Page 59 of A Roar for Magic

“That’s different.”

“Mm-hmm.” She patted his chest consolingly. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Despite his protests, Rook was drawn into the documentary, offering commentary on the investigative procedures and occasionally suggesting better ways the killer could have covered their tracks.

“Now who’s twisted?” Clover teased.

“I’m being strategic.”

“You just explained three different ways to destroy evidence.”

“Professional curiosity.”

She turned to face him fully, eyes dancing with mischief. “Face it, tiger. You’re just as fascinated by the dark side as I am.”

“Maybe I’m just fascinated by you.” His voice dropped lower, sending shivers down her spine.

“Smooth talker.” But she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Rook’s response was immediate and heated. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened. Clover’s magic sparked between them, reaching for his tiger energy.

When she tried to straddle his lap, however, he pulled back with a groan.

“You need to rest.”

“I’m perfectly fine.” She nipped at his lower lip.

“Clover.” His voice was strained. “You’re still recovering.”

“But—”

In one smooth motion, he stood, lifting her into his arms. “Bedtime.”

“I like where this is going.”

“For sleeping.”

“You’re no fun.” But she couldn’t help smiling at his careful handling as he carried her to the bedroom.

He tucked her under the covers with the same tender attention he’d shown all evening. When she tried to pull him down for another kiss, he caught her hands, pressing a kiss to each palm.

“Rest now,” he murmured. “When you’re fully healed, you can take advantage of me as many times as you want.”

“Promise?” She blinked up at him drowsily, suddenly aware of how tired she really was.

“Promise.” He slid into bed beside her, gathering her close. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” She snuggled into his warmth, already drifting. “Because I have plans for you, tiger.”

His chuckle rumbled through his chest. “I look forward to it. Sleep now, little witch.”

Clover meant to argue further, but his steady heartbeat and gentle fingers stroking her hair lulled her under. The last thing she felt was his kiss against her temple and his whispered, “I love you.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

The burgundy silk of Clover’s dress caught the shop’s lamplight, shimmering like captured moonbeams. She brushed her fingers over the delicate fabric, remembering Rook’s appreciative glance when she’d shown him the dress earlier that week. The pride dinner marked her first official appearance as his mate, and despite her usual dislike of formal events, anticipation fluttered in her stomach.

“You’re making that face again,” Poe observed from his perch above the register. “The one that says you’re imagining your tiger’s reaction when he sees you in that dress.”

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