Page 44 of The Alien Warlord's Fated Mate

But there were other ways to provide, and this he addressed now. “Are you satisfied with this studio apartment?”

She huffed at his carefully phrased question. “It’s fine. Cozy. I love the view.”

He hummed an assent. “It is not too small?”

“For us? No. Why?”

“You are my mate. Thus must I please you in all things.”

“Are you teasing me?” She leaned in, caught the glimmer in his eyes, and laughed. “I like the apartment, Zoran. It’s a little spartan, but it suits you.”

He fixed his gaze on his meal, searching for the right words. “It should suit you as well. If you should want to change anything, perhaps add color or the fripperies females enjoy, then you must feel free to do so, with my blessings.”

“What would you know about fripperies?”

“I have a mother and a sister. Had a sister.”

Her humor drained away and she set down her spoon. “Had?”

“Her life was claimed in the earthquakes. She was working in anotherjutji—” His throat closed, and he laid his own spoon aside. “She liked colorful things. Feminine things.”

Mia’s hand slid into his, small and warm and comforting. “You miss her.”

“Every day. My father, too.”

She sucked in a breath. “Oh, Zoran. I’m so sorry. Come here.”

Mia held out her arms, and he, in this unexpected sorrow, was helpless to resist her. He drew her against him, there on the cushions, and buried his face in her throat as he had wished to do earlier. She accepted him now, cradling him to her, her touch tender and thrilling and welcome.

They sat like that for a long time, while their meal grew cold and Zephyria’s small moons shone like bright jewels against the sky beyond their home. She stroked his hair, murmuring nonsensical things to him, and gradually, the sorrow and guilt loosened within his chest.

When he could draw himself away, he shifted his hold on her, pulling her across his lap with one arm supporting her back and a hand on her hip. Her eyes were brilliant and calm, and in them he found a quiet understanding.

“You smell nice,” he said.

A quick smile flashed across her face. “I just washed my hair.”

“Your hair is beautiful.” He skimmed a hand up her side and fingered a strand, letting it slide against his palm over and over again. “Soft. Like midnight.”

She softened against him and pressed her palm flat against his bare chest. “Thank you for the chocolate. And the comb. And the clothes.”

A pleased growl rumbled through him. “The chocolate was good?”

“Chocolate is always good.”

Her hand skimmed down his chest and back up again, and he realized she was petting him, as if he were a wild animal she had caught and sought to tame. How right she was, he thought, inordinately pleased. She was his to claim. He was hers to tame.

“Were you serious about the fripperies? I’ve already spent so much on clothes.”

His upper lip curled in a faint snarl. “Woman, you have barely enough clothing to last a senna.”

“Senna?”

He held up four fingers to show her the duration.

“Four days?” she guessed.

“Yes, mate. And what little you bought is not nearly enough. You will have to work much harder to beggar me.”

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