Date: 6/3/2440 Time: 4:30 PM
Matt and L’tani rolled in around 4:30 that afternoon. The sun was still high over central Missouri, casting sharp shadows across the yard as they pulled into the long gravel drive just outside Arrow Rock. He knew he’d missed a lot, but he also knew his people—capable, seasoned managers who wouldn’t hesitate to sound the alarm if something had gone wrong. So he drove slowly past the pleasure park and smiled. Gary had done the family proud again, directing teams as they worked on the final touches. Everything was coming together.
He pulled the enclosed trailer up beside the house, and as always, a small crowd began to gather—an unofficial but expected welcome committee for a returning high lord. They were all curious about the trailer’s contents, but no one asked. Not yet.
“I’ll see you a little later,” Matt said, climbing down and reaching up to help L’tani from the truck. As their shoulders brushed, he caught the scent of her—warm from the sun, skin kissed by wind and sweat—and felt a sudden, stupid urge to kiss her. Just lightly. Just because it felt right.
But he didn’t.
A bead of sweat slid down her neck and stopped at her collarbone. He had the irrational, visceral urge to lean in and taste it.
He knew exactly where that would lead. One taste, and he’d be pinning her hips back against the seat, his head under that skirt, her heels drumming time against his back.
Do V’ren women even like oral? Would she be shocked—disgusted—by what he wanted right now?
What the hell is wrong with me?
He felt like a teenager again—awkward, eager, and far too aware of his own hunger. Not for power. Not for legacy. Just for her.
She’d accepted casual contact all day, laughing easily, leaning in without hesitation. But she’d given no clear sign she wanted more. And Matt—Matthew Marmaduke, High Lord, logistics magnate, planner of ten thousand contingencies—was suddenly and completely at odds with himself.
He liked L’tani. A lot. They had fun together. But he’d had fun with T’mari, too. He could have had fun with MJ or Oxana, if either of them had been interested—of course, MJ was too young, and she’d have laughed him off with one of her trademark lines: Oooh, you’re a boy.
But something had changed in him.
For the first time in years, he wasn’t just thinking about heirs. He wasn’t thinking about lineage or legacy or the whispered expectations of everyone around him. He was thinking about want. About wanting someone—not for power, not for politics, not even for children. Just for the comfort of closeness. The joy of being known. The ache of being touched again.
It had been nine years since Amy died. Longer still since they’d shared anything intimate—she’d been small, and carrying twins had made sex uncomfortable after the fourth month. Even before that final day, their moments had grown infrequent, quieted by the weight of fatigue and the quiet fears neither of them voiced.
Since then, he’d let only safe, familiar women near—just close enough to ease the loneliness. Platonic comfort. Affection without heat. He’d locked his desire away so tightly, for so long, he’d nearly convinced himself it was gone.
But now, standing in the late afternoon sun, watching L’tani’s hair catch the light as she smiled at someone else’s joke, he remembered. And that terrified him more than anything.
“So, would the lord and master like a briefing before he disappears into who-knows-where?” Angelina asked, offering L’tani an affectionate smile and a pat on the arm.
“I don’t get a kiss?” Matt laughed. That was something they hadn’t done in almost thirty years.
“You might get a ‘kiss my ass,’” she shot back.
“Bare it and share, babe,” he replied, though the biggest laugh didn’t come from him—it came from the towering man beside her.
At six foot seven and over 350 pounds of black-Mexican Texas muscle, Floyd Reyes didn’t so much laugh as rumble. He would make most dragons feel inadequate. From the sounds that used to echo out of the Reyes house during fan-and-window-screen season, he probably made most other men feel inadequate, too.
“How are things looking, Floyd?”
“The Hart farm’s in good shape, but you’ll get a full report later. Harvest is underway. Also, someone just made my wife shut up—and didn’t even have to tell her to.”
“That never works,” Matt said, shaking the man’s hand. He leaned in to hug Angelina, who—even standing one step up on the porch—was still seven inches shorter than him.
“Let’s get something to drink and swap notes,” he said, glancing around for L’tani. But she had already disappeared.
“Julia!” L’tani exclaimed, flinging herself onto the edge of the couch—nearly off of it in her haste, as a soft, cotton-covered ass met a sturdy leather cushion. “We have so much to talk about.”
Julia listened intently, wishing any man had done half as much with her lately. Had she been in L’tani’s place, either her or Matt’s head would’ve ended up wedged between the steering wheel and the seat, one leg tangled in a seatbelt, the horn blaring and hazard lights blinking.
“Well, girl, whatever happens, you don’t do it tonight,” Julia said, finally concluding she had the answer—and her own questions to ask.
