Page 109 of Ulune's Daughter

Carrie makes a chortling noise in the back of her throat. “I’ll remind you of that. And Kellan? Answer your phone and say yes.”

“What?”

Carrie arches a dark brow above the frame of her glasses. “Repeating myself is also a waste of time, particularly since you heard me the first time.” She waves her hand at me dismissively. “Go. Get some real rest. Ask every question you can think of. I’m sure you’re aware there’s barely any scholarly work on the Cait. When you get bored of the Magi of the Mist, you can do the definitive monograph on the Cait. Professor Wright surely can’t claim any expertise there, can he?”

I laugh. “No.”

“Good. Go.”

“Carrie, I hate to ask?—”

She shakes her head dismissively as she goes back to her typing. “As I’m sure your young man has told you, your cat will be fine in your absence.”

“If he seems upset or doesn’t come for food, text me. I can pop back whenever I need to.”

“Go-o-o,” Carrie sing-songs. “You’re wasting good moonlight.”

“Thank you, Carrie.”

She looks up and gives me the full weight of her dark gaze. “Someday soon, you’ll return the favor. When you do, remember that there’s no better solace for grief than hard work.”

“Uh, okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

I barely back out of the doorway when Lawson’s strong arms wrap around me. There’s a moment of cold and then warmth, softness, comfort.

It’s like wrapping myself up in Whitey’s fur.

Lawson turns me around in his arms, giving me a fast view of a large bedroom. Or I think it’s a bedroom. There aren’t any beds, just four huge circular things like donuts, piled with pillows and fluffy, white blankets. The walls are a deep, masculine charcoal; the floors are polished wood softened with fuzzy carpets. Midnight blue curtains close off big windows on one side of the room. They’re cracked to let in the moonlight. It glints off a narrow mirror on the inside of a half-opened door in the wall: built-in cupboards, full of hanging clothes in dark colors.

“Bathroom through there,” Lawson nods at another half-open door. “Sitting room, kitchen, and study.” He nods at another door, this one closed and blending in with the dark walls except for a round, metal handle. “Everywhere in Cait House is open to you, but these are my rooms. No one will disturb you here. You can do whatever you want. Are you hungry? I’ll get you something to eat.”

I am hungry. For the first time in two weeks. But not for food. I brush my fingertips over his lips. He puckers and presses the plushness of his mouth against my skin. Then his arm tightens around my waist. He pulls me flush against his body. I slide my arms around his neck and lift my face to his.

He nudges my lips open. His tongue darts slick and sweet against my lips. He tastes like chocolate and copper. It should be disgusting.

It’s my new favorite flavor. I lap it off his tongue. Suck it deep when he teases me. He’s tall enough that I have to stretch to chase his lips when he pulls back to breathe. The motion mashes my breasts against his hard chest. He rumbles, a vibration that tightens my nipples into hard peaks and my belly into a knot.

His hand spreads, wide and warm, in the small of my back, slips down over my ass, and lifts. I hop up and wrap my legs around his hips. Coiled muscle surrounds me, shifts against me, as he strides to one of the donuts. He lowers me into clouds of pillows and blankets, his mouth still locked to mine.

He braces over me, shoulders bulging. It’s not enough contact. I pull him down until we’re chest to chest. With a last, nipping kiss, he lifts his head.

“Have you spoken to your side piece?”

I squeeze my eyes closed. “No,” I admit.

He presses his forehead to mine. “I won’t demand you do so, but tell me truthfully, will you regret this if you don’t?”

“I won’t regret you—being with you. This feels right,” I say. “But I might regret my own cowardice.”

He kisses the tip of my nose. “I know this time has been difficult for you, Kellan. I wouldn’t ever call you a coward. But I think it’s important you settle things with him.”

He’s right. As good as it feels to be with Lawson, as much as I feel at home in his arms, there’s an aching, questing part of my heart that wants Rhodes, misses Rhodes, even in this moment.

“I’ll call him tomorrow, I promise.”

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