Page 10 of Charming the Orc's Mate

“You know, when she switched suppliers.” Beverly waved a hand. “She and half the local vendors had some sort of falling out about six months ago. Started ordering everything from out of town. Vanin was particularly upset—they’d had such a nice arrangement for years.”

That explained the invoices with unfamiliar names. They weren’t just extra vendors, they were heronlyvendors. My vendors. My very pissed off vendors. How many other relationships had Mags torpedoed? How much damage control was I going to have to do?

“Well,” I managed, forcing levity into my voice. “I suppose we have our hero to thank for rebuilding them.”

Torain’s smirk was unbearably smug. “Anything for little Carissa.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t quite stamp out the warmth blooming in my chest.

He’d come through. Again.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of increasingly abstract paintings, spilled paint, and tipsy laughter. Even Mrs. Peterson’s “accidents” decreased, though that might have been because Molly started cleaning them instead.

As the last giggling participant tottered out the door, I collapsed onto the overstuffed couch tucked between Mystery and Romance. My feet and thighs ached. I could feel strands of hair tickling the back of my neck. There wasn’t much beyond threat on life or limb that would get me upright at that moment.

“Don’t even think about cleaning up,” I warned as Torain reached for a broom. I held up one of the leftover bottles. “A toast? To the most excruciating event of my life.”

He chuckled and settled beside me, accepting the bottle and taking a long pull. “Could’ve been worse,” he mused. “No one set anything on fire.”

I snorted. “Is that the bar we’re setting? Congratulations, you didn’t commit arson?”

“Hey, I’ve seen much rowdier crowds at clan gatherings.” He passed the bottle back. “Though usually with less purple paint involved.”

I took a swig, relishing the burn. “Please. I bet orc parties are the height of decorum compared to what I just survived.”

“Oh really?” Torain’s shoulder brushed mine as he reached for the bottle. “Last winter solstice, my friend Zral tried to prove he could drink an entire cask of mead. Ended up proposing marriage to a pine tree.”

I couldn’t help laughing at his expression—part exasperation, part fond remembrance. “Did the tree say yes?”

“Sadly, their love was not meant to be. Though I hear they’re still friends.” He took another long pull from the bottle, and I definitely didn’t watch the way his throat worked as he swallowed. “Your turn. What’s next on the Carissa Morton world domination tour?”

“I don’t even want to think about it. I’m still trying to sort out the mess Mags left behind.” I groaned, letting my head fall back against the couch. “I just... I don’t know how I’m going to fix all of this.”

“You will.” The quiet conviction in his voice made me look up. “You’re smart. Capable. And stubborn as hell.”

“I prefer ‘determined,’“ I muttered.

His laugh rumbled through me, and I realized how close we’d gotten. Our thighs pressed together, shoulders brushing with each breath. When had that happened? I could smell wood and paint on his skin.

“Determined, then.” His voice had gone low, rough. “Point is, you’ve got this. And... you’re not alone. If you need help, I mean.”

I traced the bottle’s label with my finger as heat crept up my neck. “Is that what you want? To help?”

“Among other things.” His eyes flicked down to my lips, lingering long enough to send shivers racing down my spine. “I want what Osen has with Miranda. That bone-deep certainty that you’ve found your other half. Someone who challenges you, supports you...” His fingers brushed my knee. “Drives you absolutely crazy in the best way.”

I licked my lips, searching for words. “Sounds serious.”

“I’m not interested in casual.” The words rolled through me like thunder. “Life’s too short to waste time pretending you don’t know exactly what you want.”

And oh, the way he looked at me then—like I was a masterpiece he couldn’t wait to carve into existence. Like he saw past all my sturdy walls to the mess underneath and wanted it anyway.

I don’t know who moved first. All I knew was that suddenly my hands were in his hair, and his tongue was in my mouth, and I never wanted it to end. His lips devoured me hungrily,dragging desperate moans from somewhere deep in my chest. My skirt had inched higher, baring more thigh as I straddled his lap.

Big hands cupped my ass, dragging me closer. Every inch of him pressed hot and hard against me. I could feel him everywhere, lighting a desire that spread through my veins like wildfire.

He nipped at my bottom lip, growling approval when I dug my nails into his scalp. Each kiss burned, deeper and hotter until I was a panting, writhing mess begging for more. I needed his touch, craved the friction as he rocked up against me. The wetness pooling between my thighs soaked through my panties.

But no matter how much I arched into his grasp, he held back. Gentle, almost reverent kisses scattered over my jawline, teasing without satisfying.

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