Page 67 of Heat Clinic

I turn my head and watch their antics, my cheeks hurting from how much I’m smiling.

Tom throws an arm around Sam’s shoulders and knocks into him. “That means when we get home, you’re mine.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Indeed.” Tom’s tone is thoroughly pleased.

I’m glad it’s not directed at me. I’m not sure I could take many more surprises. I roll my eyes and tip my head back to look at Marcus, who is watching them with such a fond expression on his face. “Alpha, may I go get washed up now?”

It should chafe at me to ask. I’m a grown woman. I’ve never had a lover who demanded control outside of the bedroom. But I’m not scared. Full of anticipation, yes. But I know Marcus won’t hurt me. I can feel it in my bones. I remember turning into an angry, feral thing, and how carefully he held me despite how I fought him. He’s patient and caring.

Marcus presses a kiss to my forehead and releases me. “Yes, you may.”

Sam stares at me with pink cheeks and a dimpled grin while Tom holds him in a headlock and ruffles his hair. Idiots, both of them. I smile and shake my head and make my way to the bathroom, scanning the faces of the people I see milling about when I get close. None of them pay any attention to me, and the worry knotted in my stomach loosens. Maybe we’re not about to get arrested after all.

Yes, officers. This one right here. She’s terminally horny and the men are perverts.

In the bathroom, I wet a couple of paper towels and bring them into the stall with me, wiping my thighs and between my legs before I pee. I gently pat dry because everything is getting a bit chafed without the clinic’s healing oil or the barrels of slick my heat makes me produce.

I wash my hands and do my best to smooth my sex-rumpled hair with damp hands so it looks a little less like I just got fucked in a car—even though that’s exactly what happened. Once it’s as good as it’s going to get without a brushing and a shower, I head back.

Tom holds up two cold bottles of different chilled drinks and lets me pick, taking the other one. I unscrew the lid and take a deep pull of it as I watch Sam clean the car. It looks like he’s on detail duty, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He scrubs a leather cleaner onto the seat with a soft cloth, and he talks to the car the whole time while he does it.

Marcus and Tom watch the whole thing with an air of amusement passing between them. I walk around to my side, and my heart clenches at the sight of my folded blanket lying there. Someone must have dug it out of the trunk while I was in the bathroom. I sit and buckle in, then get cozy.

The car reeks of us, despite the scented leather cleaner, but then again, so does my blanket. It’s the one Sam saved from my heat, and it makes me calm and sleepy. His thoughtfulness makes my heart feel too big for my chest.

When Sam is done and the leather care kit is tucked away, they all climb in and Marcus resumes our route on the dashboard computer. We pull away and get back on the highway. I drag my pillow down from where it got lodged between my headrest and the back glass and jam it into place so I can lean against the door, my capped drink cradled in my elbow.

Tom goes back to staring out the window, and his hand goes back onto my thigh, but all it does is lie there with a comfortable and comforting weight.He’s so pretty it hurts.

“Was it everything you’d thought it would be?” I ask, my voice low. Just for him.

He meets my eyes, his thumb rubbing up and down my leg through the fuzzy blanket that smells like all of us. “Everything and more.”

There’s a seriousness about his gaze that makes me wonder if we’re talking about the same thing.

Am I everything you thought I’d be?

Maybe that’s the real question here. Or maybe that’s my constant need for reassurance. This is wonderful. It’s fun. It’s sexy as hell. But is it really forever, or is it more like a vacation? An enjoyable adventure, but then one day you’re ready to go home and let your life return to normal.

No one has ever liked me enough to keep me before. Part of me still worries this is too good to be true.

Tom goes back to watching the countryside pass, but his hand never leaves me, not even when the soft music and the comforting smell of pack and the rumble of the road underneath the tires makes me doze.

ChapterSixteen

TOM

Sam and Emilyhave such different reactions to our arrival in the city. Both are fun to see in their own way. Emily watches the city line quietly through the window as we weave our way toward home on the West Side of Manhattan. Sam gawks like an eager puppy, asking question after question and barely waiting for the answer to the first before moving onto the next.

And then we’re home at last. Marcus pulls up to the front of our building and idles in the marked delivery area. We pile out, and I help him pull the suitcases and bags from the trunk as our doorman Bobbie brings out a brass luggage cart around and helps us load everything.

“See you upstairs,” Marcus says as he leans down and kisses me before getting back in the car to go park it in our spot.

“Welcome back, Mr. Orello,” the doorman says after he’s loaded the last of our mountain of luggage. “You have some packages at the front desk when you’re ready to collect your mail.”

“Thank you.” I gesture to Emily and Sam and introduce them. “They’ll be staying with us for some time. This is Emily, and that’s Sam.” Bobbie pushes the heavy cart inside and summons the elevator, and we wait for its wrought iron door to open. It creaks and squeals as it descends to the lobby.

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