I should hate that she feels the need to smile at me like that. But selfishly, I adore her for keeping us on point. “My mother never forgave me. Not even with her dying breath. Not that I was allowed to witness it. I was banned from the estate. I never bother visiting even now. The aunts have the running of it.”
“You’re Lord Hereford,” Mirth says with a bit of an edge. “No one tells you that you can’t set foot on any of your properties.”
I chuckle at her unfettered belief … in me. When she really doesn’t know me at all. And I suddenly want …
I want to be that person for her.
She squeezes my hand, then her gaze drops to my mouth. She tilts her head becomingly. “Shall I make you feel better? Maybe in the same way you eased …”
Then she trails off and glances toward the closed door. “Oh, too late. Shall I apologize ahead of time for not warning you, Lord Hereford? Or will you make me grovel later?”
I raise both eyebrows, somewhat confused— and also somewhat disturbed at the idea of making Mirth do anything as degrading as groveling.
Then I hear the raised voices beyond the door. The almost-fevered clamor of excitement. It’s more contained and muted than it was the last time he made an entrance, but I would havesworn there weren’t that many people in the offices. Plus the guards and admins who are working while the council isn’t in session really should be more circumspect.
“I’m not traveling alone today,” Mirth says, completely unnecessarily. And definitely belatedly.
The door to the outer office is yanked open. I catch a glimpse of Roz and Mirth’s other guard, Greg, looking extremely peeved. Then Bolan is all but tumbling into the room. Black hair falls across his brow, and a massive smirk stretches across his face. He’s clad in his regular worn-black aesthetic.
It’s Greg’s presence that prepares me for who follows the normally belligerent rock star.
Lord Savoy. Salvatore. Sully.
He’s kept his hair blue since Lake Thun. His suit is only a few shades darker, paired with a pinstriped white dress shirt that looks practically mundane for him. One too many buttons are undone at the collar.
I knew that Sully had returned to London and spent the evening with Bolan and Mirth, though his responses to my text messages haven’t been at all forthcoming since he met with Rian and his mother. But I had no idea that Sully and Bolan had accompanied Mirth to Zurich — hence my verging-on-obsessive need to check my text messages all morning. Though I do hope their presence means they’ve actually filed the remaining paperwork formalizing Sully’s claim to the Savoy title.
Sully’s light-gray eyes lock to Mirth, as if he’s been looking in her direction before he even cleared the doorway. But his presence still hits me like a wallop to the chest. Not as hard as when Mirth is near, though. And the tenor is different. Tense and tight, while Mirth is more like coming home. Maybe it’s all intensified by the tenor of my conversation with her. Or maybe it’s the perpetually overwhelming situation. But whatever isbetween the fabricator mage and me, it’s not about comforting kisses and creating a support system.
I’m honestly not certain that Sully has eyes for anyone but Mirth. I’m not certain I should even be contemplating looking his way either. Not yet. Not until everything else is settled.
Conversations need to be had. Many conversations.
Mirth huffs playfully. “What have you done!?”
Bolan, still with that shit-eating grin and all the swagger he can muster, raises both hands. “It’s Sully’s fault. He made me a bet. I won.” The grin shifts into a smirk, and Bolan’s lax body language sharpens as he stalks toward Mirth — completely ignoring everything else.
Mirth puts it together before I do. “I’m not a prize!”
“Oh, baby,” Bolan croons, now looming over her. “You are so much a prize.”
Roz yanks the door shut behind Sully, closing us all in together. The far-too-large office suddenly feels very full.
Bolan leans over the couch, hands braced on either side of Mirth’s shoulders. Laughing but shaking her head, she shoves him away. He falls in a heap beside her, pouting.
Much more composed, Sully passes his gaze over me, freezing me in place in my chair. Then he saunters over to Mirth’s other side, leans over the arm of the couch, threads a hand through her hair, and lays a blistering kiss on her. A kiss Mirth leans deeply back to completely accept.
Bolan and I just watch them both. Not a flicker of jealousy in either of us, though. Just pure contentment. And as the kiss continues, more than a little want. A need.
Breaking the kiss, Sully edges himself onto the couch, pulling Mirth into his lap. She protests playfully but doesn’t push him away. Bolan snags one of her long curls between two fingers and presses it to his face, inhaling.
Can he scent her desire for Sully? If so, I’m suddenly and irrationally jealous of that ability.
“No, wolf,” Mirth says, though she’s smiling at him sweetly. And just a little provocatively. Or that might be the slight puffiness her lips have gained from Sully kissing her hello.
Salvatore grasps Mirth’s hips, positioning her exactly where he wants her in his lap. Then he levels an impassive look over her shoulder. At me. No playful brat in sight. Sully is pissed about something. Fed up.
“You have contracts to sign?”
