Page 29 of Her Reclusive Beast

“Secrets,” he murmurs.

“Did she find any?”

He shakes his head. “Not that I can see. Anything deeply confidential isn’t in paper format. But that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be able to piece things together from innocuous items like an address or phone number. However, whatever she made away with was confiscated by the cops when they found her hitchhiking on the side of the road.”

“Why on earth would she hitchhike? She had a car.” It almost seems silly to ask when the event in question is equally ridiculous.

Javier speaks up this time. “Most likely she was worried cameras would pick up the license plate. She was wearing a wig and heavy makeup. But it’s definitely your friend Diana.”

“She’s no friend of mine,” I retort, wondering if this is the end of the problems or the beginning of an entirely new phase.

“So now what?”

“Now I’ll leave you two alone and go babysit the evil queen,” Javier smiles sweetly and head to his car. I raise an eyebrow at Max, who sighs.

“He’s going to tap into the police jail surveillance and keep an eye on her, see if she makes bail, and then he’ll ensure she understands not to come back here.”

“He’s allowed to do that?”

Max quirks an eyebrow at me. Oh. I see.

In this one instance, I find my moral compass swaying. I’ve got no problem with Diana being told to stay away.

“What about us?” I ask, feeling slightly confused about everything.

Max finally really looks at me. “Now, my sweet little editor, you and I are going to go inside. You can settle Kiki down while I fix us dinner and then I’m going to ravish you.”

He says it all so matter-of-factly, I almost miss the last part. “You are?”

He nods, only the very tips of his mouth giving away the hint of a smirk. “I am. You might want to hydrate,” he adds thoughtfully, the twinkle in his eyes growing more pronounced.

I don’t know why tonight feels different. It just does. It’s not like Max and I haven’t already fucked. But that was an impromptu quick conversation, as it were. This is… normal? It’s not quite that. Not yet, anyway.

All these thoughts are buzzing in my head while Max takes charge in the kitchen. His movements are efficient and purposeful. So I’m somehow surprised when a gourmet plate is set before me. And a smaller dish of cut up chicken is placed on the floor for Kiki. Her purrs are enthusiastic and unsophisticated as she quickly finishes the treat before it can be stolen away.

Max sits down, reaching for his fork. “You’re not eating?”

“I’m just surprised, I guess. You like to cook?” I’d assumed he’d bought all the fancy little quiches and things in town for ourpicnic earlier. But now I’m beginning to wonder. I take a bite and practically moan in bliss.

His pleased expression tells me he loves to cook but rarely has an audience. “Don’t make me fat,” I warn, envisioning three meals a day where each one has enough calories to sustain me for a week.

“You’ll be working it off shortly,” he responds with a small smirk.

A shiver of anticipation shoots down my spine. “Why does this suddenly feel slightly awkward? Like we didn’t already…”

Max tilts his head to one side. “Maybe because there are no deadlines. Nobody waiting. Or maybe your body recognizes that your mate is going to thoroughly claim you. Make no mistake about it, Jenna, I’m not completely human. And there’s a part of me that is now permanently bonded to you. It changes things, makes it more intense.”

The truth of his words hits me in my core. I do know it. And it’s why I could take the leap of faith to stay, to marry him, all of it. I nod. “Okay.”

His laugh fills the room. “And do you doubt why I love you, little Jenna? Such easy acceptance of something so out of the ordinary. And yet, such disdain for those that eschew the semicolon,” he muses, trying to get a rise out of me.

I sniff. “That’s been discussed to death. I will put them in where I see fit and you will like it.”

The smirk on his face says otherwise, but even semicolons aren’t enough to distract me right this minute.

We finish dinner and Max piles all the dishes into the dishwasher. With no warning whatsoever, he picks me up and sets me on the now empty counter. My arms naturally curve around his neck.

“Show me this is what you want, little one.” His voice is husky, full of need. I tilt my head to the side slightly so Ican study him. Does he mean sex? Or me being here at all? I suppose, in a way, it’s one and the same. Because I do want him, all of him. Even the side of him that refuses to use semicolons.

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