Page 48 of Sweetheart: Part One

Dragging my gaze from the room, I looked back at Love.

He’d settled against his headboard. Even wearing a pair of loose black pants and no top, he managed to look like a king. He had a ridged torso with lean muscle. His long dark hair was braided, hanging down over his shoulder almost to his waist. He was fixed on the page—apparently already engrossed in the crime fiction book—as he held a hand out to me.

I reached for it, a shiver running up my spine as my skin brushed his.

Love had a way of making this feel forbidden.

He tugged me toward him until I was settled right between his knees—closer even, than I’d expected. He didn’t glance at me, eyes still scanning the page as he drew me just an inch closer.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice was a low breath in my ear as he touched his finger to his tongue and turned a page. Something molten slid into my core, making me hyper aware of every inch upon which his skin touched mine. I had to get my arousal under control. The scent dampeners were the strongest on the market, masking everything of my omega scent. But normal fucking arousal… Would he know?

He adjusted me slightly, so I was curled between his legs, my head pressed against his chest. I couldn’t drag my mind from the fact his free hand, that shifted occasionally to turn a page, rested otherwise on my hip.

This was strange, but oddly… nice.

And I swore the scent of vanilla winter got stronger in the room.

From where I was enveloped by him, I could read his book and hear the slow beat of his heart in his chest.

I closed my eyes for a moment, drowning in his comforting scent, resting in the arms of my mate as I tried to pretend that this was forever.

That he loved me and wanted me.

That I was home.

And it wasn’t for the size or extravagance of the mansion, but for the tales of mates who are supposed to love and protect. Who were supposed tobehome.

And instead, I had a contract.

A contract and lies.

I blinked away the threat of tears just as his hand dropped again to my hip. For a moment, I tensed, but all that happened was his thumb began stroking absently along the skin of my stomach beneath my gown.

Should I be doing that? Touching him more?

Because I really didn’t know what I was doing. So I just stayed like this, praying that whatever magic a Sweetheart was supposed to bring, this was it.

An age passed with no sound in the room but for the rustle of a page and the rhythmic beating of his heart.

I almost jumped when he shifted, lowering the book. He paused, hand brushing away the hair that had tumbled over my face. I blinked up at him.

“I thought you might be asleep,” he said. His knuckle was still lingering on my cheek.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” I asked, straightening. “I can—” But he caught me as I tried to climb from between his legs.

“In a moment,” he said, and I turned back to him, unsure. “But I want you to do something else for me first.”

“Yes?” I don’t know why I was breathless.

He didn’t say anything for a long time, and I could see a storm of indecision in his intense blue eyes. My hand was pressed against his chest where I’d just been laying, and it was as if I could feel the quickening on his heart.

“Kiss me.”

I stared at him, all coherent thought tumbling from my mind as my pulse picked up. “Where?” I almost winced.

Had I really just said that? I’d gone on so many dates. I knew how to wrap men around my little finger, but alphas?Thesealphas? They made me sound like a crushing teenager.

“Wherever you’d like to kiss me,” he told me, not a waver in his expression.

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