

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