Page 56 of Theirs to Hunt
"You don't have to take care of me," she whispers.
I meet her eyes, steady. "I want to. You deserve that. And more."
Then she does something that splits me open in a way. I wasn't prepared for the emotional punch.
She climbs into my lap. No hesitation. No flirtation. Just need. Her arms loop around my neck, her cheek pressing against my collarbone. And then she exhales, a long, trembling breath that tells me more than any argument or apology ever could. She lets go.
And for a moment, I freeze.
Wrapping my arms around her, one around her waist, the other cupped gently at the back of her head. She fits against me. Made to be here. I can feel the tension bleed out of her slowly, her heartbeat syncing with mine.
Her skin is warm, her thighs bare against my slacks, her breath soft against my throat.
I don't speak. I don't need to.
The ache that's been twisting in my chest since the night she stumbled onto that damn property eases just enough to let me breathe.
She never should've been there. Genevieve was only supposed to monitor her, report back, make sure no one touched her. Then she brought her straight into hell's front parlor and cashed the check it meant nothing. We paid her off. Shoved her across the country before I could break her jaw myself.
We almost didn't go that night. Had no interest in what the club was offering at least not since we laid eyes on Reagan. But a contract needed a signature. That last-minute clause… it brought her to us earlier than anticipated, but maybe we needed to move up our timeline.
I don't let myself dwell on what might've happened if we'd been a few minutes later.
I don't believe in regrets. I build a life that doesn't allow for them. And I won't start now.
This woman who refuses to be claimed is in my arms she belongs there. And fuck, I want to keep her here. I want to earn this. Every inch of trust, every sliver of quiet she gives me.
I press my lips to the top of her head, just once.
Not a claim. A promise.
She shifts just enough to murmur something into my neck.
I don't catch it all. Just three words. "Don't leave… yet." Not a demand. A confession.
"I won't," I say against her hair, tightening my hold. "Not until you ask me to." And even then, I'm not sure I could.
Chapter forty-seven
Reagan, Saturday 08:15 a.m.
I’m still curled in Grayson’s lap when I hear footsteps in the hall. They are slow, measured and moving this way.
He stiffens beneath me but doesn’t move. Doesn’t let go.
The door creaks open.
I shift just enough to see Brooks in the doorway. He leans against the frame, coffee in one hand, the other still damp from the shower.
His eyes skip Grayson. They land on me. And soften.
“Didn’t think you’d be up before noon,” he says quietly. Like we’re already somewhere in the middle of this, not still circling the edge.
Grayson’s thumb drifts across the top of my thigh.
“I didn’t mean to crash here,” I mumble. Not quite pulling away, but suddenly very aware of how this must look. I’m talking to the man I was supposed to be on a date with, while sitting on the one who blocked it.
Brooks doesn’t flinch.
