The truth of that settled heavy in my chest. I’d spent my whole adult life keeping people at arm’s length. Work was easier than relationships—contracts, courtrooms, negotiations. That’s what I did, what I was good at. I’d watched my grandmother choose her career over everything else, and I’d learned that lesson well. This would be the same—a means to an end, nothing more.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Kenai said softly, and something in his tone made my throat tighten.
“Look, I appreciate whatever this is”—I gestured vaguely at his earnest expression—“but I don’t need the gentle treatment. I need a solution, and you’ve given me one.”
Taimyr was watching me with those dark, knowing eyes. “Has anyone ever taken care of you, Sylvie? Not as a transaction. Just…taken care of you?”
The question hit harder than it should have. I felt my walls slam into place. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”
“Sylvie—” Kenai’s voice was so gentle it made my chest ache.
“Stop.” I held up a hand. “Please. I can’t…I don’t do this. The feelings thing, the soft words, the looking at me like—well, I can’t.” My voice cracked despite my best efforts. “Let’s just keep this simple. Clinical. You help me through the heat, I don’t make it weird by expecting anything beyond that. It should help your rut too, right?”
The silence that followed was crushing.
Kenai’s silver eyes shone with so much care I couldn’t hold his gaze. “Of course, Sylvie. Whatever you need.”
Chapter Eight
Sylvie
Kenai stood, extending his hand to me. This wasn’t like my other Tinder dates or drunken hookups. He wasn’t pushing me, wasn’t rushing to get me into bed, despite the heat I could smellrolling off him—the scent that had my thighs clenching as my nerves throbbed. But he didn’t move, just held out his hand, waiting for me.
I took it, ready to say something snarky, but as our skin met, everything in me stilled.He’s safe. He’s home. It’s safe to trust him.
He led me through the chalet to his bedroom. It was huge, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sharp peaks. Snow fell silently outside—soft, heavy flakes that floated in all directions, as if they had a will of their own. The floor was linedwith a jute, or perhaps straw, rug. I guessed reindeer wouldn’t want a fur one.
His bed was massive, bigger than a California king, and piled high with fluffy-looking blankets I immediately wanted to dive into. My body moved of its own accord, and I tossed myself into the pile. It smelled like Kenai—fresh and clean, with spicy hints of peppermint and cardamom. That fragrance was mixed with something else, something closer to rain and cloves. I buried my face deeper until I was almost consumed. The two scents together were even better than Kenai’s alone, and every nerve in my body calmed as I wrapped myself in it. This felt right, being nestled in soft fabrics, surrounded by traces of my alpha.
That thought jolted me back to reality. I realized Kenai had been speaking.
“—touch you?”
“What?” I asked, my mind barely attached to my body.
“Can I touch you, Sylvie?”
“Yes.”Verbal consent.The lawyer in me was still awake somewhere in there.
Warm hands wrapped around my waist, and a broad chest pressed against my back as he curled up behind me. His lips found the base of my neck, and I immediately let out a very pathetic whimper.
His hands were gentle. Too gentle. I wasn’t used to that. The sex I’d been having was fast and rough and occasionally ended in an orgasm. This wasn’t that.
I wanted him to stop being so kind. In my experience, kindness held ulterior motives, and accepting it meant showing weakness. Kindness required trust, and trust required vulnerability—and I’d built my entire life around never being vulnerable. Ever.
But deep inside me something was purring, settled, finally feeling safe.
Safe. When had I ever felt safe with someone?
“You’re shaking,” Kenai murmured against my neck, his breath hot on my skin.
“Cold,” I managed, though we both knew I was lying. The heat was a living thing inside me now, coiling tighter with every second his hands lingered on my waist, every brush of his lips against my throat.
“Is that so?” His voice was amused. His hands slid up my sides slowly, deliberately, barely touching me—and it was torture. “Let me warm you up. Tell me what you need.”
You. I need you. Please.
But I couldn’t say that. Couldn’t admit how desperately I wanted him, how the heat was burning away every rational thought until all that remained was need.
