Page 39 of Love the Way You Lion (Rise of the Resistance #3)

The Cat And The Bird Find A Little Peace

TAURUS

I stride in, ditching my duster in the closet and pouring a drink. I don’t see the minx anywhere around the room, which is disappointing.

She’s been working hard in the training program; she stays well past the other gits to practice.

Her scores are off the charts, but I can’t let her know I’m checking up on her.

She wants to do it on her own, and it makes me proud.

I’m about to reach out to her to figure out where she is—because I know now that she’s in the house somewhere—when she pads out of the bathroom.

Holy hell in a handbasket.

Minx is pulling a brush through her long, wavy tresses.

The brilliant red of her hair sets off the alabaster color of the skin of her bare shoulders, and she’s dressed in a filmy black silk nightgown with lace cups.

Her bare toes peep out from under the long hem of the nightgown, and she gasps when she sees me.

I suppose she didn’t notice me while she was walking out.

She smells like wild jasmine and looks like every git’s wet dream .

All I can do is stare at the condensation on my glass as it drips on the counter, my drink forgotten.

She frowns and turns in a circle, looking down at herself. “Is something wrong? Do I have chocolate on my face? I was eating while I soaked.”

I swallow hard, trying to close my gaping mouth so I can speak. When I manage it, my voice is raspy. “Chocolate—uh, n-no, love. There’s nothing wrong.”

“Why are you looking at me like I’ve grown a second head in a very conspicuous place?” She gives me a peeved look, tapping her foot and pulling the brush through her hair again. It makes her jiggle ever so nicely, and I grin.

Sitting the glass down before I sodding drop it, I rest my palms on the wood of the bar. “Because you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and somehow I forgot between when I saw you last and now just how breathtaking you are.”

She turns a lovely shade of pinkish rose, dipping her head. Her voice is tiny and all the starch goes out of her posture. “Oh.”

I grin; I can’t help it. Her ways make me smile.

For someone who projects such a hard-nosed and confident image, she’s flustered like a blushing bride anytime you compliment even the smallest thing about her.

I move from the bar to her side, running a hand over her hair.

“Christ, woman, what you do to me. You look stunning.”

Wrinkling her nose—another one of my favorite cute-isms that I can’t comment on—she scrunches down. “I was in the bath. I wasn’t trying to be… I didn’t know you were home yet.”

My head tilts as I watch my finger trace down the soft skin on her cheek, then brush over her chin and trail down her neck. “Since when do you have to try? It’s not something you have to do, I don’t think. You are. ”

“No, I didn’t mean—” she growls under her breath, getting pinker by the second. “Dammit, now I’m all flustered. I hate being a girl!” Stomping her foot, she huffs.

I smile wider. “What’s flustering you, baby? I’m rather fond of the girl in the woman in front of me.”

“I feel all—I don’t know. This is why I don’t wear stuff like this. It’s all frilly and I feel like I should bat my lashes and pout. I get all weird.”

It’s best not to tell her she is pouting.

I pretend to ponder as if I’m considering.

“I see it’s not your usual togs and it's right fetching, accurate enough. I’m not sure batting your peepers at me would make sense, what with all the naked glories we’ve had with each other.

Besides, it wasn’t the garb that gobbed me, baby.

It’s the woman inside it. You take my breath away sometimes. ”

She makes a face at me as if I’m the most troublesome person in the universe, but gives in and chuckles. “I know. You looked at me and I think girly clothes rot my brain. I get all soft.”

“Only dressed like that, then? Never get that rotted brain feeling any other time?”

“Did I mention how you were looking at me? I think it plays a big part, too.” Her expression is indignant, and she’s tapping the brush on her arm, again setting every bit of her to jiggling.

That’s my favorite.

I look down and pluck the brush out of her hands and then sweep her into my arms. Striding over to our bed, I settle us against the pillows with her sitting between my legs.

I brush her hair in lazy strokes, humming under my breath.

It’s peaceful and despite how bloody fucking amazing she looks in that getup, I’m in the mood to show her why girly isn’t such a bad thing .

Her lips curve and I feel her mood lift.

She tilts her head back, relaxing as I stroke through her curls, moving with the brush.

It makes me smile to watch her let go, so I hum a little louder.

Her hair is shining like a fire and she must have used some of her home brewed soaps and such because the mixture of scents combining with hers is like an aphrodisiac blended just for me.

Everything about this is what I want for us all the time.

Peaceful. Loving. Pain-free. Relaxed.

Swaying a little as I pull, she lets me pet and brush her, acting very much like the cat she is.

I bend and kiss her shoulder or nip her earlobe or nuzzle her jaw, reminding her I’m there and keeping her from snoozing.

Her tail flips out and taps my leg in time with the brush strokes and I grin—the kitty is very soothed.

I feel my tail drop and find hers to twine together on the bedspread.

I sing low into her ear, crooning the King song I’d promised her. It’s only for her because we’re not in a bar full of people that hate us. It’s just us, cocooned in a wonderful moment in time where everything is right. We don’t get many of those, and I intend to savor it.

Her sigh is barely more than a breath, but I hear it, and I feel every muscle in her body relax.

I’d bet she’s smiling like sunshine and I’d win hands down.

As much as she protests girly stuff—much like my primary—she loves it.

It doesn’t define her because she’s far more complex than some others give her credit for with their one-dimensional view.

I make no such errors. Drooping against me, she purrs like an outboard motor, tail flicking with mine.

I can only assume our little haven was missing something because, in a blink, she has a Godiva box on her lap.

I pause for a moment, whispering in her ear, “I didn’t want to wait for Presley week or some such, baby. I hope you don’t mind. ”

“I don’t mind.” She chomps one of the white chocolate covered strawberries in her box indelicately and the contrast makes me chuckle. “I didn’t drop these on your lap this time. Though, I ate the idiot who made them. Which is what he gets for being snooty and telling a pregnant woman ‘no’.”

Ah, there’s the blood warrior behind the fluffy kitty.

“You should have killed him a second time for being stupid, my love.”

“They don’t die twice. It’s no fun.” I feel her pout and it makes me laugh. “But how bloody hard would it have been to dip some blood balls in white chocolate for me? I even had the blood balls! People are no fun at all.”

My chest shakes as I try to contain the laughter bursting free. “Infidel. We could go kill his family.”

She shakes her head, sighing. “I wore black leather from head to toe—well, mostly, because there wasn’t too much to the leather, I guess.

You’d think I came in toting a shotgun and wearing a ski mask.

” She looks up at me, wrinkling her nose.

“Why bother? I bet they would taste as bland and white bread as him. Ick—not worth the calories.”

“Philistine. Plebeian. Troglodyte. It’s a good thing he’s dead.”

“Very. He’d be pissed that I took all the good stuff.” She giggles and turns her head to one side, nipping my jaw. “Oh! Did you hear I did it all by myself?”

“Mmm hmmm. You took out a target all by your lonesome. I’m very pleased.”

“I was all worked up and thought I’d jump you when I got home, because of all the energy and stuff, but this is good, too. ”

I fall back against the bed and groan. “I’m cursed with bad timing, love.”

“Bad timing?”

“Yeah. I missed a jumping moment, and you got all clean and soft like.”

“You have been seducing me since we sat down, so I don’t think it’s all a write-off.”

I grin. “True enough. Jumping notwithstanding, I’m having a right good time with how we are.”

“It’s a pleasant change from all the ugly.”

“Being drama-free is nice; I’ll give you that, minx.”

She goes still for a moment, and I realize she hears her mate in her head. Of all the bloody times for that git to drop a line, he does it now ? “Bloody hell. What now? Sampson can’t give us a night off?”

Her eyes roll up at me and she snorts. “Oh, yes, because he bothers me every night while we’re shagging or killing.” She listens again and sighs. “No, it’s Talia. It seems like there’s a problem with her arm. Nothing serious, but it needs the healing touch.”

I straighten while I connect with my primary, verifying what the artist told my wife. She apparates a bottle out of—somewhere, hell, I don’t know. She’s getting eerie with the magick and disapparating. I’m not sure where anything comes from anymore.

“Shall we away, then? This one shouldn’t take but a few. Nothing I can’t do, barehanded and all.”

“Let me, love. Save your strength for the strong-willed and daft.” I take her hand and sigh. “I’m going to hide that woman, I swear it.”

“I was planning on letting you do the work, baby. I’m saving my energy for the workout afterward.” Her eyes dance as she pulls my arms around her.

I grin, admiring her pluck and groping her bum, then disapparate us both to her other house to find our mates.

And kill them if it keeps me from getting laid tonight.