Page 48 of Beautiful Exile

“And you fed my horses?” I asked, a little shocked.

Linc poured a green concoction into two glasses. “Cope told me how, and, shockingly, I do know how to measure.”

I fought the urge to squirm. Something about the familiarity of that, the effort to help, hit a little too close to center mass. “What is that?” I asked, nodding at the goop Linc was pouring.

Linc grabbed one of the glasses and held it out to me. “Green smoothie. I made you one. It has four different kinds of veggies. Six fruits. Vitamins. Protein powder.”

My nose scrunched as I studied the glass, but I didn’t take it. “Thank you, but I think I’ll pass. That looks like something I muck out of Whiskey’s and Stardust’s stalls.”

Linc barked out a laugh. “Not a morning person, are you?”

“What about me suggested that I enjoy rising before the sun?”

That devastating grin stretched across Linc’s face. “Grumpy and fucking cute. Even the shirt is cute.”

Cutewasn’t a descriptor often used for me, and Linc using it now did something to my insides. I glanced down, not remembering what tee I had put on. It was black cotton but with a unicorn over a rainbow. Below, it readDeath Metal. My cheeks heated. “It’s my favorite.”

“Adorable,” Linc muttered, setting my glass on the counter and moving in closer. “But what I’m really partial to is these shorts.” His fingers skimmed along the hem of my short-shorts, grazing my skin with the barest of touches.

I sucked in a breath, my whole body tightening at the contact, which was barely anything. It was as if everything intensified when Linc touched me. It wasmorethan any other contact. It made me greedy for thatmoreand terrified of it in the same breath.

I stared at the man opposite me as he waited. Linc should’ve considered giving professional poker a try because he had the kind of patience that meant taking home the whole pot. I opened my mouthto speak, unsure what might come out. A blow-off, or a plea for him to take me right here on the counter?

But my doorbell cut off both.

Brutus went on alert, instantly coming to my side. It was Linc who scowled now. “Dogs and doorbells,” he muttered, annoyance lacing his words.

That little glimpse of humanity, proof that Linc wasn’t a god, had a smile tugging at my lips. “I’ll get it.”

“I’llget it. We don’t know who’s there.”

I let out a long sigh and leaned a hip against the counter. “If you get my phone, I could pull up the camera feed, but I really don’t think assassins ring the bell or have the gate code.”

That only had Linc’s scowl deepening and those green-gold eyes darkening like storm clouds.Note to self, don’t mention assassins.

“Better to be safe,” he ground out as he started for the front door.

I couldn’t deny that Linc was hot when he was pissed off and protective, but I still felt the walls closing in and the freedom I’d found disappearing from my grasp.

Linc pressed his face to the door to look through the peephole. When he pulled back, there was still a hint of pissed off in his expression, but it was more annoyance than anger now. He unlocked the door and opened it.

I peered around him to find Denver standing there, blinking up at Linc in surprise. He had different colored feathers in his hair today to match the stitching on the western-style shirt he wore. His jeans had that artfully distressed look, and his cowboy boots were the kind that never actually touched manure.

“What are you doing here?” Denver asked, more than a little hint of demand in his tone.

Linc’s expression hardened. “Not sure that’s any of your business.”

Oh, Jesus.Someone save me from male pissing contests.

I tried to move around Linc, but he shifted slightly as if he didn’t want Denver to get a good look at me. I smacked Linc’s arm. “Enough. I highly doubt Den is hiding a bazooka in his boot.”

Linc’s gaze flicked down to me, and I noticed a tightness around his mouth that had a flicker of guilt taking root inside me. He was genuinely worried. I squeezed his arm. “I’m fine. Promise.”

He lifted his chin in assent, shifting slightly the other way so I could have an actual conversation with Denver. But when I met Den’s gaze, it was to find his face twisted in a scowl, too.

This was what happened when you tried to people before eight in the morning.

“What the hell is going on, Arden?” Denver demanded. “Trace shows up yesterday, wants all of our prints, wants to know if we saw anyone around your truck. I call, you don’t answer. I text two dozen times, you don’t message back.”

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