Page 78 of Welcome to Blackbird Hollow
His mouth curves into a smile that makes heat simmer low in my belly. “Is that a formal request?”
I barely manage to nod before he scoops me up into his arms. I let out a shriek, Fern answering with her own excited bark. I wrap my arms tighter around his neck as he leaves the cozy bedroom. I take one last look over his shoulder at the antique headboard of dark wood, the Eastlake dresser topped with framed photos, the little marble fireplace, and the battered chestnut leather-covered Eames chair in the corner. The bed’s dressed with a vintage quilt that I swear looks just like something out of my Nan’s cedar chest.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck to hide my smile, as though I’m seeing it all for the first time. I am, sort of; I could barely take my eyes off Wyatt last night, if I’m honest. If he’d taken me back to a leaking storage unit with inflatable furniture in weird colors, I would still happily make it my home. Butthis? It’s like we’ve gone hunting together for years, pulling old furniture out of abandoned buildings or bartering in the early-morning sunshine of a flea market for the perfect pieces.
It’s like it’s always been ours.
Wyatt flips a light switch and then leaves the narrow hallway, ducking into the bathroom. Gently, he places me onto a wooden bench as I gape at the space I didn’t even register last night.
“Are you kidding me?” I whisper as Fern shoves her head between my knees. I absently stroke her head as I peer around, taking in the tall ceilings and gleaming tile that climbs halfway up the wall. Rich green ornamental trim separates the tile from a cottage-style floral wallpaper that reaches to the ceiling. Across from me, a sturdy, antique oak nightstand with tall, spindly legs has been converted into a vanity with a farmhouse-style sink set into it. Warm light glows from the frosted glass sconces on either side of a carved mirror as Wyatt cranks the faucet on the tub.
The goddamn tub.
Adorned with brass filigree above its clawfoot feet, the massive ceramic tub sits in the corner, its spout filling the room with steam. In the corner, a wooden plant stand hosts a big pothos vine that trails down to the floor, draping across a braided oval rug.
“You have good taste, Hayes,” I manage as Wyatt turns around to face me. His jeans hang low on his hips, the sharp V of his muscles making my breath catch. With a smirk, he prowls over to me.
“I sure do,” he says just moments before sliding his hands into my hair and bringing his mouth to mine. I moan into the intensity of his kiss, hooking my fingers into his belt loops to pull him closer. I’m so tired, and there’s part of me that just wants to throw myself on the bathroom floor and scream.
But I kinda like this better.
He gently pulls my sweater over my head, leaning away for a few moments, his eyes trailing down my body. “I don’t think I have any real injuries,” I assure him as I glance down at myself. But then I notice a wicked bruise on my shoulder and a raw, redmark encircling my wrist—from where Not-Cookie had dragged me, I realize.
“I’ll be doing the lookin’-after, Blythe,” he tells me, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he kneels before me. “You just relax for the time being.”
“A nymph shoved her fingers into your spine,” I protest, reaching around his waist to skim my hands over the small of his back.
“Sure did,” he agrees, unbuttoning my jeans. My mind goes blank and white with need. “And I’ll let you take care of me real soon.” His eyes meet mine, glittering in the warm light. “But I’m a firm believer in ‘ladies first.’”
“Fern,” I say, looking over at her. “I think there’s a squirrel somewhere.”
Her ears perk up at the word, her head canting to one side. “Go check the wards, girl,” Wyatt laughs, pointing to the door. Her claws ringing out on the tile, Fern wheels and takes off down the hallway. I reach over and shove the door closed.
“Finally alone,” I breathe, tracing my fingers along his stubbled jaw.
“You like it here, Alice?” Wyatt asks me, gesturing to the space. “The house, I mean?”
I want to play coy, to tease him, but I can’t stop my mouth from splitting into a grin. “Iloveit.”
His breath catches, and then mine does the same as we both realize we’re creeping closer and closer to saying those first two words with a very different third one. My heart thumps against my breastbone and I feel like my entire body has been filled with effervescent warmth.
He kisses me again, and I throw my arms around his neck, lifting my hips as he pulls my jeans down my legs. Slowly, I trail one hand down his chest, sliding lower until I find where he’shard and wanting. I play with him, pulling a low groan from his mouth.
“Take my damn pants off, Blythe,” he rasps with a laugh, moving my other hand from his neck to the fly of his jeans. I laugh, too, happily unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down to his knees. He undoes the clasp on my bra, slipping it off my shoulders as his hands run up my sides to cup my breasts.
With a contented sigh, I wrap my thighs around his hips, pulling him closer. He trails his lips down my neck, peppering my skin with open-mouthed kisses that would leave me weak in the knees if I were still standing.
“I’m yours, Alice,” Wyatt murmurs against my collarbone, his fingers dipping beneath the elastic of my underwear. “As long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”
Before I can answer, his mouth is on my breast, his fingertips pressing against my clit. I let out a gasp, my back arching. “You’re stuck with me,” I tell him, reaching into his boxers.
“Gods,” he exhales as I stroke him. “Nobody’s ever touched me like you do.”
“And if somebody else ever tries, I’ll fuckin’ kill ’em,” I reply, meaning it as a joke, but it comes out with a fierceness that surges up in me like a tide.
“I’ve got no doubt about that,” he murmurs, shimmying my underwear down. I lift my hips eagerly, pulling his mouth back up to mine. Then I’m drowning in his kiss, in the caramelized bonfire smoke of him, the crackling warmth that feels so much like home.
Like I’vefinallycome home.
