Page 187 of Hard Knot

“Probably,” he agrees, his movements surprisingly gentle as he wipes away the evidence of our activities.

I watch him, half in awe and half in disbelief.

“You’re surprisingly helpful,” I murmur, my tone teasing.

He shrugs, tossing the tissues in the tiny trash bin before helping me to the small sink.

“Someone’s gotta take care of you,” he says simply.

He washes up quickly, then steps back to let me clean myself.

“I’ll go first,” he says, adjusting his clothes with practiced ease. “You follow after.”

I raise a brow, smirking as I look at the mess we’ve made of ourselves.

“I’m going to have to do the walk of shame because of you, you know.”

He pauses, turning to give me a look that’s equal parts amused and exasperated.

“Would you rather that,” he asks, “or walk out there still a hot and bothered bitch?”

My gasp is loud and scandalized.

“I wasnot?—”

He cuts me off with a smug grin, his voice laced with mockery.

“You were worse. A hot and bothered Karen bitch.”

“Holmes Holmesovich!” I hiss, his full name escaping my lips like a curse.

He just winks at me with his good eye, reaching for the toilet handle and flushing it with an exaggerated flourish, the sound drowning out whatever retort I was about to throw at him.

Then, with that insufferable smirk still plastered on his face, he opens the door and steps out, leaving me alone to gather what’s left of my dignity.

Terminal Essentials

~ELIZABETH~

"I'll be quick," I promise, already heading toward the airport bathroom. "The driver's waiting, right?"

Holmes nods, his visible eye tracking my movement. "Three-hour drive ahead of us. Don't take too long."

The bathroom is blessedly empty when I push through the door, fluorescent lights humming overhead as I make my way to the sinks. My reflection looks about as exhausted as I feel, though there's a telltale flush to my cheeks that has nothing to do with the lingering effects of my almost-Heat.

Thank god for whatever suppressing masterpiece he gave me.

I’m less anxious about having my Heat, but I guess more so about where it’ll happen now, now that we’re in a new destination, I guess it would be okay to experience it as long as I’m with my pack.

To reach this point of recognition and comfortability with the thought means I’ve come a long way accepting that having a Heat doesn’t need to be bad.

I splash cold water on my face, washing away the remnants of airplane makeup before reaching for the small bag of products I'd grabbed from the airport duty-free. The familiar routine of applying foundation, mascara, and a quick swipe of lip gloss helps ground me after the chaos of the flight.

The Lululemon set I change into—simple black leggings and a matching crop top—is a welcome relief after hours in my travel clothes. I twist in front of the mirror, checking the fit, when something catches my eye.

"Are you kidding me?" I mutter, fingers tracing the unmistakable purple mark blooming on my neck. "When did he even?—"

The memory hits me: Holmes's lips on my neck after I'd stumbled back to my seat, exhausted from our bathroom encounter at 37,000 feet. I'd fallen asleep almost immediately, the combination of suppressants and...physical activity...leaving me completely drained.

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