Page 88 of Savage Surrender

“You’re still an asshole, but I love it...” I rocked into her, making her whimper.

I’ve always been decent with investing, but nothing in my portfolio has ever paid off like her.

She used what was left of our knotted time together to discuss paint colors for her nest.

Her words.

I add a pry bar to the cart.

Weller glances at his phone before putting it away. “Ezra doesn’t have anyone he trusts enough to send. He and Megan will come themselves once everyone at the refuge is clear.”

“So there’s no outside coverage until they get here.”

“I’ll take the perimeter.”

“Even if her heat starts first?”

“I’ll stay outside until someone relieves me.”

“Do you think it’s strange?” I ask while Weller compares fire extinguishers.

“Frequently. You’ll need to be more specific.”

“We asked the man Bianca spent five years with to guard the house while she’s in heat with us.”

Weller checks the pressure gauge on the first extinguisher, rejects it, and reaches for another. By the time he reads that inspection tag too, I may have found the crack after all.

“No.”

I wait while he finishes reading.

“That was disappointingly painless.”

“Ezra has established that Bianca’s best interests come first.” Weller puts two extinguishers in the cart, then selects a third for upstairs. “He’s important to her, and he’s kept her safe. I can resent the circumstances, or I can trust what he’s proven. Only one of those is useful.”

Weller stills and pulls the phone from his pocket, turning it where the cashier can’t see it and reading the screen.

“It’s Mason.”

19

BIANCA

Honey shines on Freddie’s bottom lip. I drag my thumb through the sticky gold liquid, enjoying the way his eyes follow the movement before his mouth closes around me.

“You missed some,” I tell him as his dimples deepen around my thumb.

He went to the cute little bakery this morning and came back with enough boxes to feed everyone on the island because I mentioned wanting something sweet. If I let him, he’ll keep bringing me pastries until I explode.

I might let him. The fruit tart was to die for.

Our mess crowds the island - croissants shattered into buttery flakes wherever Owen has been standing. He eats like he’s never seen food before. The doors are open, and it’s breezy this morning. A gust lifts the hem of my cover-up.

Technically clothing. But slightly questionable when you’re not wearing anything underneath it. Freddie doesn’t seem to mind, although Weller keeps informing me that if I’m going outside, I need to put something under it.

His green eyes drift down when the breeze presses the fabric against my nipples. I take advantage of the distraction and steal the remaining half of the pastry on his plate. “Hey!” He pretends to grab for it.

“Ya snooze, ya lose. You were supposed to be eating it.”