Page 85 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“Upstairs or here?” Wes asks.

“Here.”

Wes leads her backward until her knees meet the cushions. I shove the coffee table farther away with my foot, clearing the space in front of the couch before Scarlet sits. I settle into the corner behind her and draw her back between my thighs. She comes willingly, her shoulders resting against my chest while our fingers remain linked over her stomach.

Wes kneels in front of her. The sight of my alpha on his knees carries its own kind of power, especially with all that controlled strength focused on Scarlet. His hands settle on the wide belt around her skirt.

Scarlet glances down. “You appear alarmingly comfortable there.”

“I am.”

“Your confidence should concern me.”

“It usually does.”

Her mouth curves.

Wes loosens the buckle. The small metallic click feels louder than it should.

Scarlet has wrapped herself in beautiful defenses for years. Velvet. Long skirts. Wide belts. Layers of delicate jewelry. She arranges her softness into armor so skillfully, most people probably never notice the second purpose.

Wes slides the belt from her waist. He folds it and places it beside her, careful with the thing that helped her feel safe. The gesture catches in my chest, a deep ache for the tender way my alpha goes soft for her.

Scarlet watches him reach for the hem of her top.

Her fingers close around his wrist.

Wes waits with his attention fixed on her.

I feel tension enter her body where it rests against mine.

My thumb moves once along the back of her hand, an acknowledgment of what this costs her.

Scarlet breathes out, and her grip loosens. Then she guides Wes’s hand beneath the velvet herself, another layer opened from within.

Wes looks up at her with a wordless command.

She raises her arms, and he draws the fabric upward slowly.

Her defenses don’t fall all at once. First she exposes the soft curve below her ribs, a place she usually hides beneath folded arms. Then the undersides of her breasts, bared while her breath catches. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders when the velvet clears her head completely.

She isn’t wearing a bra, and the sight of her pretty tits makes my cock rock hard.

Wes’s purr rolls through the room.

Scarlet’s nipples tighten, but she doesn’t cover herself.

We have touched her before, but the look in her eyes tonight is different. There is no enemy here for her to defeat. It’s only Scarlet, who is letting herself be seen. The vulnerability of it makes my throat ache.

Wes places her top beside her belt. One layer, then another. He treats each piece as if they matter, because they matter to her.

Scarlet looks at the small pile. “You’re very organized about undressing me.”

“I’m organized about everything.”

“He alphabetizes evidence,” I tell her.

“It was poorly arranged,” Wes says.