Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 121389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“Ivan?” she said when he emerged from the bedroom after dropping off the bags.
He looked up from his phone. “Sorry, message from Canto with an update on an ongoing security issue we’re looking into. It’s not urgent.” Slipping the phone away, he came to lean his shoulder on the wall at the end of the counter where she was preparing the second sheet of cookies. “What is it?”
“Your grandmother helped you create your shields against what you call the spider, right?”
“Yes, but they no longer work—or only to a limited capacity.”
Soleil used a fork to flatten the balls of cookie dough. “It’s been two decades, give or take. Why don’t you talk to her again? Could be she has some new ideas.”
When he stayed silent, she looked up. “I know you don’t want to do it because she’s never going to accept your cage plan—but that ship has sailed all the way to outer space. Your mate isn’t about to accept that, either.” She shook the fork at him. “No point being a chicken about your grandmother’s fury.”
A narrowing of his eyes before he walked over … and nipped sharply at her ear, exactly as she might do to a misbehaving cub. Squealing, she threatened to poke him with the fork. He managed to stay out of reach as he got behind her and wrapped her up in his arms, pinning her own gently to her sides.
“Take that back,” he murmured in her ear, the rumble of sound making her toes curl onto the wood of the floor.
“No.”
He tickled her.
“Hey!” That wasn’t fair! He wasn’t supposed to know how to tickle! But he’d somehow learned, and she couldn’t take it. Giggling so hard she dropped the fork on the counter, she said, “I surrender!”
“And?”
“And you’re no chicken.” Turning her head, she nuzzled his jaw, her cat so utterly delighted with him for playing with her that she’d let him get away with anything right now. “Where did you learn the tickling?”
“I caught a glimpse of the memory when you told me about how your mother used to tickle you.”
Of course he’d remembered that, because he remembered everything about her. Now, holding her from behind, he rubbed his face against the side of hers. “You’re right about one thing—the situation has changed. I’ll talk to Grandmother. You can meet her, too.”
A fleet of butterflies in her stomach. “I’m ready.” No, she wasn’t, but she’d fake it until she made it.
Five minutes later, Ivan told her he’d set the meeting for six thirty that evening, on the heels of when Salvador would be heading home with the cubs. Sal had told her in advance that they’d promised to have dinner with Yariela, so they wouldn’t be staying to eat.
“Yariela said she’d have invited you,” he’d said, a smile in his tone, “but then she heard that it’ll be your first night in your new aerie with your mate and told me to make sure the cubs and I didn’t hang around too long.” The affectionately teasing tone of a packmate.
Oh, how she’d missed these small interactions, all of them part of the larger tapestry of being a member of a pack. “Talking of hearing things,” she’d said in turn, “how was your date, hmm?”
Salvador’s blush had been apparent in his voice. “I’ll tell you all about it when I come over.”
That time arrived all too soon, and Soleil yelped at the realization that she still had no panties. Ripping open the relevant package, she picked the thinnest pair, then ran into the bathroom to handwash them. At some point, Ivan, who’d been on a call, came over to see what she was doing. “Why,” he said, “are you using a hair dryer to dry those?”
She ran the long flat stick over the lacy panties she was holding in one hand. “Because I don’t want to wear wet panties!”
“I thought changelings weren’t troubled by nudity.”
“I’m not worried about Sal and the cubs, but we’re heading to see your grandmother straight after and I am not meeting her without panties!”
Arms folded over the casual short-sleeved black shirt he’d changed into, he leaned against the doorjamb. “Grandmother is a woman of many talents, but she doesn’t have x-ray vision.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She willed the stupid thing to dry; it was a damn itsy bit of lace she’d bought in an Ivan-induced sensual fugue. “I’ll know.”
“I’ll just tell her you had a wardrobe malfunction.”
Her head all but swiveled on her neck. “What!” Then she felt it, the ripple along the mating bond that was Ivan Mercant teasing her.
She pointed the dryer at him. “I will get you. Later. After I dry these damn panties.”
Someone, somewhere had mercy on her and the lace was dry enough to wear comfortably by the time she had to scramble down the tree to meet the cubs. Ivan was already there, having carried down the cookies for her, as well as a closed bottle of chilled milk. He’d then done a second run to grab the glasses and a picnic blanket that he’d already spread out by the time she—and her panties—made it down.