Page 22 of My Orc Contract Husband (Eastshore Isle #9)

Chapter Twelve

Sami

“You kids really don’t mind me tagging along?” Aunt Sharon asked from the back seat of Tarkhan’s huge truck.

I opened my mouth to answer, but he beat me to it.

“Don’t be silly.” His eyes—dark again, with a small green glow in the center—flashed in the rearview mirror.

“You and Sami were supposed to spend the afternoon together, yeah? I just appreciate you being willing to come with me to the Lexington farm.”

How wonderful was that? When he asked if I wanted to join him and his friends this afternoon, and I’d mentioned I’d promised Sharon we’d hang out, he hadn’t hesitated to invite her along.

I was new at this whole relationship thing, but I really appreciated that he hadn’t asked me to choose between the people I loved .

Not like my father had forced my mother to do. Aunt Sharon still hadn’t forgiven him for refusing to let Mom visit on holidays. Is that what Pierce would’ve expected of me? I had to assume so.

Twisting in the seat, I pushed aside those dark thoughts and met my aunt’s worried gaze with a small smile. “Seriously, Aunt Sharon, it’ll be fun.”

“Oh, I know it’ll be fun, dear. I love going to the sunflower maze—it’s a lovely way to celebrate the end of summer. But I don’t want to horn in on the newlywed’s time together.”

Again, it was Tarkhan who assured her, “We’re glad we get to spend time with you, Aunt Sharon.”

All I could do was nod firmly because he was right .

And P.S.: The way he called her Aunt Sharon , as if he was claiming her as part of his family? How cute is that?

Her face lit up at being included, and I loved that it was so simple to make her happy. To make me happy. Tarkhan had claimed my aunt as his because he’d seen that she was a good person, something my father could never recognize.

So I’ll admit I was a little bit swoony as I turned to face forward once more. But I was finding myself getting swoony over stuff Tarkhan did all the time these days.

Even as I had that thought, he glanced at me, then at the air vent, blowing cold air right at my bare shoulders. Without a word, he adjusted the vent upward so I wasn’t as chilled.

See what I mean ?

Yesterday I’d been unable to really focus on my client and the house showing we were doing, much less the research and paperwork I locked myself in my office to take care of afterward.

I was too conscious of Tarkhan, in the same house, puttering about, just being there .

I’d been able to hear his power tools in the garage, hear him muttering to himself as he paced in the living room, and the noises weren’t distracting.

On the contrary, they made my house feel safe and cozy in a way it never had before.

When I finally finished yesterday, I emerged to find my new compost bin was already half complete.

He’d not only listened to me when I mentioned wanting one, he’d gone out and done something about it immediately.

I loved hearing his plans for the workshop he could put in along the back property line, and seeing his enthusiasm made me giddy.

We sat in my office to start reading through the requirements for becoming foster parents, and discussed how we could rearrange the house to make it work.

He offered to build a partition in the big bedroom so I could set up a small office in there, so we could use the second bedroom for the kids.

I thought it was a good idea, but didn’t want to make any permanent changes until we knew for certain this was what we wanted to do.

After all, we were still in the early planning stages, but I could sense his anticipation as much as I could feel mine, nestled at the base of my stomach.

This wasn’t something I’d ever considered doing, but now that Tarkhan was in my life—was the other half of my life! —I wanted to help fulfil his dreams .

It had felt so natural to think of us as a “we”—to consider us a partnership. When had that happened? So soon after our fake marriage? Or had it been just this weekend when he’d opened up to me?

“We need to wait and see what Montgomery is going to do,” he’d warned, and that had dampened my excitement a bit.

Reminding me that Pierce could show up and ruin this was a reminder that our marriage was only temporary. Tarkhan had only agreed to it to get a mortgage. And this time next year, we would be divorced.

I didn’t want that.

I didn’t want to lose him, lose what we were slowly, gently building. But how to tell him that? How was I supposed to just blurt out I think I’m falling for you and what? Pray he felt the same way? Pray he didn’t laugh at me for getting too involved in this marriage of convenience?

How had everything changed so much? A month ago I wasn’t dating anyone. Now I was married, considering fostering, and talking about forever ?

I glanced at Tarkhan’s strong profile.

It was all thanks to him.

Last night…

Last night was different. We didn’t have sex—penetrative sex, I guess I should say.

But for the first time, Tarkhan took off all his clothes and stretched out beside me in the bed.

He still made me come three or four times—I’m definitely not complaining about that tradition—but he allowed me to touch him this time too.

Now that I knew what that vulnerability meant to him, I cherished it. I cherished him , and the way he met my gaze intently as we stroked one another.

And when he came all over my hand, he made the most incredible soft sound that made me roll over on top of him and kiss him senseless.

In retaliation, he lifted me to sit on his face and showed me exactly how flexible his tongue really was.

Just the memory of it made my cheeks heat and made me squeeze my thighs together.

Tarkhan’s lips twitched upward right before he sent me a knowing glance, and I resisted the urge to scoff and smack his shoulder, perfectly aware that he could smell my arousal. Instead, when he reached out, I took his hand in both of mine.

His hands were so much bigger, so much stronger than mine. But they were always gentle, and they always touched me with such reverence. I traced his calluses and marveled at how lucky I’d been to meet him.

In the backseat, Aunt Sharon made a little noise of approval.

She didn’t think this marriage was fake.

I was beginning to suspect I didn’t either.

When we pulled into the full parking lot, Tarkhan commanded, “Don’t move,” as he climbed out.

He hurried around to the other side of the car and opened my door.

“Cairo says he’ll weld a step over here for you,” he explained, lifting me out, “but I haven’t gotten around to dropping the truck off. Your turn, Aunt Sharon.”

And my aunt giggled—actually giggled!—when he offered both of us his arms.

The Lexington Farm looked exactly like what you’d expect from a family operation that had been running for decades—a little rough around the edges but charming in that authentic way that couldn’t be faked.

The red barn needed a fresh coat of paint, and the farmhouse porch sagged slightly, but the vegetable gardens were clearly loved, with fat tomatoes hanging heavy and corn stalks rustling in the breeze.

The whole place smelled like earth and growing things, with an underlying sweetness from all those sunflowers that made me want to take deeper breaths than usual.

The sunflower maze was honestly more impressive than I’d expected.

It was my first time here, and I was surprised to realize that once I stepped inside the maze, the stalks would tower over my head.

As we headed toward the entrance, wood chips crunched under my feet, and I could hear the constant hum of what had to be thousands of bees doing their thing.

Every now and then, a kid’s voice would echo from somewhere among the sunflowers, making me smile.

The craft booths near the entrance had that slightly chaotic look of Eastshore’s monthly markets—colorful awnings, mismatched tables, and vendors who clearly knew each other well enough to borrow supplies back and forth.

I could smell kettle corn popping somewhere, mixing with the scent of those sweetgrass baskets one woman was weaving right there at her table.

My stomach rumbled at the sight of someone grilling corn, and I realized I was already looking forward to snack time.

“There they are,” Tarkhan announced in satisfaction, steering us toward a mixed group of orcs and humans and children. “Let me introduce you.”

Sharon and I already knew Sakkara, Eastshore’s new mayor, but this was our first time meeting his Mate Nikki and daughter Emmy.

Emmy was half orc, her skin a pale green and her tusks little more than overgrown teeth.

She waved shyly and skipped over to whisper something in another little girl’s ear.

Tarkhan introduced her as Tova, Aswan’s new daughter. Aswan had been one of Tarkhan’s groomsmen at the wedding, but I hadn’t had a chance to chat much with him. His Mate Hannah carried a squirming three-year-old Joshy on her hip, and ten-year-old Ben stood proudly beside Aswan.

And then there was Harper O’Donnell, my lawyer, whom of course I knew.

But her Mate Giza—older than all the other males, his hair sprinkled with silver and his skin covered in the intriguingly unique tattoos I recognized from Tarkhan’s back—was new to me.

I’ll confess once I realized he carried their sleeping infant daughter Raina in a sling on his chest, I melted into a puddle of goo.

Or maybe that’s just because it was Eastshore in late summer.

“I bought our tickets already. Shall we get into the maze?” asked Sakkara. “Hopefully the shade will mitigate some of this heat. ”

Before I could agree that my thighs were beginning to stick together, Hannah announced, “Oh! Can we take a picture first?”

All of us—the adults at least—agreed. How difficult could taking a picture be?

This is where the more knowledgeable are likely snickering at my na?veté.