Page 11 of Charming the Orc's Mate

“Have dinner with me tomorrow.” He pressed the words against my throat.

Every carefully constructed reason why this was a terrible idea dissolved under the hunger in his eyes. I had plans to sell the store. To return to Seattle.

But his other hand had found the hem of my blouse, and his callused fingers against my skin sent electricity dancing up my spine. And really, what was one dinner?

“Okay.” I barely recognized my own voice, breathless and wanting. “Yes.”

His answering grin could have lit up the whole store.

CHAPTER FOUR

CARISSA

My heels clicked against the sidewalk in perfect rhythm with my racing heart. The morning sun filtered through the perpetual mist, casting a hazy watercolor glow over the downtown businesses. Had the air always smelled this sweet? Had birdsong always carried such promise?

My lips still tingled from last night’s kiss.

I touched them absently, remembering the press of Torain’s mouth, the scrape of his tusks, the way his hands...Focus, Carissa. You have a business to run.

But for once, that thought didn’t fill me with dread. Sure, the filing system was a nightmare and half the inventory tags were missing. But I could handle that. I could fix this place and still make a profit. And maybe Beverly had a point about the imported wine. Maybe some bridges were worth rebuilding.

I was Carissa fucking Morton. Risk assessment queen. Numbers whisperer. And tonight? Tonight I had a date. With an orc. An unbelievably attractive, incredibly thoughtful orc whose lips felt like heaven against mine.

“Good morning, dear!” Beverly’s voice rang out from behind me as I reached the store’s entrance. I turned to find herapproaching with her knitting bag, right on schedule. “You’re looking particularly radiant today.”

“Just the lighting.” I fumbled with my keys and swung the door wide, hoping my face wasn’t as warm as it felt.

Beverly swept past me to claim her usual window seat, settling in with the air of someone preparing for a long siege. “Mmhmm. Nothing to do with a certain tall drink of wine who left rather late last night?”

News really did travel fast in small towns.

“We were cleaning up after the event.” I busied myself with the morning checklist, deliberately not looking in Beverly’s direction. “Nothing more.”

“Of course not.” Beverly’s needles never missed a stitch. “Though Mrs. Peterson swears she saw quite the passionate embrace through the window.”

I dropped the clipboard.

“But don’t worry.” Beverly’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I reminded her that her cataracts make everything look more dramatic than it is.”

The bell chimed with the arrival of my first real customer, and I seized the excuse to dodge Beverly’s knowing looks. But Beverly Morris was nothing if not persistent. She simply waited until the browser wandered deeper into the stacks before turning those all-seeing eyes back on me.

“Did you know Torain carved the new sign for One Hop Stop? Such talented hands, that boy.”

Yes, I could guess at the talent in those hands. And he certainly was no longer a boy.

I pretended utter fascination with yesterday’s receipts. “Did you need anything specific today, Mrs. Morris?”

“Just enjoying the view, dear.” She returned to her project, needles clicking away. “Though not half as much as Mrs.Peterson last night. I swear she was going to pull out her opera glasses the next time your tall friend bent to clean?—”

“I should check the office,” I blurted. “Lots of paperwork to catch up on.”

Her laughter followed me up the stairs. I shut the office door and leaned against it, trying to slow my racing heart.

I sank into the chair and cracked open my laptop. The desk remained a disaster area, but I’d made progress sorting papers into piles that actually made sense. Invoices here, employee records there, an ever-growing spreadsheet with shifting priorities to rule them all. If I could just focus on the numbers instead of remembering the way Torain’s mouth had?—

The corner of the screen jumped with a new email notification. Tate Gerrard hadn’t wasted any time.

My stomach lurched as I opened the attachment. The offer wasn’t insulting. Actually, the number was… reasonable. Higher than I expected, given the store’s financial state. Room for negotiation, clearly. Tate knew what he was doing.

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