Page 48 of Claws and Effect

Something primal flashed in his eyes before he stepped back, visibly reclaiming his control. “Try not to flood any more appliances while I’m gone.”

Laykin laughed, loving these glimpses of the playful man emerging beneath his serious exterior. “No promises.”

She followed him to the door, sliding her arms around his waist from behind in a quick hug that made him pause mid-stride. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, as if unsure how to respond to the casual affection. Then his hands covered hers where they rested against his stomach, holding her arms in place.

“I could get used to this,” he said quietly, the admission clearly costing him.

“That’s the plan,” she replied, pressing her cheek against his back, breathing in his scent one more time.

When he finally drove away, Laykin watched until his car disappeared, surprised by the hollow feeling in her chest at his absence. She’d spent her entire adult life self-sufficient, duty-bound, and independent. When had this man become so essential to her happiness?

THIRTY-FOUR

Once Zyle’s car vanished down the driveway, Laykin reached for her phone. Time for her own intelligence operation.

Ten minutes later, she cornered Holden in the security office, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Is this a security matter, Princess?” he asked, his professional tone belied by the knowing glint in his eyes.

“The most critical kind.” She perched on the edge of his desk. “I need to know everything Zyle loves but never tells anyone about.”

Holden’s eyebrow arched. “That sounds suspiciously like treason.”

“Die by his hand or die by mine,” she said with mock gravity. “Choose.”

His eyes widened with amusement. “Where shall I begin? One, he has an incurable sweet tooth for salted caramel chocolates,” Holden offered. “And a collection of classic action movies he claims are for ‘cultural research purposes’ despite watching Die Hard every Christmas. Twice.”

Laykin leaned forward eagerly. “Go on.”

“For company milestones, he orders the same comfort food—buttermilk fried chicken and honey biscuits. His mother made them for family celebrations until his father died.”

The detail struck Laykin’s heart with unexpected force. She pictured a younger Zyle, freshly grieving, still demanding the same celebration food even when there was little to celebrate. Still honoring traditions even as his world collapsed.

“Anything else?” she asked, her voice softer now.

Holden hesitated. “He reads poetry before bed. First editions only. There’s one volume missing from his collection—Frost’s ‘North of Boston.’ He’s searched for it for years.”

“Poetry?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.

“His most closely guarded secret.” Holden turned back to his monitors. “He’ll execute me for telling you any of this.”

“Your sacrifice for the greater good will be remembered,” Laykin promised, already mentally planning her next steps as she slipped from the office. “Oh, and I need his office schedule for today.”

The fierce tiger alpha had secret soft spots. She’d discovered the warrior, the businessman, and the passionate mate. Now she would find the man who savored chocolate, action movies, comfort food, and poetry. The man whose complexity called to something equally complex within her.

THIRTY-FIVE

By mid-morning, Laykin had assembled her operation. The specialty chocolate shop would deliver Zyle’s favorite salted caramels that afternoon. She’d called in favors from three royal libraries to locate the rare poetry volume. The kitchen staff had been dispatched for ingredients to recreate his childhood comfort food.

As she composed a handwritten note for the chocolates, her pen hesitated above the heavy cardstock. What words could possibly convey what had bloomed in her heart these past weeks? How to tell this proud, powerful man that she—who had resigned herself to duty without passion—now found herself falling for him not because of the arrangement, but because of who he truly was?

For the tiger who has everything except time to enjoy it. Take a moment—you’ve earned it.

Simple. Understated. Yet the care behind her precise handwriting spoke what she couldn’t yet voice aloud.

Throughout the afternoon, she orchestrated each element of her plan with the same strategic precision she brought to diplomatic summits. The chocolates arrived at his office during Zyle’s difficult conference call. His favorite business shirt wasexpertly pressed with cedar cologne added to the collar. A perfect cup of coffee waited on his desk when security alerted her to his approach.

From her vantage point near his office, she watched his reactions through the partially open door. The slight widening of his eyes at the waiting coffee. The pause during his call when he discovered the chocolates, fingers tracing her handwriting with a tenderness that made her heart constrict. The near-imperceptible smile when he found the pressed shirt with its hidden note, which he carefully tucked into his pocket rather than leaving on the desk.

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