Page 6 of Wrangled By the Minotaur
This rich monster thinks there’s something appealing about my disheveled state.
But before I can respond, he’s gone, disappearing through the fence opening with surprising grace for someone so large. I watch him cross his pristine meadow, noting the way he moves, powerful but controlled, like he’s very aware of his own strength.
I stand there for a long moment, staring after him while my newly housed bees settle into their hive with contentedhumming. The morning sun filters through the oak leaves, and everything looks exactly the same as it did an hour ago.
Everything except me.
I touch my fingers to my lips, remembering the way his body responded when I stroked his horns. The careful control he maintained even when I could feel the tension radiating from his massive frame. The way those strange, hooved fingers felt wrapped around mine.
Part of me wants to skip ahead to seven o’clock right now, while the rational part of my brain is screaming that I need more time to process whatever just happened between us.
Jesus.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Chapter 3
A Bullish Proposition
Raphael
Seven-fifteen.
I pace the length of my foyer for what must be the hundredth time, my hooves clicking against the marble despite my attempts to move quietly. The sound echoes through the empty space, reminding me of just how hollow this place feels. How hollow I’ve let my life become.
She’s not coming.
The thought sits heavy in my chest, heavier than it should be for someone I’ve known less than twelve hours. But there was something about the way Frankie looked at me this morning—not with the fear or disgust I’ve grown accustomed to—but with genuine curiosity, like she was trying to solve a puzzle instead of calculating the fastest escape route.
Seven-twenty.
Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe the dinner invitation was too forward, too presumptuous. In my corporate days, I could read people like financial statements, predict their moves three steps ahead. But Frankie Baker doesn’t operate like the executives and politicians I used to intimidate for a living. She’s honest in a way that throws off all my natural instincts.
The soft knock on my door is so hesitant I almost miss it.
I stand perfectly still, my ears swiveling toward the entrance as I hold my breath.
Then another knock confirms I’m not imagining things.
Relieved, I cross the foyer, though I force myself to move slowly, deliberately. Can’t have her thinking I was pacing back and forth like a caged animal this whole time.
Even if that’s exactly what I was doing.
When I open the door, she’s shifting from foot to foot on my porch, wearing a simple sundress that brings out the gold flecks in her hazel eyes. Her dark waves are loose around her shoulders instead of pulled back in her usual work ponytail, and something tight unfurls in my chest, making me forget how to breathe for a moment.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was standing outside your gate for ten minutes trying to decide if I should actually come in.”
“What changed your mind?”
She looks up at me, and I catch that same spark of defiance I saw this morning. “I want to hear your proposal.”
Direct. I like that about her.
Most people dance around what they want from me, but Frankie cuts straight to the heart of things.
“There’s plenty of time for that,” I say, stepping aside to let her in. “First, what kind of host would I be if I didn’t show you around?”
She hesitates at the threshold, and I wonder if she’s having second thoughts. The smart thing would be to turn around and go home to her little farmhouse, which I imagine is filled with bee-themed knickknacks and cozy furniture.
