Page 19 of A Guard and a Gardener

“You did handle it,” he told me. “You handled it so beautifully, little one. You were so brave.”

“You don’t have to placate me,” I whispered, feeling the hysteria drain away as abruptly as it had arrived. I scrubbed angrily at my wet cheeks. “You probably think I’m pathetic. There’s you, taking out fourteen armed rebels, and defeating enemies foryears and years, and I bet the king never cried like that when people tried to hurthim.”

“You might be surprised at what makes our king cry,” Jiron said, a subtle twist to his lips that I’d long since learned to read as amusement. “Wyatt, I’m not placating you. I think more of you than that.”

He stood, bundling me into his arms in an effortless move.

“It takes courage to face an enemy,” he continued, snuggling his face into my neck and making me snort out a laugh as his beard tickled the sensitive patch of skin under my ear. “But far more to face someone who was once a friend. He was…?”

“My ex-lover,” I mumbled. “Macario Aiza. Things didn’t end well between us.”

“Your ex-lover,” Jiron mused, but he didn’t sound accusatory. Or even jealous. More…thoughtful. “To stand up to a man who once held your heart and yet has devolved to using threats and weapons against you. No, little one, you carry enough bravery for all of us. Do not think anything on your mind and body releasing all that emotion through tears: it is substantially healthier than how I process my own experiences.”

“Which is how?”

He glanced down at me and sighed. “When I figure that out, I will tell you, Wyatt. For now, the memories still have their claws embedded in my flesh. I’m sorry I disappeared on you back there.”

“And I’m sorry about your sword,” I said. “I’ll help you get it back. I can tell you where Mac can usually be found.”

When Jiron nodded, slow and unbothered, I peered up into his eyes. The dark fury that had swirled in their depths before hadgone, replaced by that fire-lit amber. “You’re not…angry with me?”

Jiron’s tone was incredulous. “Of course I’m not.”

Then he paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he searched my face. “Do youwantme to be angry?” he asked cautiously, his voice wavering into something I couldn’t quite discern. “Is that something you need of me? Do you enjoy…being punished?”

“No!” I said quickly, flushing, and felt the tension instantly drain from him.

“Good,” said Jiron. He gave me a grateful smile and hugged me closer. “Because I’m not sure I could ever hurt you, Wyatt, even in play.”

I was absolutely with him on that. How anyone found screaming and crying to be sexy was beyond me, because the last thing I wanted when I’d stubbed my toe on the steps or cut myself with the garden shears was to jump into bed with someone. Or maybe I was missing the point. I squeezed Jiron’s arm, thankful for his understanding with everything that had happened with Mac.

“I’m taking you home, little one,” he murmured then. “Will you tell me where you live?”

“Calle Daluería,” I said into Jiron’s shirt, reciting the name of my street. “The last building on the left, room nine.”

Jiron’s strides were long and sure, and he whisked me away without another word. The picnic items we left behind – perhaps they’d benefit a family who would otherwise have gone without tonight – and there was no sign of Macario as we returned to the park’s main path. I closed my eyes and snuggled in closer, responding when Jiron spoke but falling asleep in my man’s arms long before we arrived home.

*

Chapter Thirteen

I watched as Wyatt shifted in his sleep, his mussed hair and soft murmurs making me smile. He was so damn adorable.

But then his brow pinched and his indecipherable noises turned fretful. His hand stretched out across the bed as if searching for someone. Macario, the man we’d encountered in the park?

“Jiron,” he mumbled sleepily, and I was across the room in a heartbeat, stroking his forehead and murmuring reassurances.

Wyatt’s eyes opened, their mellow green catching the rays of sun that trickled into the room despite my best efforts to block the window with his thin drapes, and he smiled up at me.

“Come here,” he ordered, snagging my hand and tugging me closer.

Bossy.

I obligingly sank down onto the bed next to him, careful not to land on any of his willowy limbs, which was made all the more difficult by the way the boy tried to curl up into the curve my body made before I’d fully settled.

“Mmm,” he hummed, drawing one of my arms over him like a blanket. I supposed it was nearly big enough. “I could get used to lazy afternoons like these.”

I chuckled. “It’s morning, little one.”

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