Page 50 of Misbehaving With Minotaurs
She spins in place, slipping both hands up my shirt and over my chest. “Pretty damn big, yeah.”
Chuckling, I dip down and nuzzle her jawline. “I’m equalparts desperate to show you off and desperate to chain you to this bed. Maybe do what my ancestors are famous for and throw you into a maze so I can hunt you down and have you.”
She shrugs. “Why not both, Manorin? Let’s go to the dance—you’ve been so excited for it. We don’t have to stay all night. I didn’t pack chains, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Her wink has my cock rising again. “I can’t sort out the maze part though, sorry.”
She pops onto her tiptoes and kisses the tip of my snout, inside my nose ring. It tickles the tiny hairs on the surface of my skin, and I shake my head with a laugh, rubbing at my nose.
“Ticklish,” I admit as one of her dark brows rises.
We manage to make it out of the room with minimal fuckery, which is saying something because that godsdamned outfit is going to be the end of me. Catherine exits the inn just ahead of me, her big ass fully highlighted in the tight jeans. It’s perfectly peachy and round, and those dimples are begging for my tongue.
Again.
“I can feel you staring.” She cuts me a saucy look over her shoulder.
“Who wouldn’t?” I manage, pulling her to me, back to my front as we wait for the train to come through.
Catherine settles against me, pulling my arm around her soft belly. I slip my fingers into the waistband of her jeans.
I’m falling in love. Shit, I don’t know that I was everoutof love, but she was far away and eventually took a mate, and I was focused on my career. I dated, but nobody was ever her. And now Catherine’s here in my arms, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do if I don’t get the Ever job.
We said no strings attached, but I should have known it wouldn’t be possible for me to do that. Being with her is as easy as breathing. I want to tell her, but she’s already concernedabout how much romance I’m putting into this arrangement. Part of me suspects it’s because she’s got feelings going on too.
We need to talk about that.
“Cath,” I murmur in her ear, my arms tightening around her.
She rests her head on my chest, looking up at me. “Yes, Manorin?”
Just then, the train whooshes into view, whistle screaming as she rounds the corner.
“I’m excited for tonight,” I offer. Now’s not the right time to tell her what I’m feeling. Not as we’re stepping onto a busy train full of partygoers. But soon—maybe later tonight.
Mabel chugs to a stop, every car’s doors opening wide.
We enter to find the train packed to the brim, nearly every seat taken.
“The barn dance is kind of a big deal,” I admit as I guide us toward the seats I pre-purchased. When we get there, a pixie mother holds a small child in her lap, marveling at the scene outside the window. Only one of our two seats is free. I offer the first to Catherine, and the pixie looks up at me with a bashful smile.
“Oh, this seat must be yours! We were just hoping to get a quick peek of downtown, but we’ll scoo?—”
“Stay.” I widen my stance. “Enjoy the view, both of you. It’ll only take about twenty minutes and I’m fine.”
Catherine grins up at me, then stands, pressing her back to my front. “If you’re standing, I’m standing as well.”
Smiling, I bury my face in her hair as the train pulls forward, steaming into the night.
It’s a quick quarter hour to the Shorthorn Double L Ranch, Rip Shorthorn’s family home. When Mabel chugs to a stop and the train car doors open, gasps rise up as the revelers see the barn for the first time.
I recognize a lot of folks on the train, but there are plenty ofnew faces too. Seems like the Gulch is experiencing its own tourism boost thanks to the headquarters’ new portal station.
When we exit the train and the famous Shorthorn barn comes into view, Catherine’s surprised gasp joins the other monsters’. Shorthorn’s barn is fucking gorgeous…I’ll give him that. It makes a hell of a first impression. Not to mention the rippling siding highlights a fresh coat of red paint. Lights guide our way to the enormous structure—two stories with a paneled roof.
“It’s even more beautiful inside,” I say. Upbeat music echoes faintly from the open barn doors.
I slip an arm around Catherine’s waist as we walk with the crowd toward the giant barn. Lights under the trim illuminate the left side, where a huge mural of dancing monsters hints at what’s in store tonight. I point Cath toward it.
“Rip Shorthorn’s grandfather painted that about a century or so ago, when they first started doing a barn dance to accompany the moving of the cattle.”
