Page 55 of Grin and Bear It

“The timing of this information is suspicious,” she remarked, her professional focus returning instantly, though he noted with satisfaction that her fingers remained intertwined with his. “Almost like they wanted to be caught and questioned.”

“A trap?” he considered, squeezing her hand gently.

“Possibly,” she nodded. “But even obvious traps can be turned to advantage if you know they’re coming.”

As they strategized the drive home, Artair marveled at how naturally they worked together, how their minds aligned on tactical approaches while offering complementary perspectives. His bear rumbled with satisfaction at their compatibility, both in the field and... elsewhere.

When they returned to her apartment, he sensed the moment of awkward tension at the threshold. He watched Thora glance away, then at him, uncertainty in her eyes—wondering if expectations had changed after their kiss.

“Nothing has to change,” he assured her quietly, putting her comfort above his bear’s urging. “Not until you’re ready.”

The relief in her expression was mixed with something that looked remarkably like disappointment. She nodded, then surprised him by rising on her toes to press another quick kiss to his lips.

“Goodnight, Artair,” she whispered against his mouth before retreating into the building.

He watched her go, savoring the memory of her lips on his. His bear prowled restlessly inside him, satisfied with the progress yet hungry for more. But the human side of him understood what his animal instincts couldn’t—Thora Halliwell was worth waiting for.

The woman who never stayed anywhere more than three months had just kissed him goodnight. Voluntarily. That was more significant than any contract he’d ever negotiated.

Tomorrow, they’d hunt their prey at the Shadow Bazaar. Tonight, he’d dream of luminescent flowers and the taste of her lips against his. Of amber eyes that saw the man behind the power and money. Of a future where “three months” became forever.

His bear rumbled contentedly. They had time. She wasn’t running away. Not yet.

And if Artair Maxen had anything to say about it, not ever.

FIFTY

Thora studied her reflection in the tiny bathroom mirror of her temporary apartment. Two weeks in Enchanted Falls had changed something in her eyes. A softness had crept in where only determination used to live.

She splashed cold water on her face and stepped into the main room. The space remained as barren as the day she’d arrived, except for Bryn’s well-meaning attempts at decoration. A potted succulent drooped on the windowsill. A bright teal throw blanket lay folded over the arm of the couch, untouched since Bryn had placed it there.

Her laptop screen glowed on the kitchen counter. She tapped the mouse pad, revealing a rental listing she’d been studying—two bedrooms, yard space, six-month minimum lease. Her finger hovered over the “Contact Landlord” button before she clicked away.

What was she thinking? She never stayed anywhere long enough to need curtains, let alone a six-month lease.

A knock at the door sent her sabertooth shifting beneath her skin, instantly recognizing the scent before she’d even moved across the room. Artair. Her inner cat practically purred with satisfaction, which annoyed her human side to no end.

When she pulled the door open, he stood there with two coffee cups and a paper bag that smelled distinctly of honey and pastry.

“Breakfast,” he said simply. “May I come in?”

Thora accepted the coffee and stepped back to let him enter. Their fingers brushed during the exchange, and heat bloomed across her skin from that tiny point of contact.

“Black with a splash of cream,” she noted after taking a sip. “You remembered.”

“I pay attention.” His eyes swept the room, taking in her sparse belongings, before settling back on her face. The weight of his gaze made her stomach flutter in ways that had nothing to do with hunger.

“The Shadow Bazaar,” she said, redirecting to safer territory. “You said you had intel.”

Artair set down his coffee and pulled maps from a leather messenger bag. As he spread them across her small table, Thora found herself noticing details—the precise movement of his hands, the slight furrow between his brows as he concentrated, the way his presence somehow filled her tiny apartment.

“The Bazaar moves locations, but maintains similar architectural elements,” he explained, his deep voice vibrating through the quiet space. “Underground tunnels, multiple escape routes, central trading floor. Tonight it’s in the abandoned quarry north of town.”

Thora leaned over the maps, ignoring the warmth radiating from him as they stood side by side. “Entry points?”

“Main entrance here, emergency exits here and here.” His finger traced the paths, brushing against hers as they both pointed to the same junction.

The contact sent a jolt of awareness up her arm. She didn’t pull away.

---