Page 25 of Paw Inspiring (Paranormal Dating Agency #86)

TWENTY-FOUR

“ W e’re taking things slowly,” Artek managed through gritted teeth, though his bear perked up at the mention of rings and claiming.

“Slowly?” Vida’s eyebrows shot up. “Darling, glaciers move faster than you. She’s your mate. Even your bear knows it—I can see it in your eyes whenever she’s mentioned. The way you prowl around that cabin like a lovesick teenager...”

Heat blazed up Artek’s neck. Trust his mother to bull’s-eye his deepest conflict: the growing certainty that Meara was meant for him, coupled with his determination not to rush her. Especially now, with German’s threats looming and her grief still fresh.

“I have meetings,” he said firmly, steering Vida toward the door. “Important security matters.”

“More important than your future happiness? Than my future grandchildren?” She paused in the doorway, expression softening. “I see how you look at her, my son. The same way your father used to look at me. Don’t let fear of vulnerability keep you from claiming what’s meant to be yours.”

After extracting promises about family dinner and leaving behind enough food for a small army, Vida finally departed. Artek slumped in his chair, his bear grumbling in agreement with his mother’s words.

“So...” Trey’s grin threatened to split his face. “Sapphire ring, huh?”

“One more word and you’re on permanent surveillance duty in Alaska.”

“Worth it.” Trey gathered his reports, sobering slightly. “But seriously, boss. I’ve never seen you like this with anyone. The way you look at her... it’s like she’s your own personal sun.”

“We have work to do.” Artek straightened, focusing on the surveillance photos. But his mind kept drifting to Meara, to their upcoming meeting. To how his bear couldn’t wait to see her again, to breathe in her scent and make sure she was safe.

Two hours later, Artek’s carefully ordered conference room had transformed into what he could only describe as organized chaos. Fabric swatches, floor plans, and security diagrams covered every surface. Frenchy perched on the edge of the table, gesturing expansively with a color-coded schedule in one hand and an alarmingly pink piece of fabric in the other.

“Picture it,” he declared. “Security teams color-coordinated with the seasonal palette. Mountain-chic meets high-fashion vigilance!”

“No.” Artek’s flat tone didn’t deter Frenchy’s enthusiasm.

“But think of the social media possibilities!”

“Still no.”

Meara sat cross-legged in one of the ergonomic chairs, hiding her smile behind a cup of coffee. Paint smudged her left temple, and her dark hair escaped its messy bun in artistic tendrils. The sight of her so comfortable in his space did dangerous things to Artek’s concentration.

“What about the guest capacity?” she asked, pulling him back to business. “The main cabin can hold?—”

“Twelve participants maximum,” he cut in, perhaps too quickly. At her raised eyebrow, he added, “For optimal security coverage. Any more would strain the perimeter systems.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her knowing smile suggested she saw right through his protective instincts. “And the fact that smaller groups are easier to defend has nothing to do with it?”

“Pure coincidence.”

“Of course.” She stretched, her oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder. Artek’s bear fixated on that exposed patch of skin, wondering if it would taste as sweet as it looked. “Though I notice the security stations have excellent views of all the painting locations.”

“Strategic positioning.”

“Naturally.” Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “Just like how you’ve positioned yourself to keep watching my shoulder.”

Heat crept up his neck, caught. But before he could respond, Trey burst in with fresh intel.

“German’s on the move,” he reported, sobering the playful mood. “Just booked a meeting with Canyon Ridge Developers.”

Artek’s jaw tightened. Meara’s scent shifted subtly—anxiety threading through her usual warm fragrance. Without thinking, he moved closer, letting his larger frame block her view of the surveillance photos.

“We’ll handle it,” he assured her, fighting his bear’s urge to gather her close and growl at anything threatening her peace.

“I know.” Her hand found his forearm, fingers curling into his sleeve. The simple touch sent electricity racing through his blood. “I trust you.”

Those three words hit him like a physical blow. His bear preened at her faith in them while his human side marveled at how naturally she’d claimed a place in his world.

“Though,” she added with forced lightness, “I might trust you more if you let me add just a tiny bit of color to the security uniforms...”

“Don’t encourage him,” Artek groaned as Frenchy perked up.

“Too late!” Frenchy brandished his fabric swatches triumphantly. “I’m thinking subtle accents. Maybe some tasteful burgundy trim...”

The planning session stretched into late afternoon, professional concerns gradually giving way to easier conversation. Artek found himself sharing stories about the sleuth’s history in the mountains, drawn in by Meara’s genuine interest.

Eventually, Frenchy declared they’d accomplished enough for one day, gathering his array of samples and swatches. “Try not to miss us too much. Though really, how could you not miss all this fabulousness?”

After they left, Artek found himself standing at his office window, watching Meara’s car disappear down the street. The bear in him paced restlessly, already missing her presence.

“You’ve got it bad,” Trey observed from the doorway.

“Don’t you have surveillance to coordinate?”

“Just saying what everyone sees.” Trey’s usual teasing tone softened. “She’s good for you, you know. Makes you less... growly.”

Artek didn’t dignify that with a response, but he couldn’t deny the truth in it. Everything about Meara called to him—her creativity, her resilience, the way she faced challenges with determined grace. Even his bear sensed it, this bone-deep certainty that she was meant to be theirs.

Which made German’s threats all the more unbearable.

He lasted exactly two hours before driving to her cabin.

The sun hung low over Crystal Lake, painting the water in sheets of molten gold. Through the cabin windows, he spotted Meara arranging an easel near the window with the stunning view, her movements quick and purposeful. The sight of her safe in her space loosened something in his chest.

She opened the door before he reached it, surprise and pleasure mingling in her expression. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon.” A splash of cerulean blue decorated one cheekbone. “But I’m glad.”

His bear preened at her words, at the way her scent brightened with genuine happiness at his presence. “Thought I’d check the new security installations.”

“At dinner time?” Her knowing smile sent heat coursing through him. “What a coincidence.”

“I’m very thorough.”

“Mmm.” She reached up, straightening his collar with deliberate slowness. “I’ve noticed that about you.”

The casual touch sparked fire under his skin. His bear rumbled appreciatively as her fingers lingered near his throat.

“You haven’t eaten yet,” he managed, fighting the urge to nuzzle into her hand.

“Let me guess—Frenchy texted you?”

“Something about ‘our artist being too absorbed in her work to remember food exists.’ He’s quite watchful.”

“Says the bear who ‘happened’ to show up at dinner time.”

“If I hadn’t, my mother might have shown up to make you dinner herself.”

Meara laughed, the sound pure music to his ears. “She’s quite something.”

“That’s one way to put it.” He followed her inside where she’d transformed the main living space into an artist’s haven. Canvases leaned against walls, paint supplies organized with surprising precision for someone so creative. The scents of oils and acrylics mixed with her natural fragrance in a way his bear found oddly appealing.

“Need help moving anything?” he offered, noting several heavy cabinets yet to be positioned.

“My hero.” She directed him with gentle touches and quiet words, each point of contact sending electricity through his skin. They worked in comfortable silence, broken only by occasional quips about his status as “hired muscle” or playful challenges about easel assembly speed.

“I could get used to this,” she mused later, watching him move a particularly heavy cabinet. “My own personal security service with bonus furniture moving skills.”