Page 10 of Altius
“And after dinner, you can explain precisely what boundaries I crossed in excruciating detail. Okay?”
“Be a glutton for food, not punishment,” I said with a sniffle, forcing a small smile.
Cal helped me to my feet with one hand on my back, taking advantage of a slight wobble to pull me into an embrace. I didn’t resist. He needed physical reassurance, too.
I’d done a number on my entire support system.
After holding me close for a long moment, Cal kissed the top of my head. Then he gently took me by the shoulders, turned me around, and guided me into the foyer of my suite.
“Joaquin made his grandmother’s chili,” he said, reaching around me to open the double doors. “It’s got serrano peppers, jalapeños, and a bunch of other stuff you love, simmering away and smelling amazing.”
“Tastes amazing, too,” Wyatt chimed in from the dining room, mouth half-full of cornbread.
The rather crowded dining room.
“Oh, Morgan! You’re joining us?” Alijah sprang up, his napkin falling to the floor as he beamed at me. “Let me get you a bowl.”
Joaquin intercepted his mate before he could scurry off, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Hold up, babe. Cal’s got this.”
“But I—”
“Sit down.” A tap of Owen’s finger against the table emphasized each word.
Complete overkill. Even his mildest commands contained enough dominance to ensure compliance.
Alijah dropped back into his chair.
I couldn’t fight the compulsion either, taking the empty seat at the far end of the table, too drained to be bothered by Cal fussing with my napkin.
“Don’t keep the lady waiting,Charles,” Joaquin said. An errant drop of chili obscured the intricate lines of the red spider lily tattooed on his right hand. Flirty brown eyes locked onto me as his tongue darted out to lick it away. “The chef is eager for more compliments.”
“Our compliments are for your grandmother,” Cal snarked on his way to the kitchen.
I’d envisioned a solitary, half-eaten dinner spent stewing over all the perceived slights of the last twenty-four hours. Not whatever this was—pack dinner or pity meal, I couldn’t tell.
As I sat there, wringing my napkin, a crisp voice asked, “Status check?”
Every frayed thread of my being converged at the opposite end of the table, transfixed by Owen’s steely gaze, unable to look away, to deny his power over me. His intensity was magnetic—like north on a compass.
“A bit of a mess,” I admitted in a hoarse voice. “But I’m working on it.”
Three
Alijah
“You’re doing it again.” Grabbing Joaquin by the elbow, I steered him away from the entrance of Morgan’s suite. “Stop prowling around. It’s not helping.”
I herded him into the kitchen, forcing him to sit on a barstool at the island, and slid a chopping board of celery stalks and carrots in front of him.
“You’re on dicing duty.” I set a knife on the board. “Chop-chop!”
Joaquin picked up the knife, flicking it lazily through the air before pointing it at me. “Making gallons of soup isn’t a solution, either, you know.”
“But itisproductive.” I yanked open the freezer, looking for the chicken stock Kelsey mentioned during her call this morning.
Instead, I found a treasure trove of deliciousness: raspberry streusel muffins, a tray of lasagna, homemade granola bars, and several pounds of ground beef. Kelsey sure had stocked up. I continued rummaging.
Joaquin chuckled at my antics. “Are you excavating a tomb over there?”
