Page 109 of Heat Clinic

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you, sweetheart. I got cornered by a gaggle of grandmothers. You okay?” Marcus asks.

I nod, because the last thing I want to do is talk about right here, right now. He waits for us to slip from the coat closet, then holds his arms out and wraps me into the biggest hug. In the circle of his arms, it feels like nothing can hurt me. Emotion hits me again, and my eyes grow damp once more. I sniff, willing the tears back.

“Do we have to go back in there and say goodbye?” I ask.

Marcus bends down and scoops me into his arms, lifting me up in a bridal carry while Sam runs ahead to call the elevator and Tom grabs our coats. “No, sweetheart. We’re going home.”

I’ve never heard three more perfect words.

“But I’ll have words with your mother later,” Marcus growls.

“Don’t.” I tighten my arm around his neck while he calls the elevator. I love that he’s prepared to wade into battle for me. Nobody ever has before. But it won’t change anything. “She’ll only feed off the attention. Take me home.”

They bundle me into our limo, and our surprised driver takes us home, not saying a word about how early it is as he slips into traffic. Marcus carries me inside the entire way, even when I insist I can walk and that I’m fine. When it’s clear he won’t listen, I give in and relax against him. Letting him take care of me satisfies something deep inside me I didn’t know needed it.

He peels me gently out of my dress, hanging it up to deal with later, and then he slips me out of my undergarments and presses a kiss to every body part he exposes. The underwear I’m wearing under the smoothing shapewear is sexy. I imagined this evening going a different way. The panties are white lace and crotchless, with a blue bow over the butt. He drags them down my hips without a word, then bundles me into our nest. Sam brings me a wet microfiber cloth, and I scrub the makeup from my face.

Tom nuzzles into my hair, pulling the pins from it until he can run his fingers through it. His fingertips dig into my scalp, massaging it. Sam lies on Marcus’s other side, his arm thrown across our alpha’s belly to hold mine.

Piled together, with all of them touching me, we sleep. In the morning, they wake me with soft kisses and softer touches, and then we make the nest smell just a little more like pack.

ChapterTwenty-Eight

EMILY

Now that thesun’s at its peak, the day is hot, and I shuck my light jacket off and carry it. It’s difficult to dress for this weather when the mornings are cold and the days are warm, but New York in the spring is beautiful. All the flowers in Central Park are blooming.

My phone buzzes with a call, but one glance at the screen makes me click the side button to silence it. I send my mother to voicemail. If it’s serious, she’ll leave a message or text me. I refuse to let her ruin my day today. If she can’t apologize for what she did at the ceremony, then I don’t want to hear it unless someone’s hurt or dying. She doesn’t like being put on low-contact. On a day that was supposed to be all about me and my pack, she couldn’t help but to try and make it about her. The ceremony made me realize I can’t ever make her happy. Nobody can. And that’s not my job.

Lindsay sees me coming from her spot in the chained-off patio and she gets up out of her chair and flags me down. “Hey! Wow, this café is packed. I had to order to keep our seats. I hope you don’t mind.”

I shake my head and duck inside, telling the hostess I’m joining a friend. Weaving through the crowded tables, I sit and throw my jacket on the back of the chair. “You weren’t kidding. We’ll have to find a new lunch spot.” That’s the problem with New York. Something gets popular and then it gets packed and then you have to find the nextitplace and the cycle repeats.

“Nate told me about this cute little sandwich place down in Brooklyn. We should try that one next.”

I nod and take a sip of my slightly watery lemonade. “Sure. Tom’s new gallery is in Brooklyn.” I could bring him lunch and then be his dessert. I duck my head to hide my smile.

“Oh, that’s right! His grand opening is tomorrow, isn’t it?”

A waitress comes and sets our lunches down. “Thank you.” The salad is huge and covered with so many toppings you can barely see the greens underneath. She walks back to the kitchen, and Lindsay and I both eat while we talk. “It is, and he’s nervous. The first showing is his own work. Marcus says he always gets like this until he sees what the critics write up in the papers.” Like he has anything to be worried about. He’s a genius behind the lens. I’ve never seen anyone capture emotion so flawlessly.

“Wish I could see it,” she says. “We tried to get tickets, but it’s sold out.”

I stab my chicken and cut it into smaller bites. “I thought you couldn’t go. Aren’t you going upstate to meet Nate’s parents this weekend?”

She shakes her head and loads up her fork until things are falling off it. “No. His dad has the flu, so they canceled.”

I chew my mouth full and wash it down. “You should come with me. I’m going there now to bring him lunch or he’ll work all day and not eat, then come home crabby and wonder why he’s so irritated. I’m sure he has some spare tickets set aside.”

Lindsay’s eyes light up, and we spend the rest of the lunch catching up while I learn all about her new job. When the waitress comes back to take our plates and ask if there’s anything else we need, I order Tom’s food to go and call for a car from our service.

The Town Car’s idling in the taxi zone by the time the restaurant gives me the bagged takeout container. We get in and he takes us to Brooklyn.

“Wow, this is significantly better than the subway.” She strokes the leather interior. “I saw a drunk guy pee himself the other day, so now I don’t sit on the seats, and holding onto the pole while the car lurches around is a lot harder than it looks.”

No wonder Marcus won’t let me take public transportation.We head over the bridge, and then we’re in Brooklyn and the driver asks if I need him to wait for us. I say yes and tell him we won’t be long, and then we stare up at the gallery for a moment, taking it all in.

There’s no sign, just letters hand-painted on the glass by an expert tradesman. Beige stone frames large, curved windows, and each window houses one art piece from all the different artists that will be featured here throughout the year. That was my idea, and seeing it implemented in real life leaves me tingly. I love that he valued my input enough to actually implement it.

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