Page 15 of Jace’s Mate (East Coast Territory #1)

Jace shut the door with quiet finality, then nodded once at the boys.

They piled in silently as he circled around and slid into the driver’s seat.

Ten minutes later, the SUV pulled into the underground parking lot of Jace’s building.

“The kitchen’s through those doors,” he said, pointing ahead as the engine went quiet.

The boys stared like they weren’t sure whether to believe him or run.

Anikka watched them… and for the first time, realized she wanted to stay. Because something about this place—and this Alpha—felt like the beginning of everything she'd never known she needed.

Anikka watched the boys disappear through the doors, their footsteps echoing faintly. A strange emotion stirred in her chest.

Was this... pride?

Yes. That’s exactly what it was. She was proud of Jace. Proud of the way he’d handled those boys—not just as an Alpha, but as a man. There had been authority in his commands, but compassion in his judgment. It unsettled her how deeply that stirred something inside her.

She turned to him. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly. “For what?”

They stood in the underground parking garage. Dim light overhead. Concrete stretching in all directions. The distant hum of engines echoed, too far away to matter. It was the last place anyone would call romantic.

And yet—her breath hitched.

Something about the way he looked at her made her stomach flip. Maybe it was the fire simmering in his eyes. Maybe it was the way he moved—closer, always closer. Her instincts screamed at her to back away.

But her feet stayed rooted to the ground.

A low growl rumbled from his chest, and her whole body responded. Heat. Hunger. A desperate, reckless ache to close the space between them.

Before she could act on it, he pinned her against the side of the SUV.

“Anikka,” he growled, voice deep and raw. “I’m not going to kiss you yet.”

Her breath caught. What? “Why not?”

“Because you don’t understand what kissing me would mean.” He leaned in, brushing a hand gently through her hair. “You don’t fully understand what you are. Or what I am.”

His touch skimmed down to her cheek. He stared at her skin like he could read a map written there.

“It’s gone,” he murmured.

She blinked. “What’s gone?”

“The bruise.” His thumb brushed over the spot, so tender she barely felt it. But his touch sent a wave of heat straight to her core. “The place where your uncle hit you. It’s already healed.”

She couldn’t respond. Her mouth was dry. Her thoughts fogged.

His tone shifted suddenly, catching her off guard.

“Do you really know how to make blueberry cobbler?” he asked.

It was the same voice—deep, slightly rough—but there was hope threaded through it now.

She laughed, the tension breaking. He looked so serious, so invested . “Yes, I’m a good cook,” she teased, then bit her lip, amused at the intensity of his stare. “At least, that’s what people tell me.”

“What do you put in it?” he asked, leaning just slightly closer.

She smiled. “Lots of blueberries. Though this time of year, I’d have to use canned fruit.”

He nodded solemnly, like that was a crucial detail.

“Topping?” he pressed, his hand sliding to the small of her back.

Her breath caught again.

The heat of his hand. The weight of it. The way it fit against her spine like it belonged there.

She stammered, “I—I use oatmeal. And whatever cookies I have on hand. I crush them up, mix everything with brown sugar, cinnamon, and butter.”

The elevator chimed, and he nudged her forward.

The doors closed behind them. His scent enclosed her like a storm cloud—dark, musky, heady.

She tried not to breathe.

“It won’t work,” he said.

She exhaled sharply as the elevator climbed. Her heart thudded in her ears. When the doors finally opened, she darted out—only to halt mid-step.

This wasn’t the office.

She stood in a sleek, spacious loft. Chrome and black leather accented the modern space. A kitchen so clean it looked untouched. One corner of the loft held an oversized bed—far too large for one man.

But the windows stole her breath.

Three full walls of glass framed the city like a painting.

To the left, the harbor glittered in the distance.

To the right, suburbs sprawled toward the horizon.

And in front of her, the heartbeat of Baltimore glowed—its modest skyline, the Orioles’ stadium, the huge aquarium, the steady pulse of city life.

“This is… amazing,” she whispered, stepping up to the windows, her fingers brushing the glass as if she could absorb the view through her skin. “I didn’t know something like this existed.”

Behind her, she heard the clink of glass. “Would you like some wine?” Jace asked. He was already in the kitchen, pulling down a bottle and two glasses like he’d expected her to say yes.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t, not yet. The city stretched out before her like a living map. Lights flickered on as the sun dipped below the skyline, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe.

But the warmth of the wineglass in her hand brought her back. He’d brought it to her without a word.

She turned, meeting his gaze. Her fingers tightened around the stem of the glass. “I should go,” she murmured. “You’ve got responsibilities. The boys downstairs probably need your attention more than I do.”

Jace didn’t move. “They’re with pack members.

Safe. Fed. I’ll take them running tomorrow—burn off some of that wild energy.

” He nodded toward the sofa and took a seat, his long frame sinking into the cushions with ease.

“Come. Sit. Before we were interrupted, you were about to tell me about your life.”

Anikka took a slow sip of wine, letting the flavor roll across her tongue as she gathered her thoughts. He watched her, patient but intense. Always intense.

She lowered her glass. “Why don’t you go first?”

He lifted a brow, his mouth curving slightly. “What do you want to know?”

She matched his look. “Everything. But let’s start simple. Favorite color. Favorite food. What your company does. Why your living space looks like a showroom for an expensive furniture catalog.”

That earned her a low laugh, and the sound of it sent a shiver down her spine.

He leaned back, glass in hand, and she imagined what it might feel like to rest against that solid chest, his warmth wrapping around her like a blanket she didn’t know she’d been missing.

As if reading her thoughts—again—he held out his arms. “Do it.”

She blinked. “Do what?”

“Curl up on my lap.” His voice was velvet and steel, coaxing and commanding at once. “Eventually, you’re going to learn to follow your instincts, Anikka. Why not start now?”

Her heart thundered.

She wanted to. She wanted it so badly she could taste it.

But she didn’t move. “I just met you,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I don’t even know you.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, his expression shifted. He didn’t frown. He didn’t argue. He simply let his arms fall, and the glint in his eyes faded, shuttered behind that calm, unreadable mask he wore so easily.

He took a sip of wine. “I love blueberry cobbler,” he said, casually circling back to their conversation.

“My company handles global shipping. I personally own fifty ships under contract, but we contract out more. Cargo in and out of every continent. We started shipping and trucking across the country when I took over the pack.”

He looked around the loft. “As for this place…” He glanced at her, smirking slightly. “You called it ‘stark.’ Fair. I guess I’m not here much.”

She studied him, her curiosity outweighing her wariness. “How many hours does your company take up?”

Jace tilted his head. “I don’t know. Never counted.” A pause. “Maybe all of them.”

“Is it hard to manage the pack and your company at the same time?” she asked. “That seems like a crushing amount of responsibility.”

“They’re one and the same,” Jace replied. “Almost every member of the pack works for the company in some capacity. Running one means running the other. They’ve become so intertwined, they can’t be separated.”

She hesitated. “Is that… a good thing?”

“It’s worked,” he said simply.

That wasn’t the answer she wanted. Not really. But maybe she’d been too vague.

“Just ask, Anikka,” he said quietly. “Anything.”

Her heart picked up speed. She bit her lower lip, then blurted, “You’re a gorgeous man, Jace.” Her cheeks burned as she quickly added, “And you clearly have a lot on your plate. How do you have time for a… personal life?”

His eyes didn’t leave hers. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for her hand, his fingers threading through hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“It will work out,” he said, his voice low. “Now that we’re together, everything will work out.”

Anikka stared at their joined hands. He had strong, capable hands—elegant fingers laced with the same quiet power he carried in every movement. She couldn’t stop the thought that flickered through her mind—what else could those hands do?

His smirk told her he’d caught it.

“I should go,” she said abruptly, her voice tight. She looked toward the elevator.

“You can leave anytime you want,” he replied. “I won’t stop you.”

Her eyes darted to the elevator again. She could leave. Nothing was stopping her.

Except the fact that she didn’t want to.

She took a sip of her wine. “I’ll go after I finish this.”

“What about dinner?” he asked. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” she admitted, surprised by how hollow she felt. “What would you like me to make?”

He gently pushed her back down before she could rise. “Dinner’s taken care of. I’ll have it sent up.”

Her brows lifted. “You have someone cooking for you?”

As he pulled out his phone to text, he shook his head. “Most of the kitchen staff downstairs are men. A few women, too, but the majority are male.”

“You have male cooks?” she repeated, stunned and intrigued by the possibility.

“Hell yes. A couple graduated from the Culinary Institute of America and are damned good chefs. Hell, they’re some of the best chefs I’ve ever met. Most of the cooks on the ships are men, too.”

“Interesting,” she murmured, sipping her wine.

“Dinner will be—”

The elevator pinged softly. A second later, the scent hit her—savory, rich, impossible to ignore. Her stomach growled.

“Oh, that smells amazing,” she breathed. “Pasta. I love pasta.”

Two women stepped into the loft, each balancing a tray piled high with food.

They moved efficiently, setting the trays down on the coffee table—but not without a few not-so-subtle glances.

Their smiles were polite, but their eyes flicked between Jace and Anikka with barely concealed curiosity.

One of them offered a knowing “Enjoy, Alpha,” while the other lingered a second too long, clearly dying to catch some hint of gossip.

Then, with professional grace and suppressed smirks, they disappeared back into the elevator.

Jace handed her a plate. “Help yourself.”

Anikka leaned forward as he uncovered the dishes, each one releasing another wave of mouth-watering aroma. Her stomach ached. Her senses were sharper than ever, and she could identify nearly every spice.

Spaghetti with meat sauce. Garlic. Basil. Oregano. She took her first bite and nearly moaned.

They ate. They drank more wine. They told stories—fragments of lives lived too fast, too cautiously. For a while, it felt… almost normal.

Then Jace leaned back into the cushions, stretching out. “I’ve taken all the pillows,” he said. He gestured lazily with one finger, curling it in the air. “Turn around and use me instead.”

She choked on a laugh. “I couldn’t.”

“You can.” His tone dropped. “I won’t touch you beyond this. Your innocence is safe tonight.”

Tonight. That word echoed. Something about the way he said it made her want to stand up just to prove she wasn’t so innocent.

He filled her glass again, the soft clink of the bottle brushing her thoughts aside.

“Turn around,” he said again, his voice calm, assured. “You’ll ask tougher questions if you’re not looking at me.”

Maybe he had a point. And what harm could it do? Slowly, carefully, she turned, and then felt his hand at her back, guiding her. She stiffened at first, her muscles locked.

“Tell me about your education,” he said casually.

She relaxed. They talked. Questions were asked and answered, wine poured and sipped. Her limbs grew heavy, her eyelids drooping.

Anikka blamed the wine as she relaxed and smiled, laughed at his stories or sighed with understanding. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t the wine making her sleepy.

It was the safety.

The kind of safety that only comes from being close to someone who could destroy everything—but chooses not to.