Page 110 of My Wild Horse King

“Kris said. . .” I realize she was messing with me at the exact same time he does, I think.

His outrage melts into a smile with a free eye roll. “I’m going to kill Kristiana.”

“What did you really tell her?” I’m looking at the ground now, my cheeks bright red, I’m sure.

He steps out of the tub area, and I step back. He steps toward me again, and then, when my back hits the wall, he braces one hand against the mirror, just an inch from my face, forcing me to look up at him. “Katerina.” Somehow, even in this steam-filled room, his breath warms my face. “I’m going to walk out of here right now, even though I don’t really want to, becausethis—” He wags his finger between us. “It’s not about raw heat. Or at least.” His finger runs down the side of my face, and a shiver claws its way up my back again. “It’s notonlyabout that. Tonight, we’re starting with something more substantial than heat.”

He presses a quick kiss to my mouth, and then he steps even closer, pressing his still damp, very defined chest against mine.

His breath covers my face again when he says, “We’re going on a proper date, you and me, and if we wind up back here again at the end, I won’t be upset.”

I look up at him then, our eyes locking. “A date? Why?”

“Because I like you, woman,” he says. “And because the world’s a mess, so I need this—something good—more than ever.” He kisses me again, but this time, he takes his time. His mouth is so warm, so strong, and so generous that I practically dissolve against him.

That makes him stiffen and pull away. “There are alotof people in this house, some of them children.” He squares his shoulders. “But you should know that if we weren’t in some kind of group home setup, I’d probably be carrying you into the bedroom right now.” He kisses my cheek and disappears through the door.

When I’m through with my shower, there’s a pile of clothing waiting on me just inside the door. He must have tucked it in while I was shampooing my hair. It’s not my dress, so that means it’s probably his sister’s, which is really pretty cute of him.

The black heels he included arenotcute, but they both make me smile for different reasons. And once I’m dressed and I step out, Gustav’s waiting for me.

He’s holding flowers.

I don’t shiver, but something inside my heart contracts. “Hi.”

He looks nearly as shy as I do, but he thrusts the flowers toward me. They’re clearly something he stole from Abigail’s little flowerbeds, a fistful of brightly colored pink and orange mums. I hope he asked her permission. “I—it’s cheesy, right?”

I shake my head.

“Do you want to take them? Or leave them here?”

“Will Abigail speak to us again if she sees them?”

He laughs. “It was her idea.”

That tracks.

And after we rummage around a bit, the kitchen and family area suspiciously devoid of people, we find a vase. I fill it with water and pop the flowers in, and then Gustav walks me out to the SUV we’re all sharing. There’s still no one around, which is really kind of strange.

Sure, it’s a random Wednesday in early October, but this place is always hopping with people. Where did they all go? As I buckle, out of the corner of my eye, I see them. They’re all on the side of the house, their heads peering out.

That’s more like it.

As we pull down the drive, I wave, and they all hop back.

“I told them I wanted a date,” Gustav says. “I didn’t tell them they had to hide.”

“They can’t help themselves,” I say. “I think it’s kind of cute.”

“I guess.”

I’ve seen enough movies to know that your first official date when you’ve spent a lot of time together already is always awkward. I expect us to be out of sync, a little offbeat in our conversation and movements, and a little bit nervous.

But none of that happens.

When Gustav pulls into a parking space at the Grill, he does it like a pro. He even hops out and races around the car to open my door for me. He doesn’t close my dress in the door. We don’t bonk heads. And we don’t start trying to talk at the same time repeatedly.

In fact, when Gustav reaches for my hand, his fingers slide effortlessly in between mine, and we move in tandem toward the restaurant like it’s our fifteenth date, not our first. The woman who welcomes us in waves us toward the back. “Any table you want.”

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