The room had been painted a dark-charcoal color, but in spite of it being gray, it was still warm. A variety of modern art pieces hung on the walls, including an original Jackson Pollock over the couch.
Desmond glanced up from his work, and my heart skipped a beat.
His violet-hued eyes were offset by his olive complexion, and his dark hair looked longer than it had only a week ago. He wore two days of stubble on his jaw, making him look a little wild, and goddamn I wanted to climb across his desk and have my way with him right now.
He was wearing a soft white sweater, one I had bought for him, and looked so utterly delicious I physically ached to touch him.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he declared.
“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
He pushed his chair back, but before he could rise to meet me, I had crossed the room and climbed onto his lap, straddling his strong thighs and burying my fingers in his hair.
I pressed my forehead to his and sat like that for a long moment, breathing him in, smelling his familiar Desmond scent, letting the heat of his body warm me.
His hands skirted around my waist and up under the hem of my shirt. He wasn’t trying to undress me, not right now. That touch felt different. This was his way of being closer.
Werewolves thrived on skin-to-skin contact.
So did horny human women who missed their husbands.
I placed a kiss on his forehead, another on his nose, then finally a soft one on his lips. He returned this kiss with more pressure, tasting of coffee and toothpaste.
After a few minutes of deeply necessary cuddling, I slid off his lap, kissing the top of his head again and marveling at how soft his hair was. I might need to start stealing his shampoo.
“How long before you have to go out again?” His tone didn’t belie any annoyance, but I suspected there was a little bit there.
“Long enough to sleep, shower, and change.”
He checked his watch. “Which one of those do you want company for?”
Four hours later I emerged from the bedroom, freshly scrubbed and somewhat rested. I had opted to share the nap with him, wanting his body behind mine and those big arms wrapped around me. In retrospect I should have asked for the shower, because when I woke from the nap, he had snuck back to work in the office.
I made a mental note to get him to update me on what was going on with the pack as soon as I had a free minute. I was doing a piss-poor job of being a good queen. I should know what it was that kept him so distracted every waking minute of the day, shouldn’t I?
If it had been trouble, I probably would have already known about it. But there were certainly problems that could exist within a werewolf pack without the FBI being alerted.
That was the great thing about being in charge of several hundred werewolves. Something was always going to be spinning wildly out of your control, or someone who didn’t agree with your motives. There was never a day that went by where Desmond wasn’t dealing with an annoyed alpha wolf somewhere.
Drama didn’t need to be life-threatening in order to be time-consuming.
I peeked my head through his office door and took pleasure in seeing the plate of mini bagels near his elbow. He was on the phone with someone, but I gave him a wave and inclined my head towards the front door to say, I’m heading out. He gave a nod and a wink—be still my heart—and just like that I was gone again.
Shane was waiting for me at High Line Park, looking as scruffy as ever. He had the style that suggested he rolled out of bed without trying, but which also implied a very substantial amount of work actually went into what he wore.
He might as well have spent the night as the lead singer of a punk band. Except the dark circles under his eyes were likely related to a restless three-year-old as opposed to rowdy thrash-metal fans.
“You look like you need seven more coffees before you’re totally functional,” I told him.
“Nice to see you too.”
“Sorry.”
“In case you’d forgotten, the whole vampire-hunting thing usually happens at night. Seeing the evil day star is an unwelcome change in my routi
ne.”
“Poor baby.”