Bloodbound to the Lycan King Chapter 270: Caine: Romance (V)

CAINE

Grace deserves better.

Fenris spent her entire shower hamring into how important it is to set the scene.

For example: Is stepping on rose petals romantic when they squish against your feet?

Answer: No.

So I scared the shit out of the kid at the front desk when I demanded a broom be brought to imdiately.

Then, as I swept up the absurd amount of rose petals, he'd inford I couldn't touch Grace until after a romantic, candlelit dinner. And not just any dinner, but sothing considered fancy; the dinner shows her value.

So I ordered from the most expensive restaurant this town had to offer on delivery, which severely limited my options. Still, I think I managed.

But Grace walked out in just a robe and I'd almost—almost—lost all reason and rationale. Fenris suggested a cold shower, which was brilliant, but in the end I couldn't stay away from her longer than a few minutes.

The effects of the shower weren't as good as I'd hoped.

And now the damned woman won't stop leaning her delectably-scented self ever closer, as if begging to eat her alive, and I'm in a rare crisis.

Her wet hair drips onto the white robe. A dark spot spreads across the fabric at her collarbone, and I watch it hungrily.

Keep my distance. Keep my—

Grace leans forward, looking up at in so magic angle where her gorgeous green eyes are larger. The robe's neckline gaps a fraction of an inch, gifting a glimpse of her soft curves.

—distance.

"Perfect?" She tucks a damp strand behind her ear and the motion pulls the robe taut across her chest.

I try to turn again but I'm still holding onto her wrists.

This is a problem. What were we saying?

Right. Feed her.

"Dinner should arrive soon."

"Okay..."

She edges closer, still peeking up at like so blueberry-scented seductress.

My fingers spasm around her dainty wrists and I tell myself I should let go. Step away.

But I don't.

"I ordered from Marchetti's," I blurt out.

Smooth, Fenris mutters.

Grace blinks her gorgeous eyes at , her eyelashes fanning against her cheeks as her forehead wrinkles a bit. "I don't know what that is."

"It's—" The words catch in my throat as another whiff of her blueberry muffin scent curls around . Her warmth is a temptation almost painful to withstand.

My idiotic idea to co out in a towel instead of the more conservative robe is coming to bite in the ass.

"Hm?" she asks, though the sound is more of a purr than a question.

I swallow hard, trying to rember the plan. Right. Show her I care. Respect her. Romance her.

Romance.

With food.

Expensive food.

My chin dips a little as I try to think through it all, but my eyes keep wandering down.

Is it just or is her robe opening wider with every breath?

"Grace."

"Hm?" Another one of those soft little breaths.

Her delectable little lips are soft and pink, drawing my attention.

She tilts her head. Water slides from the ends of her blonde hair, and I follow its leisurely andering down her throat and into the shadow of her cleavage. My tongue presses against the back of my teeth.

I am in control of my instincts.

"I want you to know—" Deep breath. Ah, that was a mistake. All I taste is her. "—that I have a great deal of respect for you."

Silence.

Grace's forehead wrinkles a little further. She blinks.

"... Okay."

"What I an is—" I release her hands with a soft breath and take a few steps to the left, trying to move my gaze off her and sowhere else.

I fail.

"This dinner. It's ant to reflect—you have value, Grace. Significant value. And the dinner is—the price point is ant to demonstrate—"

She folds her arms beneath her chest, which does catastrophic things to the robe's neckline.

"The price point?"

I'm staring. I can't stop. "Of the restaurant."

"Is ant to demonstrate my value." Her lips purse after she speaks, her clear green eyes watching without a single shadow within them.

I nod, even though… it sounds a little strange now that she's said it aloud. "Yes." Isn't it?

That's not how I phrased it, Fenris mutters. Don't you dare bla this on .

"It's the most expensive restaurant in town," I add, as if that helps.

Grace's lips flatten. Her jaw works a bit; she's biting the inside of her cheek. The expression on her face is… all wrong.

"So... the more expensive the food, the more you respect ?"

I frown. This isn't what I ant. "No."

"What if the most expensive restaurant was, like, a Denny's?"

"I don't know what that is."

"It's—" She waves a hand. The motion loosens the knot at her waist. The robe shifts. I stop breathing. "Never mind. You were saying? About my price-point value?"

Abort, Fenris says. Abort your idiotic speech.

I close the distance between us in one stride. My hand catches the back of her neck, fingers sliding into that wet hair, and I pull her mouth to mine.

The kiss lands hard. There's no elegance here, no romance; it's all desperation and nothing like Fenris told to do, which involved a gentle hand on her cheek, a slow lean, eye contact held for three seconds minimum. Apparently, he's learned from human movies.

Instead I crush her against , one arm locked around her waist, and she gasps into my mouth before letting out a low, sweet moan.

Fuck.

Her hands dive around , her short, sharp nails digging into my back. Her mouth tastes like toothpaste, but it may as well be honey with the way it draws in.

Sohow we've managed to swing in a circle, with her pressing her body against mine and bending her over backward with the strength of our kiss. My towel's long gone and her robe is hanging by a thread. Eventually her heel catches on sothing and we stumble forward in a ss of hot breath and warm lips.

Grace sucks in a sharp breath as her back slams against the wall. She groans.

Undeterred, my hands slip under her ass and lift her. Her yelp pleases an instinctual part of and—

Soone knocks on the door. Three quick raps and then two slow.

I ignore it, but Grace shoves her hand against my face, coming up for air in a wild gasp. "Soone's here."