Page 109 of Leashed

Flopping onto a bench, he fumbled with his shirt until she knelt in front of him, her small fingers nimbly slipping them through the holes before she stood and turned her back to him to speak with a guide.

How he loved that view from his new vantage point.

He didn’t need to listen in on the history of these artifacts any more than he had in the other galleries. He’d seen most of it on his travels topside when they were still in use by those who’d molded them with their own hands.

His own museum exploration had been far more focused.

Watching Sage move through the rooms had been more than enough to keep him occupied, despite her nervous suggestion in the hotel that morning that he was free to leave her at the museum if he got bored.

It had taken a long, cold shower to rein in his temper, his time spent envisioning different scenarios in which he gutted buddy-boy and tossed him to the Scylla. When he’d emerged, teeth chattering and murderous thoughts contained, he’d warmed up in the best way ever.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

Rocking a raging boner in the middle of a museum tour was probably frowned on.

Turning his attention back to Sage didn’t help his situation, but he had always been a glutton for punishment. And being so close to her gave him the constant high he’d chased for centuries, a heat in his veins that only amped up every time she smiled at him.

She was deep in conversation with some old guy who had tried to cover his bald patch with some intricate overgelled style. Well aware he was walking right into “ignored toddler” territory, he cleared his throat. When she didn’t respond, he forced a cough. Her dark eyes flicked to him with a flash of concern, a smile lighting her face when she saw he was okay.

God, he loved the warmth that spread through him every time she did that.

But then she went back to humoring the talkative moron’s theories on interpretive perspective.

Pushing off the bench, he shoved his hands in the awkwardly placed pockets of his new dress pants and sauntered past them toward the Mesopotamia exhibit, his voice low enough to avoid disturbing the other patrons. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

*

Sage’s feet werekilling her in her new shoes, but the exhilaration she felt as she dragged Bo through the last of the wing’s rooms had her floating on air.

The make out session they’d indulged in earlier was probably a factor too. Escaping to his truck for a quick cigarette had led to a ravenous groping in the back seat, his damn “kitty” comment apparently reminding her body of things not appropriate in a museum setting.

She knew her poor guy was hurting, the way he favored his injured foot whenever he stood, the flex of his right hand as he worked out the kinks, the breathing that was still far more shallow than usual. But he’d refused to acknowledge it, refused her repeated offers to wait for her in the museum’s restaurant with a stubborn insistence that he was not only fine, he was enjoying himself.

It was sweet enough to make her tear up.

“Hey,” he whispered, tugging her hand. “Let’s head in there.”

She pulled his arm back and placed it around her waist. “That room’s off-limits. Velvet rope.”

“What the hell for?” he asked loudly, not noticing or caring when several people in the vicinity looked over at him, noses wrinkled. Walking over the elegantly typed note placed beside the entrance, he snorted in annoyance. “They don’t get to rope off an area of Grecian art. I’m the model for some of that stuff.” He read the note over again and frowned. “We’ll see it tomorrow.” He led her away, the Grecian room long forgotten as his hunger became his primary focus of conversation until they reached the restaurant and he held open one of the elegant glass doors for her.

Pulling him away from the door, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Let’s head back to the hotel. I want to kick these shoes off, turn on the TV, and eat pizza in bed until I can’t move. In that order.”

A strange look crossed his face before he grinned. “I’m so, so on board with that.”

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