Page 47 of Sweet Heat

Just one girl.

“Honestly?” Posie tosses her hands up in the air. “My brain tells me it should be a big deal. That I don’t want or need someone monitoring my every move—but my heart can’t seem to care. Maybe it’s the whole scent match thing messing with me…”

Posie brings her thumb to her mouth, chewing on the nail.

“I reserve the right to change my mind when we haven’t just had a near-death experience, though…”

She’s not mad. She doesn’t care?

It’s too good to be true, but hell if I won’t take it. She was already way too damn good for me. This just confirms it, but I’m gonna be a selfish bastard and grab on to the happiness she’s offering with both hands.

Bending toward her, I push her thumb aside and slide my lips against hers, sipping from her and twining our breath together.

“It’s not about controlling you. It’s about keeping you safe,” I promise. “I never want to clip your wings.”

Posie looks at me, stunned, and I slide back over and navigate the rest of the journey to my apartment.

“Just wait until I show you my place… You’re in for a surprise.”

Hopefully, it’s a good one.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I squeal, rushing over to the huge jeweler’s workbench. I’ve had my eye on the sturdy oak piece for months, staring at it on the website and mentally calculating how many pieces of jewelry I needed to sell to justify spending over ten thousand dollars on one piece of equipment.

It’s situated in the second bedroom of Miller’s apartment, though whirling around, I notice it looks nothing like a bedroom. He’s turned into a creative paradise. Now home to pretty much every tool I’ve ever looked at—and many I haven’t. I knew Miller lived in the same building as Owen and the guys, but I’ve never been inside his place before—and now I understand why.

The place is brimming with my favorite things. Blankets, pillows, even the same cozy chair I prefer to snuggle up in when I’m having a tough day. And now this—an entire room completely dedicated to my business.

My jaw is on the floor. There’s so much here that I can’t even wrap my mind around the sheer expense.

And how long has it been here?

Spinning around, I find Miller leaning against the doorframe with joy dancing in his eyes. His muscles stand out, mouthwatering and tantalizing in his fitted blue T-shirt and gray Feral Feckers sweatpants. He looks every inch the powerful athlete, and my pussy quickens with need. Because he isn’t just some hot guy.

He’smine.

Down, girl.

“If you like this, you should really check out your bathroom,” he says with a chuckle, and I bolt around him to find the next surprise. My feet carry me down the hall and into the other bedroom before I stumble to a halt. Although I’m heading for the bathroom, the sight of the enormous bed stops me dead in my tracks. It’s huge and piled high with a fluffy comforter and pillows that look suspiciously like my things from home. It’s even the perfect colors, and the sudden urge to dive in and build the prettiest nest slams into me.

My fingers twitch as I imagine where each pillow needs to go, where every blanket would fit and work together to create my safe haven.

Our safe haven.

Nesting isn’t an instinct I’ve been particularly in tune with. I love a good cozy chair and all the soft things, but never have I wanted to climb into the middle of a bed and create a nest more than I do at this moment.

Oh… that pillow from the living room would be perfect to build with.

Without meaning to, I stand beside the bed and haul the pillows from their spots. I lift the edge of the comforter, shoving them underneath in a half-circle and becoming irrationally upset when there isn’t enough to go all the way around.

A needy whimper flies from my throat, and I try to control my emotions—horrified by my behavior. It’s just soomega—so instinctual that I don’t know how to respond or ask for what I need.

“Omega, you’re building a beautiful nest,” Miller praises, coming to stand beside me. Strong arms band around me, and it’s like coming home. He’s cautious, never touching any part of my odd creation, even though it’s in the middle of his bed. It’s like he knows how big of a deal this is. “Would you like some help?”

My inner omega rebels at the thought, and my nose wrinkles as I shake my head vigorously.

“Need. Pillows,” I squeak around the lump in my throat. With a gentle hum of approval, he guides me toward a closet I hadn’t noticed earlier, crab-walking behind me slowly as if there’s no rush. His care is a soothing balm against all the chaotic needs and wants that fight for dominance within me, and I let out a breathy sigh, wanting us to be skin-to-skin. Heart-to-heart.

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