Page 188 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“You moved into my house in less than a week,” she says.

“Efficiently,” Wes answers.

“Alarmingly.”

He sits against the headboard and opens his arms.

Scarlet crosses the room without hesitation. She climbs into his lap and settles astride him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Wes places his hands on her waist and waits.

I kneel behind her, gathering her hair over one shoulder.

Her gaze finds mine. “I’m rested,” she says. “I ate.”

“Wes made you prove it,” I say.

She smiles. “And I’m clearheaded.”

Wes’s hands tighten slightly.

Scarlet touches his bond gland. “I choose you, Wes.” Then she reaches back for me. “I choose you, Roman.”

I take her hand and kiss the center of her palm. “You never have to earn your place between us.”

“I know.”

Wes watches her closely. “And if you change your mind?”

“I tell you.” Scarlet’s expression softens. “That is why I can say yes.”

The words move through the room like a vow before any teeth break skin.

Wes kisses her first.

His hands rise along her back, supporting rather than directing as her mouth opens beneath his. I press close behind her and kiss the exposed curve of her shoulder.

Her purr starts quietly. Wes feels it and answers with one of his own. The frequencies meet, and she arches between us as if the sound itself is a touch.

I slide my hands around her waist and beneath the hem of her shirt. Her skin is warm under my palms. Wes catches the fabric and lifts it slowly, then pauses when it reaches her ribs.

Scarlet raises her arms. He removes it and lets it fall beside the nest. I kiss each newly uncovered inch of her back. Wes takes his time with the front of her, his mouth moving along her collarbone and down the soft curve of her breast.

She trembles.

“Still with us?” I ask.

She turns her face enough to kiss me. “Completely.”

We undress her together. Then she returns the care. She unbuttons Wes’s shirt and kisses around the dark bruise on his chest. Her mouth never touches the tender center, but each careful press of her lips makes his breath rougher.

“You protected me,” she whispers.

“I would do it again.”

“I know.” She looks up at him. “But you came home too.”

His eyes close as though she has offered him a mercy he did not know he needed.

She turns and pulls my shirt over my head. Her hands travel my chest, learning me without urgency. When she kisses me, she tastes like cinnamon tea and the life I never let myself imagine wanting this badly.