Page 87 of Hollyhocks

“You’d do that for me?” I light up like Christmas day.

“I’d do anything for you. Including scrubbing the VIN off the van and figuring out how to slap a new license plate on it. I’ll need to do a few other things too. It could use a different paint job. That would throw them off the tracks.”

“Aw, but I like the yellow.”

“I know you do. It has to be done, though. Okay? Unless we just want to sell it for parts and keep it in the back here.”

I gasp in horror. “It’s a classic. You can’t…you can’t do that!” My hand is on my chest. My heart is racing. He can’t be serious. “Please, don’t do that. Change the color but can you keep some of the yellow? Somewhere?”

“I’ll do anything for you if you don’t know that by now.”

My heart melts, wondering how the hell I got so lucky with such an open-minded mate. “Give me your injured arm, Doe Eyes.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t make me make you. Be a good boy and give it to me.”

His nostrils flare, lust swirling in his light brown eyes. He stretches out his injured arm that he refused to let me heal in the shower. I won’t allow him to be scarred because of me.

I unwrap the blood-stained bandage, hating to see such a deep wound on my mate. Bringing his arm closer to my mouth, I lick the wound, tasting the metallic iron and the spices that make Fitz smell like Fitz.

My saliva heals the cut. The skin meshes together. All that’s left is smooth, freckled skin.

I love those freckles.

He sticks his tongue out at me and a buzz of pleasure shoots down my spine when I see it’s still black.

No other woman would be able to stake her claim like that.

“You look so proud of yourself.” He winks at me, opening the door, and something about that wink with that baseball cap turned backward has me wanting more than a kiss.

“Oh, I am.”

He holds the door, eyeing me up and down before groaning. “You can’t keep doing this to me. And you’re wearing my damn shirt. I’m a goner.”

“I only want to wear your shirts. They smell like you.”

“Then my shirts are all yours. Especially if you don’t wear anything underneath.”

“Why would I do that? I need to be able to fuck you anytime I want.”

He slams the door, lacing his fingers behind his head, stressed. I grin, loving how much I drive him crazy.

Fitz’s back muscles flex under his tight shirt as he lifts the garage door. His biceps bulge, stretching the T-shirt’s sleeves hugging his arms.

Fuck.

My mate is delicious.

Climbing into the car again, he eases the van inside. “Miss me?”

“Even when you’re near me.”

He takes my hand, brings it to his mouth, and kisses my knuckles. “Why don’t you go lie down? I know you’re tired. I can see it. Do you feel okay?”

“I’m exhausted. I don’t know why.”

“There’s a bedroom in the back. I’ll tuck you in and you can nap while I work on the van.”

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