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Her eyes snap up, meeting mine. “Yes,” she answers immediately.
I take her hand and rub my palm over hers, watching her eyes cloud with animosity.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like the way he makes you feel.”
Me?
He made her uncomfortable, I’m sure. His eyes traveled her body and the way his words disregarded her made me ill with hate. Still, I joined him, saying things I couldn’t possibly mean, just to guide his attention elsewhere. She has every right to be upset. She has every right not to want to face him because of our conversation, but I never expected her to feel so protective ofme.
Bringing her hand to my mouth, I kiss a trail from her palm to her inner elbow. “You protecting me, Winter?”
Her mouth quirks into a smirk. “Of course, Aleck. I protect what’s mine.”
Fire—my chest stings with it. A burning heat I’ve only ever felt once; when my adoptive parents told me they loved me for the first time.
It didn’t happen right away. At first, I was a stranger living in their home. A stranger who was clearly cut from a different cloth and struggling to fit in. It took four months to hear the words I had never heard from another person. Not even my birth parents said them to me.
The words came from Mildred first. She said them while I was setting the table before dinner, and I stilled, turning toward her to observe her expression. I wasn’t sure I actually heard what I thought I heard. When I internally battled with myself to garner the right reaction, she repeated herself and tears filled my eyes. I told her I had never been loved before and she cried, too. From that moment on, she’s said it every single day. Even if it’s just in a text, even if most of the time, I don’t say it back.
Later that week, Richard called me “son”for the first time, and said he loved me, too. She had talked to him, I was sure, but I figured he wouldn’t have said the words if he didn’t mean them. I soon after started calling them mom and dad.
The fire burning in my chestnowis a lot like the one I feltthen, and I guess I can attribute that feeling to someone I so admire deciding I’m important enough to care for. And no matter my age, no matter how many years pass, I’m still stunned when I’m shown genuine affection.
Meager scraps to a rat is a feast, I guess.
I clear my throat, feeling a myriad of emotions clinging to my insides so they don’t rise to the surface, and take a deep breath. “Uh, he won’t be here. He has plans.”
“Good.” She smiles. “You know how hard it is for me to bite my tongue, and I have a feeling Hayden would make me bite it clean off.”
I laugh and lean forward, bringing my lips to hers. “I like your tongue, and I’ll protect it at all costs.” I give her a small kiss, knowing if I give her more, we’ll have to make a pit stop in the garage before we go inside. An entire evening keeping my hands off Winter is going to be hell—good thing I’m well acquainted with it.
“Come on,” I say, opening the car door. “Let’s get this over with so I can take you back to our suite and make good on my promise to do ungodly things to your body on the balcony.”
Walking around to the passenger side of my Tesla, I open Winter’s door and grab her hand to help her out. Then I lead us up the slate walkway to the sleek gable-style porch.
“Do you want a safe word?” I ask as I reach for the door.
“Why would I need a safe word, Aleck?”
I laugh, ignoring her panic, and open the front door.
“Aleck!” she hisses.
“I’ll come to your rescue if you say nipple clamp,” I whisper before stepping through the threshold.
“Oh, Jesus,” she mutters, pulling a deeper laugh from my chest.
Walking into the house, the open concept design of the first floor immediately gives you a full view of the common area, a good portion of the kitchen, dining room, and most of the deck beyond the windows. Very similar to our suite at the resort, but unlike the suite, the setting is warm and cozy. Pillows and fuzzy blankets draped over everything. An eternally lit fireplace, no matter what time of year it is, crackling into the room. And freshly cut flowers in jars, vases, and unconventional repurposed vessels set on every surface of the house.
Everything in the suite is granite and crisp white, the warmest thing there being Winter.
My dad sips amber liquid, I’m assuming is whiskey, from a crystal tumbler in his favorite chair across the room.
“Aleck, my son!”
“Pops, good to see you.” I slide my hand down Winter’s spine, leaving it firmly placed on the small of her back so she feels me near.
