"I know." There was a pause, and I heard him set the tablet down. "I wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you." Something in his voice made me turn around. He was standing now, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. The golden light caught the sharp planes of his face, softening them slightly, and I was struck, not for the first time, by how handsome he was. Not in the obvious way Levi was handsome, or the rugged way Garrett was. Micah's attractiveness was quieter, more refined. The kind you noticed more the longer you looked.
"You're always doing that," I said softly. "Taking care of things in the background. Making sure everything runs smoothly without asking for credit."
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "That's my role in the pack."
"Is it?" I moved closer, drawn by something I couldn't name. "Or is it just what you've decided you're allowed to have?" The question hung in the air between us. Micah's composure flickered, just for a moment—and I saw something raw underneath. Something that looked almost like longing.
"I don't know what you mean," he said, but his voice was rougher than usual.
"Yes, you do." I was close enough now to touch him, close enough to smell rain and bergamot and old books. "You hold back, Micah. With me. I've noticed."
He was very still, like a deer caught in headlights. "I don't want to overwhelm you."
"That's not it. Or not all of it." I reached out, letting my fingers brush his forearm. He inhaled sharply at the contact. "Tell me the real reason." For a long moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. Then his shoulders dropped slightly, and some of the tension bled out of his posture.
"Oliver is the leader," he said quietly. "Garrett is the protector. Levi is the heart. They have clear roles, obvious ways of showing they care. I've never been... I'm not good at the emotional part. I show love through actions, through making things work, through solving problems. But that's not..." He paused, jaw working. "It's not romantic. It's not what sweeps someone off their feet."
"Micah..." I breathed, eyeing him and he cut me off before I could say anything more.
"I didn't want to compete with them." The words came out rough, almost pained. "For your attention. For your affection. I thought if I just... stayed in the background, made sure everything was taken care of, that would be enough. That you'd know how I felt without me having to—" He stopped abruptly, looking away.
My heart ached for him. This brilliant, careful man who had convinced himself that his way of loving wasn't enough. That he had to hide in the shadows while the others took center stage.
"You calibrated humidity sensors for me," I said softly. "You researched optimal soil compositions. You calculated light angles and set up automated irrigation and made sure mygreenhouse would be perfect in ways I wouldn't even think to ask for."
He still wasn't looking at me. "That's just?—"
"That's love," I interrupted firmly. "Maybe it doesn't look like grand gestures or pretty words, but it's love. And I see it, Micah. I seeyou."
His eyes finally met mine, and the vulnerability there made my breath catch. "You do?"
"I do." I stepped closer, eliminating the last of the distance between us. "And I want you, Micah. Just as much as I want the others. Not as a background character. Not as the one who holds everything together while everyone else gets the attention. I wantyou."
Something cracked behind his eyes. The careful control he always maintained, the composure that never seemed to waver, fractured, revealing the intensity he'd been hiding underneath.
"Daphne." My name on his lips was almost reverent. "If I start, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop."
"Then don't stop." He kissed me.
He kissed me like he'd been studying how to do it, like he'd analyzed every variable and calculated the optimal approach, and then executed it flawlessly. His hand came up to cup my jaw, tilting my head to exactly the right angle. His lips moved against mine with deliberate purpose, learning my responses, adjusting, perfecting.
It should have felt clinical. Instead, it felt like beingknown. I gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss. His other hand found my waist, pulling me closer, and I felt the moment his control started to slip, the slight tremor in his fingers, the roughening of his breath, the low sound that escaped his throat when I pressed myself against him.
"Daphne," he breathed against my lips. "I've wanted—for so long?—"
"Show me," I whispered back. "Show me how long."
Something snapped. Suddenly I was being walked backward, his hands gripping my hips with a firmness that sent heat racing through my veins. My back hit the potting table and Micah lifted me onto it in one fluid motion, stepping between my legs without breaking the kiss.
My heart stuttered as he pulled away from the kiss and looked down at me with a low growl "Micah...please." His hands tightened on my thighs, and he pulled me to the very edge of the table, flush against him. I could feel exactly what I did to him now, the evidence of his want pressing against my core through layers of fabric—and the knowledge sent a bolt of heat straight through me.
"Here?" His voice was strained, barely controlled. "In the greenhouse?"
"It's my space," I reminded him, echoing his earlier words. "I can do whatever I want in it."
Something that might have been a laugh escaped him—breathless and slightly wild. "You're going to be the death of me."
"Probably," I agreed, and pulled him back into another kiss. His hands found the hem of my shirt, fingers skating across the bare skin of my stomach, and I shivered at the contact. He was exploring every inch of newly revealed skin, cataloging my reactions, learning exactly where to touch to make me gasp.
