Page 34 of Purring for Her Lion
Roarke makes a low sound, somewhere between a growl and a warning. “He made you waste time.”
Silence, thick and close.
“You know you can’t just growl at people until they listen, right?” I finally say.
He doesn’t smile. “I can if it works.” His eyes are still fixed forward.
My pulse stutters. I hate how hot my cheeks feel. I also don’t. “You can’t act like I’m yours,” I say, voice thin.
He finally looks at me, eyes wild gold. “Then stop acting like you are.”
There’s no air in the cab. My heart thunders.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I demand, my voice shaking.
He’s breathing hard, jaw tight. “You don’t need Gabe’s help. Or his attention. Or his hands on your stuff.”
I bite back a sound. “So you’re...territorial? About my cart?”
His tail whips the seat. “I’m territorial about you.”
I swallow, trying to get my thoughts in order. “So you’re jealous.”
He looks away, face tight. “You cook for me.”
I blink at the change of subject. “I cook for everyone.”
He shakes his head. “No. You watch what I eat. You remember what I like. You put notes on leftovers for me. You send me pictures of your baking.”
Heat blooms in my chest, then spreads. “That’s just...how I am,” I say quietly. “It’s my...” The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “...love language.”
Roarke’s mouth twists, satisfaction flickering over his face. “It’s mine too.”
He gets out, not waiting for me, and yanks the supplies out of the truck bed with single-minded focus. I sit there, stunned. He’s been paying attention. He noticed. Every lunch packed, every extra slice of bread, every text. He felt it, too.
I’m still reeling when he taps on my window. “Coming? The fence won’t wait.”
I nod, numb, fingers clumsy on the handle. I haul myself out. I need air. I need a year to process this. I can feel him behind me, every movement, the weight of his attention. I make it up the steps before his voice catches me.
“I’m not territorial about your cart,” he says, voice low and certain.
I turn. He holds my gaze, eyes hot. “I’m territorial about you.”
It knocks the air out of me. He just turns away, unloading the last of the hardware, as if he hasn’t changed everything with those four words. I stand there, braced on the porch railing, breathless and shaking, and watch him work, golden and sure and all mine.
I stand there, frozen on my own porch steps, watching him work, his movements precise and efficient, his expression unreadable.
I’m territorial about you.
God help me, but I think I like it.
CHAPTER 12
ROARKE
Twenty Minutes Ago…
It’s too quiet.I pause mid-inventory, a jar of wound salve forgotten in my hand as I listen for the familiar sounds from next door.
