Page 21 of The Bear’s Matchmaking Mix-up Mate (Bear Creek Forever:Thornberg Vineyard #6)

Morning light streamed through the kitchen window, warming Finn’s shoulders as he leaned against the counter, coffee mug cradled in his palms. The rich aroma filled his senses, but it was Wren who truly held his attention, the way her fingers curled around her own mug, the soft hum that escaped her lips as she gazed out at the garden beyond.

“It’s beautiful outside today,” she said, turning to face him. “We should get out there while the morning’s still cool.”

Finn took another sip of his coffee, savoring both the bitter warmth and the moment of domesticity. It had been a week since she’d agreed to be his, three days since they went public , and each morning felt like a gift he’d never expected to receive.

“I’ve got about an hour before my first appointment,” he said. “And since I promised Mrs. Abernathy I’d redesign the garden here at Rowan Cottage, I’d love to join you outside.”

“An hour to spare?” Wren murmured, setting her coffee cup down with deliberate care.

She moved toward him with a slow grace that made his pulse quicken, her eyes holding his with an intensity that hadn’t been there when they first met.

Gone was the cautious woman who’d opened the door that first day, replaced by someone who knew exactly what she wanted.

His bear stirred, a satisfied rumble in the back of his mind. Because she is ours, and this is.

Finn cocked his head, watching as she slid her arms around his neck, her body pressing against his with delicious warmth. Her playfulness ramped up his desire, blood rushing hot beneath his skin.

“I can think of a few ways to spend that hour,” she whispered, her lips finding the sensitive spot just below his ear.

Finn ran his hand along her waist, feeling the curve of her body beneath the thin cotton dress she wore. Her fingers traced the stubble along his jaw, sending shivers down his spine as her mouth continued its exploration of his neck.

“Is that so?” he managed, his voice rougher than he intended.

Her answer was a soft bite at the junction of his neck and shoulder that made him groan.

His hands moved lower, cupping her bottom through her dress, pulling her tighter against him.

The friction made them both gasp, the kitchen suddenly too warm, too small to contain the heat building between them.

Wren’s fingers found the buttons of his shirt, slipping them open one by one until she could slide her hands inside, her touch setting fire to his skin.

Finn captured her mouth with his, tasting coffee and desire as her tongue met his.

He walked her backward until she hit the edge of the table, his body pressing hers against the solid wood.

Without breaking the kiss, Finn lifted her onto the table’s edge. He dropped to his knees before her, pushing her skirt up to expose her thighs—smooth, pale skin that made his mouth water.

Her panties were simple cotton, and he pushed the fabric to one side, sliding a finger along her slick heat before dipping inside.

The sound she made—half gasp, half moan—sent a bolt of need straight to his groin.

He leaned forward, replacing his finger with his tongue, tasting her with an insatiable hunger.

Wren’s fingers tangled in his hair, holding him closer as her thighs trembled on either side of his head. He licked and sucked, adding a second finger inside her, curling them to find the spot that made her cry out his name. Her hips rocked against his mouth, chasing the pleasure he offered.

“Finn,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Oh, don’t stop.”

He had no intention of stopping. His fingers hooked inside her, grazing her inner walls as his tongue circled her clit with increasing pressure. Her thighs began to shake, her grip in his hair tightening to the edge of pain. He could feel her getting closer, her body tensing around his fingers.

When she came, it was with her head thrown back, spine arched, a sound somewhere between a sob and his name torn from her throat. The sight of her flushed face and eyes closed in ecstasy was more beautiful than any garden he’d ever designed.

As the tremors subsided, Finn kissed his way up her inner thighs, gentle now, reverent. He straightened her panties, pulling her skirt back down over her thighs before rising to his feet. His own need throbbed insistently, but it could wait. This had been about her.

“Now,” he said, unable to suppress the smile of pure devilry that spread across his face, “I think it’s time we did the garden.”

Wren stood on shaky legs, her cheeks flushed and eyes still hazy with pleasure. She smoothed her skirt, but the gesture did nothing to hide what had just happened between them. It was written in the flush of her skin, the slight swelling of her lips, the way her breath still came a little too fast.

“You’re wicked,” she murmured, but the smile playing at the corners of her mouth told him she didn’t mind at all.

“Are you complaining?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.

“I didn’t say that,” she said as she trailed her fingers across his groin.

“Now, that is wicked,” he ground out. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Oh, I think I do,” she said, her lips pouting.

“If only we had more than an hour to spare,” he replied, cupping her bottom in his hand.

“If only,” she said, her eyes lingering on his lips before moving lower. Then she sighed and turned away. “But we promised my godmother we would make over this garden.”

“And no one breaks a promise to Mrs. Abernathy,” he teased.

“Not unless they want their bear’s skin adorning her living room floor,” Wren said with a laugh. “Come on.”

They stepped outside together, the morning sun warm on their skin. The garden spread before them, wild but full of potential.

Much like the relationship that has grown between us and our mate, his bear said happily.

Finn chuckled as he surveyed the space, mentally cataloging what could stay, what should go, and where new plantings might thrive. His bear had opinions, too, preferring more shade trees and privacy from neighbors.

We should have a secluded corner, his bear suggested. Somewhere private to hold her when the moon is high.

“What are you thinking?” Wren asked, touching his arm lightly. “You look faraway.”

Finn turned to her, surprised by how easily she now read his moods. “I was talking to my bear.”

“About me?” she asked, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

He gave her a lopsided grin, warmth spreading through his veins at her understanding. “Who else? You’re the center of our world.”

She smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re becoming the center of mine, too.”

The simple admission hit him harder than any passionate declaration could have.

Finn pulled her close, kissing her with all the tenderness he felt, trying to pour his gratitude into the press of his lips against hers.

When they parted, he kept his arms around her, savoring the way she fit against him.

Wren eventually pulled away, gesturing to the garden around them. “So, what are your ideas for this space? Mrs. Abernathy mentioned you’re a genius with difficult plots.”

Finn looked around again, but his mind had shifted to a different kind of future. He caught her hand, the words forming before he could second-guess them.

“Will you move in with me?”

Her eyes widened, and she touched her fingers to her pendant. Her gaze drifted to Rowan Cottage, the sanctuary that had sheltered her when she’d needed it most. For a moment, Finn’s heart ached with uncertainty.

Then she looked back at him, and the answer was in her eyes before she spoke. “Yes,” she said simply.

Relief and joy flooded through him, so intense it was almost dizzying.

“I’ve been thinking about converting the sunroom into a music studio for you,” he said, the plans he’d been sketching in secret for weeks tumbling out.

“The acoustics would be perfect with a few adjustments, and the light is beautiful all day long. And the bedroom has plenty of space for both our clothes, and…”

“You’ve got this all planned already?” she interrupted, surprise and something like wonder in her voice.

Heat rose in his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “I’ve thought about nothing else since we met,” he admitted. “I want you to be part of my life, Wren. All of it.”

She stepped closer, rising on tiptoe to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I want that, too,” she whispered against his mouth.

His bear rumbled with satisfaction, a contented warmth spreading through his chest. This is so right, his bear insisted. This is how it should be.

“But I want to create a beautiful garden here.” He gestured to the garden around them, the morning light dappling through the trees.

“I’m so grateful for Rowan Cottage, and especially for Mrs. Abernathy.

If she hadn’t brought you to Bear Creek.

..” His voice trailed off, unable to imagine that alternate reality.

“If I hadn’t come here. I think we would have found each other some other way,” she murmured. “We are fated mates, after all.”

“I want this garden to be as perfect as you,” he said softly, cupping her face in his hand. “It’s the least I can do, after all this place has given me.”

Wren leaned into his touch, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “Bear Creek has given me so much, too,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “When I came here, I was just looking for somewhere to hide. I never expected to find...belonging.”

“You belong, Wren,” he replied, kissing her lips.

“Okay, what about this garden?” Wren asked as they walked hand in hand across the grass where they had first made love.

That is staying, his bear teased.

The time flew by as they shared ideas and made plans. Until finally, Finn glanced at his watch and said, “I should get going. Mrs. Henderson will have my head if I’m late for her rose garden consultation.”

They walked back to the cottage together, his arm around her waist, her head resting against his shoulder. At the door, Finn turned to her, suddenly reluctant to leave despite knowing he’d see her in just a few hours.

He pulled her in for one last kiss, slow and deep, a promise in every press of his lips against hers. When they parted, he cradled her face in his hands, taking in every detail as if memorizing her.

“I love you,” he said simply, the words flowing out as naturally as breathing. Not rushed, not desperate, just true. So very true.

“I love you, too,” Wren answered without hesitation, and the certainty in her tone made his heart soar.

She reached up, straightening his collar with gentle fingers. “Try not to traumatize Mrs. Henderson with your bear’s opinions on her rose varieties.”

Finn laughed, stealing another quick kiss. “No promises. My bear has very strong feelings about hybrid teas.”

Her laughter followed him as he reluctantly pulled away, their fingers staying connected until the last possible moment. He walked backward down the path, unwilling to break eye contact until he absolutely had to.

“Tonight,” he called. “Six o’clock. Wear something bear-proof!”

Her answering smile was radiant in the morning light. Finn finally turned, climbing into his truck with a lightness in his step that made even the gravel beneath his boots seem to sing.

Just like his heart!