Page 9 of Purring for Her Lion
I bite back a smile. He speaks like every word costs him.
“So you just go out, find injured magical creatures, and help them?”
He shrugs one massive shoulder. “Someone has to.”
There it is. That softness, hidden under all the gruff. My heart flips.
“Well,” I say, gesturing to the basket, “there’s plenty more food stuff in there. Consider it a thank you for yesterday. And a preemptive apology for whatever disaster I cause next week.”
He snorts. Not quite a laugh, but close enough. I count it as a win.
“I take back what I said about your fence,” he says, reaching for another roll. “It wasn’t weak.”
I raise my brows. “No?”
“No.” He takes a bite, fixes me with a look. “It was catastrophic.”
I laugh, warmth curling in my chest. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“You asked.” There’s a glint in his eyes now.
The chimera makes a soft, impatient sound. Roarke turns back to her, hands gentle. I watch, fascinated by the contradiction: so large, so intimidating, so careful.
“I should let you get back to your patient,” I say, stepping toward the door. “Thanks for not hating me. For the chicken thing.”
He looks up, unreadable. “Your bread is better than your fencing.”
From anyone else, it would sting. From Roarke, with that almost-smile, it’s the highest compliment.
I grin, backing toward the door. “I’ll take that as a win.”
His voice stops me. “Liana.”
The sound of my name in his mouth sends a shiver down my spine. I look back. His golden eyes are still on me.
“Thank you for the basket.”
I nod, suddenly shy. “Anytime.”
And I mean it. I’d bake a thousand loaves to see that almost-smile again.
I’m walking back down the country road, sun hot and heavy on my shoulders, and I can’t stop grinning like an idiot.
Yeah. He’s got that quiet, brooding thing going on. And sure, he’s a little scary.
But I already know—I’m going to have a damn good time getting under his skin.
CHAPTER 4
ROARKE
The containersof Liana’s food that she brought me sit in my clinic’s refrigerator. Lumpia, adobo, that coconut curry she’d insisted I try, and enough rice to feed a mining crew for a week.
Her handwriting is scrawled in blue marker across the lids, looping and careful:Don’t heat this one too much.
Reheating instructions. As if I’m a child.
So what if I followed it to the letter the moment she left and ate the best food I’d eaten in my life?
