Page 70 of Sweet Heart for the Bear

There’s no point in pretending.

We both know exactly what he’s talking about.

The tension between us is thick, humming with a current of unspoken things.

Horace exhales sharply, his fingers tightening just a fraction against my waist. “I am so sorry I jumped the gun. I should have explained first?—”

“Maybe,” I say, cutting him off gently as I press my hand to his chest, right over the frantic thunder of his heartbeat, “you can explain now?”

He nods, swallowing hard, and covers my hand with his own.

The moment he does, a deep rumbling vibration rolls through his chest—low, primal, unmistakably other.

I freeze, eyes widening in awe.

“Is-is that your Bear?” I whisper, feeling that magical, animalistic sound reverberate through my palm.

“Yes,” Horace says, his voice hoarse. “He wants to be near you, too.”

Something in my chest melts at that.

I smile, unable to hold it back, my heart stammering in my ribs.

“Okay,” I murmur. “Let’s talk.”

I lead him to the large three-cushion sofa near the window, pointing to the spot where I want him to sit. He obeys immediately, watching me with dark, hungry eyes as I lower myself beside him, turning to face him fully.

I shift, suddenly aware of the weight of his jacket still draped over my shoulders.

“Oh, um, I’m warm. Is it okay?” I ask, already sliding it off.

Horace’s eyes flick to my movement, and his cheeks darken, his jaw clenching.

“Shit,” he mutters, running a large, calloused hand through his already-mussed hair. “Yes, I’m sorry. Uh, my Bear, that is, he didn’t like having you undressed in front of so many people.”

My lips part in delight.

“So your Bear is possessive of me?” I ask, my inner book-lover swooning.

Holy cow.

Book-girl fantasies, unlocked.

My pulse kicks up, pounding so hard I’m surprised he can’t hear it.

Horace exhales heavily, eyes burning into mine. “Um, yeah. Well, not just my Bear.”

His fingers flex, like he’s physically restraining himself from touching me.

“Me,” he says, voice thick with raw emotion. “I need you so damn much, Carina.”

My breath catches.

“Because the Fates said so?” I ask softly, searching his expression.

His face hardens, and he shakes his head. Vehemently.

“No.” His voice is fierce, cutting through the air like steel. “I mean, Shifter lore is a lot like—like Plato’sThe Symposium!”

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