Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 267

Chapter 267: Grace: Romance (II)

CAINE

The roses are a problem. Cloying and floral, when all I want to smell is blueberry muffins and the sweet scent of Grace’s warm skin. Especially at her throat when her pulse runs fast.

I inhale through my mouth instead, determined to show my gentlemanly side instead of throwing her onto the bed and burying my face in her neck to breathe her in at my leisure.

After all, I’d specifically ordered romance. I’ll survive the rose bombardment as long as it makes her happy, even if I’d expected atmosphere and not a goddamned botanical garden.

Grace stands by the dining table, her back half-turned to me. The overhead light catches the curve of her jaw. The dip of her collarbone. The way her blonde hair falls across the nape of her neck, exposing a strip of skin tantalizing me for the last twenty minutes.

It won’t be untouched for long.

As long as you don’t screw it up.

I clench my jaw. Fenris had been blessedly, uncharacteristically silent...

You were monologuing. I got bored.

I slam the mental door shut on him, my eyes falling to the strip of innuendo disguised as lace under her pile of clothes. A soft, approving hum escapes my throat, though I’m not sure she’d make it into public before I ripped them off her.

Then I haul my instincts back in line and toss the offensive shopping bags onto the sofa with more force than necessary.

My throat tightens. The image arrives uninvited and fully formed: that scrap of nothing stretched across her hips, the bow centered just below her navel, the black lace barely—

Grace glances over her shoulder.

I adjust my stance. The situation below my belt has been escalating since the truck, since she climbed across the console to sit closer, since her hand found my thigh and rested there. I am the Lycan King. I have fought wars. I have held entire packs in submission with nothing but my presence.

I am perfectly capable of not mauling my mate in a hotel room.

Grace turns around, oblivious to the way I’m sniffing the air to get even a hint of her blueberry scent under the roses, then points and says, "There’s a bedroom," with a pink flush to her cheeks and an unnatural avoidance of my eyes.

We’re clearly on the same page.

Flimsy control snaps apart and I pivot.

Three strides and I’m there, suddenly awash in her scent, and I do what every Lycan does best.

I throw her sweet little ass over my shoulder.

My shoulder meets her stomach. I lift. She folds over me with a sharp exhale, her palms flat against my back, her legs kicking out once as her entire body goes stiff.

"Caine!"

The bedroom door is already open, the king-sized bed beckoning and covered in rose petals, and it isn’t until I’m one step from the bed when I process her struggle.

Reluctantly, I let her slide down from my shoulder until she’s sitting at the foot of the bed, her cheeks more flush than I’ve ever seen them.

Her grass-green eyes meet mine and I have to fight to keep from drowning in them. Since they’re so distracting, I avoid her gaze by burying my face in her neck and breathing in deep, fighting the urge to nibble. Instead, I rest both hands on either side of her thighs.

She’s as stiff as a board, probably scared of the pain. Hah. To think she’d acted as if she were prepared for the pain when I brought it up earlier...

The urge to maul her within the next ten seconds finally eases, and I manage a tender smile against her sweet skin as I ask, "What’s wrong?"

Right. Of course. A shower.

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