Page 51 of Fetch Me A Mate
"This isn't your fight, Diana."
"It is now. The moment they threatened this inn, threatened this community, it became my fight." She picked up the signed ward papers. "And now it's officially our fight. All of us."
Rowan felt the last of his walls crumble. She was right. Somehow, while he'd been focused on keeping everyone at arm's length, he'd become part of something bigger than pack politics and old grudges. Part of a community that chose to stand together.
"I'm sorry," he said. "About yesterday morning. About pushing you away when I should have trusted you to handle the truth."
"I know." Diana stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "You're forgiven. But don't do it again."
"I won't."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
She smiled again, this one softer, more intimate. "Good. Now, what do we do about your pack problem?"
We.The word hit him like salvation and terror in equal measure. They were in this together now, for better or worse.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "They say they’ll call on me when it’s time to decide whether to go back to them or watch them make good on their threats. I can;t imagine it will be much longer until I get that call."
"Then we have time to figure out a third option."
"Diana," he said again.
"Yes?"
"I want to stay. Whatever it takes, whatever we have to face, I want to stay here. With you."
"Then we'll make sure you can."
She leaned up and kissed him, soft and sure and full of faith in a future they'd build together. And finally, Rowan believed it might actually be possible.
25
DIANA
That kiss on the stairs was a promise, soft and sure, and it wasn’t enough. Rowan’s hand found hers, his fingers lacing through hers as he led her down into the quiet, sleeping inn. He didn’t lead her to the parlor with its ghosts of their first frantic encounter, nor up to a bedroom. Instead, he guided her into the kitchen, a space of nourishment and heart.
He pressed her back against the cool, smooth tile of the wall, and the contrast of its chill against her skin and the furnace of his body pressing into hers made her gasp.
His mouth found hers again, and this kiss was different. It wasn’t the desperate, storm-fueled claiming of before. This was a slow, deep exploration, a conversation without words. It spoke of relief, of coming home, of a rightness that settled deep in her bones. She learned the weight of his hands as they moved from her waist to her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks with a reverence that made her want to weep.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “For ever making you doubt. For pushing you away.”
“It’s okay,” she breathed, her hands tangling in the thick hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re here now.”
“I’m here now,” he repeated, the words a solemn vow.
Then his mouth began a slow, worshipful journey. He kissed her eyelids, her temples, the frantic pulse at the base of her throat. With painstaking deliberation, he began to unbutton her shirt, his lips following the path of newly revealed skin. Every touch was an apology; every kiss was a declaration. Her empathic sense was on fire, flooded with the pure, undiluted adoration pouring from him. It was overwhelming, a tidal wave of emotion—his regret for his harshness, his terror at the thought of losing her, and a profound, soul-deep devotion that left her breathless.
He slid the shirt from her shoulders, his gaze drinking in the sight of her in her simple lace bra. “Beautiful,” he rasped, his voice thick. He unhooked the clasp and let the garment fall away, his hands cupping her breasts with an almost holy reverence before he lowered his head, taking a nipple into his warm, wet mouth.
Pleasure, sharp and shocking, shot through her. She cried out, her fingers tightening in his hair. He suckled her gently, then harder, his tongue laving the sensitive peak until she was arching against the cool tile, a helpless moan escaping her lips. He gave equal attention to her other breast before trailing a line of open-mouthed kisses down her stomach.
He knelt before her, his hands finding the button of her jeans. He slid the zipper down, his knuckles a warm pressure against her lower belly. He eased the denim and her panties down her legs in one smooth motion, leaving her completely bare before him. The moonlight silvered her skin, and the look on his face—pure, unadulterated worship—was the most erotic thing she had ever seen.
“Rowan…” she whispered, her voice trembling.
