“Wow, Austin, this place is gorgeous. I love the stone around the base. That’s a nice touch.”
He exited his side and came around, opening my door and helping me out. “Thank you. I had it custom built.”
“I thought you didn’t dip into your inheritance until you became alpha?”
He didn’t release my hand as we walked toward the welcoming porch, a rocking chair to either side.
“I didn’t. The bar doesn’t look like much, but it has always been busy.”
Impressed, I waited until he opened the door. He stepped back, motioning for me to enter before him.
The inside was even nicer than the outside, and I stopped and gaped at the stairwell on the left, which gracefully curved to the right and then kind of swooped over the hall beyond the entranceway, giving an open, cavernous feeling to the foyer and providing space for a gorgeous iron and crystal chandelier. A sliding glass door at the far side of the space shined light onto a deck.
“You designed this?” I asked in awe.
He threaded his fingers through mine, close enough for his warmth to soak into me. “Yes. Would you like a tour?”
“I’ll probably want to switch houses. Do you have a doll room?”
“Sadly, no.”
“Huh. Strike against you.”
He chuckled and led me straight back, past the archway into a large living room, showing me the spacious laundry room, the guest bath with rough gray stone underfoot and muted earthy accents. The wooden furniture, mostly rich mahogany and hazelnut, worked seamlessly with the glossy wooden floors, and modern accents gave the place a rustic chic vibe.
Kingsley sat on the leather sofa in the large living room, great windows overlooking the valley below, spiked with treetops. Stone framed the fireplace and crawled up to the ceiling, and I smiled at a family picture of Kingsley and his wife and kids, framed on one side, and one of an older woman I figured was their mom next to it. Candleholders held unused cream and burgundy candles.
“Did an interior decorator come through?” I asked.
“No. Why, does it need help?”
I laughed and released his hand, nudging his big arm out of the way and leaning into him. He draped an arm around me.
“No. It’s…” I shook my head, looking at Kingsley, his legs crossed at the ankles on the ottoman, a black remote gripped in one hand and his other arm thrown over the leather back. He looked how I felt, and I blurted out without thinking, “I feel like I’ve come home.”
No one had been moving, but even so, the room stilled. For an incredible beat, my only awareness was of the man pressed against my side, his arm draped around my back, his spicy and clean cotton scent comforting me as his heart beat alongside mine. I found myself leaning into him and clutching the side of his shirt, like I might get ripped away if I didn’t hold on tightly enough.
“I want to show you something, and then how about some appetizers?” Austin’s voice rumbled in his chest.
“I don’t…”
I didn’t want to move. For reasons I didn’t understand, I was afraid to shatter this moment. Afraid to physically let go of him.
“Good.” Kingsley clicked off the stupidly big TV across the room before tossing the remote onto the couch beside him. “I’m starving.”
He stood and passed by, nodding hello to me, and then did a double take. A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hey,” I replied, still frozen, feeling a little foolish now, wanting to release the death grip I had on Austin’s shirt and step away like a normal person. “You good?” I asked, trying to cover the moment, wondering why Austin hadn’t asked me what was wrong.
“Yep. You?”
“Hard to tell just now.”
His gaze flicked to Austin and then away. “Like a snowball rolling downhill,” he murmured.
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that.
“You need any help with prep, Austin?” Kingsley called back from the archway separating the kitchen from the living room.
“No. It’s all done.” He turned to me, taking a step closer, and I relished the proximity.
“I am having a very strange reaction just now,” I whispered, his heart still beating with mine. His scent washed over me in heady waves, making me dizzy.
“Oh yeah?” He trailed his fingertips along my jaw. I loved when he did that, and the way he looked at me when he then dragged them down my neck. “What’s it like?”
I stared into his eyes, lost. Confused. I should be terrified. My body was practically frozen, unable to move. His touch thrummed through me, seeping down deep, but the craving to have his body wrapped around mine didn’t just stem from lust, or even love. I was in the grips of some sort of primal need I didn’t understand.
Mine.
I shook my head and pushed away. The world tilted for a moment. The instinct to lurch forward and grab on to him again nearly overtook me.
“It’s nothing.” I sucked air into my lungs and forced a smile, nearly falling into his gaze again, nearly stepping forward and melting into his arms. “Dang it.” I about-faced, ignoring the small smile pulling at his lips. “What’s for dinner? Can I help? Have any wine?”
Laughter rolled out of him, rich and deep, but he didn’t answer.
The kitchen was just as perfect as the rest of the house, with new appliances, mahogany-stained cabinets, and even a cappuccino maker tucked into the side. Kingsley stood in front of the wine rack in the corner, pulling a cork out of a bottle of red.
“You gave me a facial expression. You feeling okay?” I asked him, coming to a stop at the corner of the island.
Austin passed around me, his hand sliding along my lower back. I could barely keep myself from closing my eyes and purring in delight as he did so.
Maybe Mr. Tom had been right and I needed to get laid. Clearly all of those late-night exchanges with Austin had gotten to me.
Kingsley’s voice was so low that I barely heard what he said—something along the lines of: “Gargoyles definitely mate.”
Heat warmed my cheeks, and I looked down at my empty hands, remembering what I had put into my clutch…and also realizing I no longer held it.
“I left my clutch in the car, I think,” I said.
The cork popped and Kingsley set the bottle down on the counter. “I’m with friends and family, so yes, I allow myself more freedom of expression, especially since I have to be pret-ty obvious in order for you to get what I’m saying.” He twisted the cork off the bottle opener. “I can grab your purse.”
“No smiling, though?” I asked him. “You’re still in the camp that smiling is for chumps?”
“No,” he said. “Your jokes are just that bad.”
I laughed as Austin pulled a brick-red apron over his head. It boasted a white silhouette of a hen on the front above the words “Baking Is Gangsta.” He tied the strings around his waist and rolled his shirt sleeves past his forearms.
The domestic quality of the apron teamed with such a strong, fierce man was so cute and so hot and so sexy, all at once. My core pounded and my heart felt like it was melting all over the floor.
“Can I help?” I asked as Kingsley walked past.
He paused to point at the bottle. “That’s breathing. Don’t touch.”
Austin huffed out a laugh before washing his hands in the sink, right below a window boasting another great view.
“Nope. Just sit down and relax.” Austin pointed at a high-backed chair next to the island, and I lowered onto it. “Kingsley wants meat, always. I’d planned to make rib-eyes for us and filet mignon for you. I can pair that with a baked potato, twice-baked potato, freshly made pasta with some store-bought tomatoes and basil, or a little blue cheese risotto— Oh no, you don’t like blue cheese, do you? Some risotto or other, I’ll figure it out, and asparagus.”
He stared at me expectantly. I stared back, still trying to unpack all of that while fighting the suddenly uncontrollable urge to rip through his clothes and lick his fantastic body from head to toe.
“Store-bought tomato and basil?” It was all I could grab on to.
“My garden isn’t ready yet. I had to settle for buying tomatoes.”
“And you garden.”
“That’s how you get fresh vegetables.”
“Indeed.” I leaned against the island as Kingsley reentered carrying my clutch. “Fresh pasta?”
“From scratch. It’s the only way to go.”
“Only way to go,” Kingsley said, putting my clutch next to me and then grabbing wine glasses from the cupboard.
“Sure. And different meat for me—you can make all of that?”
“Food is a big deal for a shifter,” Kingsley said, pouring the wine. “Our family functions all revolve around food. Often we’ll hunt first, those of us who take the form of predators, and then we’ll cook it up and share it with our loved ones. Dating starts with sharing food, usually. A new alpha honors his pack with a feast. And so on. It’s part of our culture.”
“And you all cook like this? Pasta from scratch and gardening and everything?” I asked, seriously impressed.
Kingsley laughed, setting the wine bottle and two empty glasses on the counter near Austin. “Not even remotely. Austin has really upped his game. He could barely make mac and cheese back in the day.”
“That’s what happens when you don’t have a pack or a girlfriend and live alone.” Austin picked up the bottle and poured the two glasses. “I have many hobbies, and given how much time I’ve dedicated to them over the years, I am great at them all. It cures the boredom. Mostly.”
“Buying drinks”—I pointed at Austin holding the bottle—“that means something, right? Niamh wouldn’t let me buy a beer for Kace, or vice versa. Actually, she wouldn’t even let me buy one for myself. She never does.”
“I never do, actually,” Austin said, handing me one of the glasses across the island. “I put your drinks on my tab. Because yes, buying drinks for a shifter is more than just buying drinks. It’s a declaration of interest. Kind of like when a Dick offers to buy a strange lady a drink. We don’t go in rounds like you try to do, Jess.”