Page 15 of Blade's Princess

Angel steps forward, balancing the cake. "Make a wish an blow out your candles.”

Sophie looks at me, then at the assembled group of rough men who've gathered to celebrate a girl they don’t even know. Something passes over her eyes—gratitude, wonder, I’m not quite sure exactly.

She closes her eyes briefly, then blows out the candle. The brothers cheer, their gruff voices filling the kitchen with unusual warmth.

"I didn't have time to get you a real present," Angel apologizes, setting the cake down. "But I thought maybe we could go shopping together? Get you some clothes that actually fit?"

"I got this for you.” Hawk pulls a small stuffed animal—a wolf—from behind his back. "Saw it at the gas station this morning. Reminds me of Blade,” he continues in baby-talk, “wiff his cute wittle-bitty nosey-wosey.” He grins, dodging my half-hearted right hook.

Sophie takes the toy with reverence, as if it's made of gold rather than cheap polyester fiberfill. "Thank you," she says, hugging it to her chest.

One by one, the brothers offer makeshift gifts or promises for later—Saint pledges to teach her to play pool, Cipher gifts her a used laptop, one of his old ones. Ghost offers to buy her a motorcycle helmet that she can pick out herself when she goes shopping with Angel.

"I got you this," Rash, the prospect, says almost shyly, handing her a small paper bag. Inside is a keychain with a miniature pink pocket knife. "Since you're with Blade.” He jerks his thumb toward me.

Sophie laughs—a genuine, bright sound that makes every man in the room stand a little straighter.

Each gift, no matter how small, brings fresh tears to Sophie's eyes and an added radiance to her smile. It's clear that the simple act of being acknowledged, of being celebrated, is overwhelming to her.

“I have yet to give you my gift." I tell her quietly while the others busy themselves cutting cake. "For your birthday, I’ll give you anything you want. No limit when it comes to price. Name it, and it's yours." If she wants a new Mustang convertible, a trip to Paris, a cruise to the Caribbean, I don’t care. I’ll find a way to get it for her.

She looks up at me, joy shining in her pretty green eyes. "Can I think about it?"

"Of course.” There’s a hint of mischief in her eyes that makes my blood heat.

We spend the next couple hours in the clubhouse, Sophie at the center of attention despite her initial shyness. She fits in surprisingly well among the brothers, her quiet grace a contrast to their rough edges. The cake is devoured quickly—chocolate with vanilla frosting, apparently Angel's first attempt at baking—and the conversation flows easier than I expected.

Throughout the morning, I notice a change in her. She grows bolder, more comfortable—not just with the club, but with me. She seeks me out, finds reasons to touch me—a brush of fingers when passing a coffee mug, her shoulder leaning against mine when we sit together, her hand on my arm when she laughs at something Saint says.

Each touch is innocent, but it's driving me fucking insane. I'm a ball of tension, torn between raging desire and the need to protect her—even from myself. My thoughts keep straying to what she'd look like spread across my bed, naked and wanting. How her skin would taste, how she'd sound when she comes apart under my hands.

When Hawk offers to show her how to play darts, standing too close behind her to demonstrate the proper throw, I nearly put him through a goddamn wall. Something must show on my face, because Hawk steps back quickly, hands raised in surrender.

"Easy, VP," he mutters. "Just being friendly to the birthday girl.”

I don't reply, but I glue myself to her for the remainder of the game, mean-mugging any fucker who gets too close.

Sophie doesn't seem to mind. In fact, several times she leans into me, her body fitting against mine like she was made for me.

As the morning winds down and the brothers drift off to various activities—some to the garage to work on bikes, others to the bar for serious drinking—I find myself watching at Sophie, just watching as though I can’t believe she’s real.

“You’re staring,” she grins.

Busted.

“Yeah.”

I’m not sure how I expected her to react, but the dazzling smile that spreads across her face makes me feel like a million dollars. I lean down to speak directly into her ear, my voice low enough that only she can hear, “You still need to decide on your birthday gift from me. Anything you want."

She pauses, taking a deep breath. "I've been thinking about that.”

She blushes prettily, and there's that hint of mischief again, a spark in those sea-green eyes that makes my dick turn to granite.

“Did you mean it when you saidanything?" she whispers back.

"Anything," I confirm, fighting the urge to taste those soft lips.

"I wantyou," she says simply.

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