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He couldn’t have appeared more different from his brother. In fact, he could have easily been mistaken for Lucas’s brother instead of Desmond’s.
“I can’t leave you two alone for a night?” he scolded.
“Lucas can’t cook.”
“I could have told you that.”
The wolf king glowered at us, but with the haze of gray smoke clouding the room, the evidence was stacked against him. He didn’t argue.
Dominick came into the kitchen and, with one hand on either side of my waist, moved me away from the oven. He relieved Lucas of the oven mitts, then placed the charred remains of our dinner on the counter. It had once been a lovely roast, but now it was a blackened hunk of beef that didn’t resemble anything more than a funeral pyre.
“Sit,” the royal bodyguard insisted, and both Lucas and I did as we were told, perching side by side at the island.
For the next half hour, Dominick proved Grace Alvarez didn’t raise any slackers when it came to kitchen prowess. The short werewolf navigated the room with ease and confidence, mixing sauce and braising meat like he could do it in his sleep. A smirk of approval painted my lips when I watched him barely touch our steaks to the pan before declaring them perfect.
He set two plates in front of us, each with a large steak in red wine sauce and a side of whiskey-glazed baby potatoes. The kitchen no longer smelled of smoke and frustration, and even Lucas was smiling and laughing as Dominick told us a story about how badly his little sister Penny had once burned a batch of chocolate-chip cookies.
When all was said and done, Dominick placed a fraternal kiss on the top of my head and slipped out of the kitchen like a culinary ghost.
“Why, Lucas,” I declared dramatically. “I didn’t know you were so skilled in the kitchen.”
“I don’t like to brag.” He was cutting into his steak, fighting a grin. “But I’m skilled in a lot of other ways too.”
Those words, and the heated glance that followed, made me shiver.
I looked back at my meal, suddenly engrossed in the food. “Let’s eat.”
One of the perks of dating a billionaire was access to the most unprecedented views of the city.
I love New York more than any place in the world. Everything from the dirty sidewalks of Chinatown to the clean white lines of the Museum of Modern Art warmed my heart and made me smile. It was a city I normally saw from the ground floor looking up, so when I got to look at it from eighty floors overhead, it was like being in heaven and gazing down at the earth.
Having never seen the city in daylight, I wondered if it could match the magic of a Manhattan night. With all the lights and the sinewy lines of white and red traffic, could it possibly look as beautiful in the sun?
Lucas’s reflection in the window gave away his approach, but I acted surprised when he came up behind me and handed me a glass of red wine.
“I love this room.” Since Lucas and I had begun dating last year, I’d had a chance to see every room in his three-story penthouse in Rain Hotel. The massive lounge on the third floor was by far my favorite. The couches were black microsuede, and there was a stocked bar on the back wall. But it was the view I liked best. A full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows provided a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the city.
When the lights in the room were turned off, it was like nothing stood between us and the city.
Wait, when did he turn the lights off?
Warm breath puffed against my neck, reigniting the shivers I’d felt at dinner. His nose traced the line of my jaw, his mouth skimming against my throat making goose bumps explode all over my body. When Lucas looped his arms around my waist, pulling me close to him, the heat of his body was surprising. Since I was always an average temperature, the presence of a werewolf was like standing next to an open flame. I was used to Desmond, but Lucas felt different somehow.
He nipped my earlobe, and I took a big swallow of the wine he’d given me.
“This is great. Cabernet?” The moment I said it I knew I was babbling like an idiot. Of course it wasn’t a cabernet; I could have figured that out on my own just from the taste.
“Pinot noir,” he whispered against my skin. The name of a wine had never sounded so sensual.
Damn my fickle libido. A familiar hot tingle was stealing through me, turning to molten heat under the surface of my skin. Everywhere he touched me—and his hands were roaming now—felt like I was being burned. Only it wasn’t unpleasant. It was never unpleasant when Lucas touched me.
Which was why I tried to avoid it.
I understood perfectly well that my soul-bond with him made me respond to him as a mate. But I was living with Desmond, I loved Desmond, and where I came from it meant something to be in love. The problem with the bond was that my metaphysical connection to Lucas was actually stronger than my connection to Desmond. So although my emotional attachment to the wolf lieutenant was deeper, my bond to Lucas was almost overpowering. It had overshadowed the secondary bond altogether the first time I met the two of them.
When I was in close quarters with Lucas—with his hands all over me and his voice so intoxicating in my ear—the bond fought to squash reason. Sure, you love Desmond, it said, but this is right too
.
