Page 33 of Bearly Yours
“Yes. And I always try to keep my promises. But I warn you. At least one of my hoards might try to bite you.”
I laughed. “Noted.”
Following my GPS,I made my way to Roarke’s street, and his elaborate gated entrance, which looked like it should be protected by a retinal scan instead of an easily sussed four digit code. I put in the code, then watched in a little bit of awe as the gates swung open for me. I drove through, and then gaped as I drove up the long street to Roarke’s house.
There were woods to either side of the driveway, but they didn’t look dark and gloomy, even in winter. They looked pristine and well cared for. There were even lamp posts with old-fashioned electric lanterns set along the driveway. They weren’t lit now, but I imagined they were beautiful during the evening and nighttime hours.
The driveway ended in a large courtyard-style parking area set in front of a huge, rambling farmhouse-style house. I parked next to a brown marble fountain that dominated the courtyard,and gaped some more when I noticed that the fountain was of a mama bear and her cubs.
I blinked back tears and continued to stare at it, my heart in my throat, until a rooster landed on my SUV’s hood, looked through the windshield at me with its beady little eyes, and then crowed loudly enough to wake the dead.
I thought about using the horn to give it the scare of its life, but decided against it. This must be part of Roarke’s hoard. At least part of the hoard that he said might bite me.
I reached into my back seat and scrounged around for my thick leather gloves. They were great for when I didn’t want to rip up my hands and I needed to do some heavy lifting. They came past my wrists and hit mid-forearm.
I put the gloves on, then grabbed my backpack purse, which I never went anywhere without. It was big enough to stash all of the junk I needed day-to-day, but didn’t have those long useless straps that I hated. Who wanted a purse that basically fell to their knees? Giants? I’d never actually seen a giant who carried a purse, but I supposed it was possible.
I stepped out of my SUV to face the rooster, and I could practically hear the soundtrack that always played on movies when the two characters were going to have a shootout at high noon.
“Go ahead, punk. Make my day.” Yes, I said it like Clint Eastwood. I couldn’t help myself.
The rooster squawked loudly, ruffled his feathers so they puffed out and made him look bigger, and attacked, but I was ready for him. I grabbed his beefy body—seriously, what was Roarke feeding him?—and held him close to my body to incapacitate him, while also using my other gloved hand to hold his beak closed. I glared him into stillness.
“I’m a bear, you idiot. I could eat you with one bite. Not a smart move, my friend.”
Roarke suddenly jerked the front door open and ran to help me, cursing up a storm, and cursing out Crew the rooster.
He took him from me. I hardly noticed because Roarke was in athletic shorts and nothing else, and his body was covered in soap suds.
I blinked. Then blinked again.
Roarke was saying words, but it sounded like wha wha wha, and wha wha wha. Like the teacher in the Charlie Brown movies.
I was just taking off one of my leather gloves, fully intending to touch the masterpiece that was his sudsy chest, when he walked away, still cursing out the rooster as he headed around the side of his house, to, I assume, put the bird away.
My blinking had stopped, but now...I put my ungloved hand up to my cheek. I think I had a fever. And yes, the Peggy Lee songFeverstarted playing in my head just then. My brain was a weird and wondrous thing.
I fanned myself with my glove. This late January sun was unseasonably warm this year. The weather wizards should get right on that.
Roarke came back sans rooster and led me into his house. I closed my eyes and drew in the amazing doughy-flavored air, tinged with the scent of jalapenos and cheese, then I opened my eyes and grinned.
“You made pretzels and cheese!”
Roarke laughed. “Of course I did.” He shook his head, like he was maybe wondering why I’d ever doubted him. “Go ahead and have a seat. I just need to finish my quick shower and get dressed.” Then he gave me a quelling look. “Don’t wander just yet. A dragon’s hoards are deeply personal. I want to show them to you myself.”
I looked at his couch and laughed at the sheer number of decorative and non-decorative pillows there. There were dozens, just on his couch and chairs alone. “Well, I’m sorry to tell youthis, big guy, but I think I already figured two of your hoards out.”
He put his hands on his hips and frowned, which, incidentally, drew attention to his chest again, and the muscles upon muscles there. I wanted to reprimand myself. Seriously. I hated it when guys objectified girls. But this wasn’tanyguy, and I wasn’tanygirl. This was Roarke. And if my hazy dreamlike memories of yesterday weren’t failing me—this was mymate.
So, did I enjoy the view as he walked away muttering under his breath about sneaky females coming over early?
Yes. Yes I did.
And I didn’t feel guilty about it one bit.
As a matter of fact, I was kinda proud of myself.
I sat on the couch, utilizing a few of his beautiful, very fluffy pillows, and laid my head agains the backrest and closed my eyes. I was still tired from my late night, and I’d already resigned myself to getting absolutely zero work done today. I had to finish Roarke’s ocean table before I could start on Mia and King Draven’s library, and I wanted to start soon, so I was itching to finish the table as soon as possible. I’d already let the Pirate’s Chest know that I wasn’t taking any new orders for a while.
