Page 105 of Abel's Omega
It was Dale, and something that looked like…room service. “It’s okay. He was our waiter downstairs.” Abel waved Mac away from the door and opened it.
“Mr. Mercy Hills, I hope we’re not disturbing you.” Dale opened his hand toward the cart in a ta-da motion. “I talked to chef, and told him how it was your honeymoon and he was annoyed, so he sent this up for you and your, uh, husband.”
“It’s mate. But thank you. Should I pay for it now, or does it go on our bill?”
“Oh, no charge,” Dale said airily as he pushed the cart inside the room. He stopped dead when he saw Mac. “Holy crap, are you all this big?”
Bax’s laughter pealed out from the other end of the room. “That’s what the redhead’s mate said when he first met them.” He came around the corner, his gorgeous smile playing around his lips. “But really, we should pay for this.”
Dale shook his head. “No, chef said. But, if you don’t mind…” He turned bright red and looked down at his feet, practically squirming. “Could I have an autograph?” he asked in a rush, barely audible. His awkward glance bounced between the two of them like Fan on full moon night.
Mac turned away to pick up his jacket. “I’ll leave you three alone,” he said, but his voice was strained with suppressed laughter.
Bax came over to peek inside the covers on the cart. “Oh,” he said, and breathed deeply. “That smells amazing.”
“I’ll be sure to tell chef,” Dale said, obviously pleased.
“Dale wants an autograph,” Abel reminded Bax in his primmest tone.
“I’m sure I can find a pen for you,” Bax said, grinning, and turned to rummage in the desk at the side of the room. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Mac.”
“As soon as curfew’s over,” Mac returned and saluted as he went out the door.
Bax came back with a pen and Dale pulled out a rolled up copy of the magazine with the latest story in it—which he handed to Bax. “Please?” he said in a pleading tone.
Abel froze in shock, then the ridiculousness of the situation hit him and he started to laugh. Bax frowned at him, but he took the pen with a baffled smile and signed the picture Dale indicated.
Bax pointedly passed the pen and the magazine over to Abel. Abel looked at the picture with Bax’s signature on it—it was a good one, showing off Bax’s lean figure and the sweetness of his smile. They were walking underneath the trees, hand in hand, with Noah on Abel’s hip and Beatrice hanging from Bax’s hand. The other two pups galloped ahead in wolf form, mouths wide and tongues lolling. He remembered that day; Abel had spent the entire walk telling Bax jokes, and stories from when he was young. The photographer had caught them in mid-laugh, heads turned toward each other, while the pups looked as happy as pups could look. “Wow,” he said.
“Yeah, you guys look great,” Dale enthused, then went red and glanced awkwardly at Bax.
Abel wondered a moment why he wasn’t even a little jealous, but then he realized that Bax was amused by the young waiter, but not particularly flattered. “We should probably eat,” Abel said. “Before it gets cold.”
“Oh, yes, I’m so sorry. I hope you like it, and you have a great stay here.” Dale went from crimson to scarlet. “I mean, better now, anyway. Chef left a note that you’re to get breakfast too. We can bring it up here if you want.”
Abel glanced over at Bax in bemused indecision. What the hell was going on?
Bax eyed Dale cautiously. “Thank you. Can I think about it? It’ll depend on what the pups are like.”
“Oh, you have pups? We aren’t a pet friendly hotel, but I won’t tell anyone.”
“Children, Dale. We call them pups.” Bax started crowding him toward the door. “If you’re around tomorrow, I’ll introduce you.” He had Dale out in the hallway now, and he stood in the door saying goodbye until the young human had rounded the corner. And not a moment too soon—they hardly had the cart wheeled into the living room before the heavy thunk of the magnetic locks sounded from the door. They were locked in now.
But they were locked in together, which wasn’t a bad place to be.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
We ate, and it was as delicious as it smelled. Abel drank wine, but—keeping Adelaide’s counsel in mind—I stuck to water.
There was dessert as well, berries on a rich cookie-like base, with whipped cream and some sweet sauce. I scraped the bowl clean, then wiped the last traces up with my fingers, sucking them clean to the tune of Abel’s laughter.
“I’ve never had anything so good,” I told him. “Certainly not anything I’ve ever made.”
“Here then.” He swiped one of his fingers around his bowl and held it out to me.
My breath caught and I leaned forward to take his finger into my mouth, the sauce all the sweeter for the warmth of his body. He watched me the way a hunter watches prey, and a shiver of delight ran over my skin.
“Let’s dance,” he suggested when I’d licked his finger clean, and pulled me to my feet. I was hoping he meant bedroom dancing, but instead, he turned on the television and flicked through the channels until he found one playing slow, romantic music. “Come here.” He put one arm around my waist, took my hand in his free one, and began to slowly guide me around the room in time to the music.
