Page 137 of Ulune's Daughter

Corners of the Heart

RHODES

“Can I open them yet?”

“Nooo,” Kellan sing-songs. “Hold your horses, mister.”

I wait approximately thirty seconds.

“Can I open them yet?”

“Nooo. Impulse control, buddy, impulse control.”

I count to ten. It’s a slow count, but ...

“Can I open them yet?”

“As my friend Teddy would say, ‘what are you like’? No. Keep your eyes covered.”

Grinning, I huff. She made me turn my backandcover my eyes—like she doesn’t trust me not to peek—so she can’t see my expression, only my vocal impatience.

Her arms wrap around me and her breasts press against my back. “Okay, now you can open them. And turn around.”

I twist within the circle of her arms. On the lodge’s rustic trestle table, there’s a small chocolate cake. In the air above the cake, tiny fireworks flare and twinkle, with the number two spinning above the middle of the cake.

I smile down at the woman pressed against me. Then I take in what she’s wearing. My eyes widen and heat races straight to my balls. “Baby?—”

Kellan’s a jeans and sweatshirts and work boots kind of girl. When we’re relaxing together, she’s all about comfort. Fuzzy slippers and cotton pajamas. I love that about her. But I quickly include having her hair down in a midnight froth around her shoulders, her creamy curves more revealed than concealed by a black satin and lace teddy and black silk stockings, in my favorite things.

“Fuck me,” I breathe.

“I think that’s my line.” She winks.

I scoop her up and do just that.

Several hours later, we lounge in front of a crackling fire, feeding each other chocolate cake and strawberries between sips of fruity pink wine Kellan likes. Kellan’s folded her tempting lingerie away and changed into flannel pajamas. I’ve pulled my boxers on because Kellan’s brought Law in his fucking cat form to the ski lodge with us and there’s no chance I’m giving him a shot at my unprotected junk. Between the fire and our playfully energetic sex and Kellan’s warm body, I don’t need the pajamas I brought along.

The fireplace is one of the best features of the ski lodge, but it’s not the only one. The beds in this place, even in the guest rooms, are massive, like they’re made to hold more than two. There’s a whirlpool tub and a wet room. A huge porch looks out over Prospect Mountain. Pinpricks of light through the A-frame’s floor-to-ceiling windows show where the ski trails wind down the mountain. They’ll be busy tonight with weekend skiers coming in from the cities. Kells and I might ski tomorrow.

Or we might stay in and enjoy that massive bed.

“Two months, huh?” I ask as I hold a chocolate-coated strawberry to her lips. From his curl on Kellan’s lap, Law opens one green eye and squints his irritation at me. I ignore him. “Pretty sure you told me early on that you weren’t sentimental about things like anniversaries.”

She chews the strawberry and licks chocolate off her swollen lips. I wanted to come with her earlier, so I didn’t let her finish what those swollen lips started. But they’re so red and tempting, I might have to give her another go before bed. I lean in and kiss her before she can even answer. I can’t get enough of her mouth.

“I may have misrepresented my lack of sentimentality,” she admits when I let her breathe. “I know it’s kind of silly, a two-month anniversary. I just wanted to do something special. You’ve been wonderful, Rhodes. I want to show my appreciation.

I take her mouth in another deep, nipping kiss to add the edge of pennies to the sweetness of chocolate and fruit. Kellan’s pupils blow wide when I lift my head and she licks her lips.

“You’re welcome. You’re pretty wonderful yourself.”

She is. Everything’s been perfect since she came back from Italy a week ago. I like to think our first weekend here, where we fucked and forgave and renewed our ties with our Elements in a tsunami of power I’ve never felt before, is the basis for her happiness. But if I’m honest with myself, our reconciliation is a small part of Kellan’s sea change. Whatever happened in Italy is a part. Moving out of her apartment and into Cait House is a big part. Getting that fucking toxic cup out of her house and behind several hundred wards at Bevvy’s museum is a bigger part. Submitting the first part of her tenure application to the review committee yesterday—the ostensible reason for our weekend celebration—is obviously a huge relief for her. According to Luca, finishing the exterior of her massive castle in Faery is probably the biggest part.

My kit has spent the last week smiling, too. No, I don’t completely understand what’s got him so excited, or why the walls of the den are covered with strange runes that I’ve never been taught and big charts comparing languages I’ve never heard of. But if it makes him happy—themhappy—I’m all for it.

I’ll even endure Law chaperoning us in his cat form practically every hour we’re together if it keeps everyone smiling. Well, I don’t care about Law smiling so long as he keeps his mouth shut and his dick on his side of the bed.

The night Kellan and Luca came back from Italy, Kellan invited me to Cait House. Law came to my dorm room, ostensibly to show me the way, since no one but a Cait can find it. We pretended to be acquaintances at Addlestone and Bevington, which is true in its own way, since we’ve never been on particularly good terms; he didn’t pretend to look down his feline nose at me. His disdain is one hundred percent genuine, the fucker.

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