Page 13 of Knocked up By the Minotaur

My heart drops at her words, and I wonder if I… liked the idea?

“I don’t mind,” I say, as she gathers her belongings and signals Lucas to join us.

“Please, you’re too sweet,” she says, taking a parting mouthful of red velvet before turning for the door. “You don’t have to go along with it out of politeness. I can fight my own battles.”

She has a tiny bit of cream smeared just on the edge of her bottom lip, and the mental image of leaning over to lick it clean for her suddenly distracts me from the rest of my thoughts.

“Lucas, baby, come on!” We stop by the door as she calls for her son. “We’re leaving!”

Without any conscious thought my thumb appears at her lower lip, and I brush away the little smear of cream. The way her cheeks pink, her mouth popping open on a quiet gasp as she looks up at me with wide blue eyes at my unexpected action…

Her gaze holds a spark of arousal, and it sends a frisson of desire through me. I move my thumb to my own lips and lightly suck the cream away, watching with deep satisfaction as she drops her gaze to track the motion with rapt attention. The air between us sizzles, and I wonder what she’d do if I were to slide my fingers to the nip of her waist again.

“Momma, can I take this with me?”

Grace practically jumps out of her skin as Lucas appears at our side, cutting through the tension as he waves a small wooden dinosaur between us.

“What? Uh, no. What?” She shakes herself back to her senses, and I bite my lip to hold in a smile as I watch her come back to reality. “Put that back, Lucas, this isn’t a toy store.”

“But mom.”

“Now, baby, or else.”

When he stomps off huffily and she finally looks back at me, still flustered and possibly embarrassed, I can’t help myself. I swipe my thumb across my lips, and smile. “Delicious.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes roll, her blush deepens, and she smacks me in the chest before stepping back. “Can you please just…”

Can I just, what? Stop teasing her? Kiss her? My smile stretches as I lean past her to open the door, and I could swear her breath catches in her chest.

She may be hesitant now, but she wants me. And she doesn’t hate my continued flirting. In fact, I’m quite sure she likes it.

This may not ever turn into anything, and I would accept that… But then again, it might.

***

Within twenty minutes of leaving Bitter Sweet, my cell starts going crazy with calls and messages, which I steadfastly ignore. I slide my Mercedes into the parking lot by the construction site, letting the loud jingle of another call die out in my pocket as I head towards the lodge Rho and I are building in a joint venture with the newest ‘tourism’ sector of our little local government—which is essentially just a sweet elder witch named Ismelda, and all the funds she somehow manages to swindle our way.

I head towards the fifty-room lodge, nestled right by the forest of Boise National Park and looking promisingly picturesque already, despite that the lodge itself is still an empty husk of a building. If we can puff up enough publicity and get tourists nice and interested in Whispering Pines by the time this is complete in another year or so, I have no doubt about the success that Hearthstone Lodge will bring.

I finally spot Rho’s green ass as I walk, holding a giant blueprint with Malachite, the gargoyle who invested in the project a little later than the rest of us, and who will also be head of security once we’re operational. I’m fairly sure I saw Ismelda’s car in the lot, too, but I don’t yet see her around.

“Good afternoon,” I say without warning as I approach from behind, clapping my hands on both male’s shoulders and knocking my horns between their hard-hats as I shove my way between them. “What have I missed?”

Malachite’s already stiff form stiffens further at my touch, his large black wings buffeting into me with a twitch, as Rho shrugs me off and glares.

“I told you to wear a hat when you come in here,” Rho growls in annoyance.

“And I told you it ruins my hair,” I reply airily. “So, what have I missed? Are we on track with the genius Half-Opening Night I came up with for marketing exposure, or is Ismelda still hemmingand hawingabout hosting it on construction grounds?”

“I was never hemmingand hawing, thank you very much, young male.” Ismelda’s voice says from behind me.

“Good afternoon, my dear!” I turn to smile at her as she enters our circle, her long salt-and-pepper hair in its signature thick braid that’s slung over her shoulder.

“I only told you it might be difficult,” she continues, her kind, plump face lined with amusement. “But lucky for you, I can be very persuasive. We finally have all necessary permits approved for the event.”

“That’s good,” I say, as my phone begins another round of its obnoxious ring tone. “Because Sera’s PR team has already organized the journalists and influencers attending for promotion.”

Beside me, Malachite’s obsidian face pulls into a frown. “What if we hadn’t gotten approved?” But I ignore the question.

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