Page 54 of Purring for Her Lion
“I think we’re scandalizing the children,” I whisper against Roarke’s lips, unable to stop smiling.
He chuckles, the sound warming me from the inside out. “They’ll survive,” he says, but he loosens his hold only slightly, keeping one arm around my waist.
I lean into him, feeling anchored and free all at once. “So what happens now?”
He looks down at me, his expression serious but eyes soft. “Now we figure it out. Together. Without you running away every time you have an inconvenient feeling.”
I laugh, burying my face against his chest. “That’s fair. But just so you know, I’m still going to be chaotic and impulsive and sometimes I’ll bake at 3 AM when I can’t sleep.”
“I know,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
And just like that, the last of my fear dissolves. Because he means it. He loves me—not some idealized version of me, not me minus the parts that are inconvenient or messy—but all of me. Just as I am.
CHAPTER 18
ROARKE
She loves me.
Something primal and possessive unfurls inside me as I hold her face between my hands, her skin soft and warm against my palms. I’ve known she was mine from the moment she crashed into my life with her chickens and her chaos and her unflinching acceptance of everything I am.
I’ve claimed her in a hundred small ways—rebuilding her homestead, carrying her to my bed night after night, learning the recipes that comfort her soul. But now, with those three words hanging in the air between us, she’s finally claimed me back.
Her eyes are wide, searching mine, that flush I love so much spreading across her cheeks. She’s still rambling, words tumbling out in that nervous cascade that happens when she’s overwhelmed. I could listen to her forever, but right now, I need to taste her.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” I tell her, my thumbs tracing the delicate bones of her face.
“That’s very considerate of you to warn?—”
I swallow the rest of her sentence, pressing my mouth to hers. Her lips are soft, yielding, opening under mine with a small gasp that sends heat straight to my core. I cradle her head with one hand, wrapping the other around her waist to lift her against me. She fits perfectly, her soft curves pressing against my harder angles, her hands finding purchase in the fur of my chest.
The purr starts low in my throat, a rumble of satisfaction I couldn’t suppress if I tried. She melts against me, making a small sound that might be my name or might be pure need—either way, it calls to something deep and primal in me.
We break apart only when Nugget chirps questioningly from nearby. The entire chicken flock has gathered around him, all watching us with what seems like avian curiosity.
“I think we’re scandalizing the children,” she whispers against my lips, smiling.
I chuckle but keep her close, unwilling to let her go now that I finally have her in my arms. “They’ll survive.”
We talk briefly, her admitting her fears, me reassuring her that I want her exactly as she is—chaos, 3 AM baking sessions, and all. But my blood is running hot, my control slipping with each breath that brings me her scent: warm bread and cinnamon with undertones of arousal that I’ve been denying myself for too long.
“Have I shown you the other upgrades I’ve made to your house?” I ask, my voice dropping to a register that makes her pupils dilate.
“Other upgrades?” she repeats, breathless. “Besides the bathroom fixtures and the reinforced supporting wall in the hallway?”
Without warning, I lift her, one arm under her thighs, the other supporting her back. She weighs nothing to me, a fact that satisfies some ancient part of my brain that needs to know I can protect her, carry her, keep her safe. Her legs wrap around my waist instinctively, and the heat of her core against my stomach sends a jolt of desire through me so intense I nearly stumble.
“Roarke!” she gasps, her arms tightening around my neck. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you to bed,” I growl, already walking toward the house. “Unless you object?”
Her answer is to press her face into my neck and inhale deeply. “No objections,” she murmurs against my skin. “None whatsoever.”
I carry her inside, navigating the clutter in confident strides, knowing where to weave instinctively until we’re in her bedroom. Another room I’ve upgraded for her. The bed frame reinforced, the mattress replaced, the windows fitted with proper black out curtains and blinds that actually block light.
I lower her to the bed, following her down, careful to brace my weight on my forearms. Her hair fans out across the pillow, dark against the light fabric, and her eyes, wide and trusting, never leave mine.
“I have a confession to make,” I say, nuzzling the soft skin beneath her ear, inhaling the concentrated scent of her. “Those dreams you had when you were sick? That dream during our stay at the Springs? They weren’t just dreams.”
