Page 25 of Can't Help Growling in Love
Reaching into the center console, I find the remote for the gate and press the button to get the metal to start rolling aside.
Once the driveway is clear, I turn onto the property and park close to the house so we’ll have the shortest run to the front door.
“Ready?” I ask June.
She puts on the hood of the borrowed sweatshirt, adorably swamped by it. “Ready.”
I throw open the door and make for the other side of the car to help June, but she hops down on her own and dashes for the covered front stoop, her shriek a mix of delight and surprise at the cold downpour.
I jog after her and reach around her to unlock the door. “The alarm’s on, give me a sec.”
She glances away from the electronic keypad pointedly, as if to give me privacy, and I appreciate that more than she knows. It’s exactly why I nudge her elbow to get her to turn around.
“The code is 1897,” I tell her. “I just changed it. It’s the yearDraculawas first published.”
Her gaze softens. “You’re just telling me?”
“I want you to feel comfortable in my murder lair,” I murmur.
She looks so fucking pretty, her hair curling from inside her hood, her nose pink from the cold.
The cold.
Fuck, I’m standing here, staring at her like an idiot, while she’s freezing on my doorstep.
“Shit, sorry.” I punch in the code and throw the door open for her. “Welcome.”
June steps inside, her feet squishing in her shoes. She toes them off in the entryway, and I pick them up along with my own, then carry them to the living room, which I had reconstructed so almost the entire back wall is made of glass, windows opening up to the forest of the conservation area.
I leave June to explore the living room in peace and crouch by the woodstove, reaching for the matches. My hands aresurprisingly steady as I strike a flame and hold the burning match to the scrunched-up paper I prepared last night. I didn’t light the fire before I left for work—or rather, for the coffee shop. The floor heating is enough for me most days, but June needs to dry her shoes and clothes, so we’ll need a better source of warmth.
“This view is amazing,” she says from somewhere behind me.
I put a piece of wood on top of the small flames, then shut the door of the stove. I place our shoes in front to let them dry, then walk over to where June is standing by the windows, watching the rain pouring over my backyard.
“Thanks. I like it here, too. I bought the house because of its location.”
I stop next to her, a foot of distance the most I can handle right now. I don’t want to crowd her—I don’t want her to think I brought her here just to mess around. I really do want to feed her breakfast, which I’ll get to in a minute, as soon as I can tear myself away from her.
June turns toward me and smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling. This close up, I could count all her freckles, and I raise my hand before I realize what I’m doing. I run my thumb over her cheek, and she leans into my touch, her eyelids fluttering shut. She lets out a hum of pleasure and puts her hands on my hips, the gesture so natural, I don’t even flinch.
“Food first,” I rumble, my voice shifting to that gravelly octave that has made me so popular with audiobook listeners. “And you need to change again. Your socks are wet.”
Her sigh warms my hand. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
“Come on.” I take her hand, unable to stop touching her, and tug her from the living room and down the hallway, toward my bedroom.
“There are three more rooms upstairs,” I tell her. “Way too much space for me.”
When I saw the bedrooms, I thought I might convert them to a large office or something. Having kids wasn’t even on my radar. But now that I’ve met June, my brain is supplying all sorts of tempting images. June with a rounded belly, pregnant with our kid. Me, carrying the child on my shoulders while my mate walks with us, smiling at me.
I shake my head to clear it. June and I have known each other for only a couple of days, and already, I’m planning a future for us. It’s too soon, and I’m sure Leo would agree with me this time. I can’t jump into a relationship with her so fast. It would be irresponsible for both of us.
That doesn’t explain why I nudge June to sit on my bed while I pull her wet socks off her feet. They’re small and pale, and when I see that her toenails are painted a light blue, I can’t help but grin.
She tries to curl her feet underneath her, giggling. “Oh my God, stop, I’ve been on my feet all night. I need to shower.”
I tug her back lightly, my fingers wrapped around her ankle. “I don’t care. You smell amazing all the time. It’s really fucking inconvenient, because I’m trying very hard to be a good host.” Another deep inhale, and I shudder, barely holding myself back, so I release her reluctantly. “But there’s an en suite through that door. You can grab a shower if you’d like, and I’ll make us something to eat.”
