She smiled. “Feels sweet.”
“What?”
“Getting to spend it with you,” she murmured, turning him inside out with her honesty.
His mate—always the same, never afraid to lay herself bare and share how she felt about him… or anything else, for that matter. Her bravery floored him. The love shining in her gaze humbled him.
Shifting onto her side, Cate hooked her knee over his hip and wiggled closer. “Are you going to sing Happy Birthday to me?”
He huffed.
Her eyebrows rose. “No?”
“Keep dreaming, lass.”
Her smile turned into a grin.
“I have something better, though.”
“A gift?”
“Aye.”
“What kind?”
“The best kind.”
“Do I get any clues?”
He shook his head.
She pursed her lips. Planting her small hand on his shoulder, Cate gave him a push. He complied, rolling onto his back. She settled astride him, baring her body, treating him to the loveliest of shows. Enjoying the view, he cupped her breasts.
She set her hands on the back of his and pressed, stilling his caresses. “Don’t distract me, Ran. I’m on the hunt. In the chase. Whad’ya get me?”
“You’ll have tae get dressed for me tae show you.”
Her knees bounced on the mattress. A second later, she vaulted off his hips. He grunted as she dismounted. She landed beside the bed like a gymnast, all lithe grace and little-kid excitement. Grinning ear-to-ear, she danced around the bed, picking through the discarded clothes littering the floor.
She yanked on a pair of sweatpants. Shoving her arms through a long-sleeved tee, she whipped it over her head, went after a hoodie, then hopped over the footboard and jumped onto the bed. Tall wooden bedposts creaked in protest.
Rannock stared at her in wonder.
“Come on, Ran,” she said, throwing the covers aside. “No one’s ever given me a gift before.”
He frowned. “No one?”
She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Well, except for Niki, but she’s my sister and that doesn’t count.” Her brow furrowed. “I mean, it counts, but… Oh, you know what I mean! Ran—get up!”
His lips twitched as she tried to drag him out of bed.
“Ran!”
“Kiss me first, Cate.”
Crawling over him, she brushed her lips over his. Her tongue flicked the corner of his mouth. With a growl, he wrapped her up and rolled, reversing their position. She smiled against his mouth. He took the kiss deeper, tangling his tongue with hers, tasting her deep, knowing he’d never get enough of her.
She hummed.
He broke the kiss and rolled again, taking her with him over the edge of the mattress. The second his feet hit the floor, he conjured his clothes. Wearing gray sweats and his favorite Black Sabbath T-shirt, he laced his running shoes up with a thought, then glanced down at his mate.
“Shoes, lass.”
“Right,” she said, hopping sideways. Wiggling her feet into black flip-flops with three white stripes over the toes, she raced back to his side. Bouncing on the tips of her toes, she declared, “Ready!”
Shaking his head at her antics, he grabbed her hand and, skirting an armchair, towed her across the room. He murmured. His bedroom door unlocked, then swung wide. Crossing the threshold, he turned left toward the rear entrance instead of right, avoiding the common room and kitchen, two places his pack congregated every night. Given the hour—and the rumble of voices drifting up the hallway—Rannock knew his brothers-in-arms were already gathering.
Later would be soon enough to share her.
He wanted Cate to himself for a while. Just him and her. No one else around as he helped her celebrate her birthday in style.
Both hands wrapped around his, Cate walked beside him, following where he led, excitement in each step. The clip-clop of her footwear echoed against the high ceiling. Energized by her enthusiasm, he smiled at her, then turned left at the end of the corridor.
An archway flared into beginnings of a staircase. Nothing fancy. Square construction. Concrete treads. Steel railings bolted to rough stone walls.
Fingers laced with his mate’s, Rannock began his descent. His footsteps, accompanied by a loud flip-flopping, bounced around the enclosed space.
“How far down?” Cate asked.
“Three stories.”
“Cool.”
“Wait until you see it.”
She nodded.
He kissed the back of her hand and rounded the last landing. Hand-carved by a master carpenter, a wooden door stood at the bottom of the stairs.
He flicked his fingers. Triple deadbolts slid open.
Without breaking stride, he stepped off the last tread and pushed the heavy panel open. Motion sensors picked up his movement. Lights flipped on, illuminating the huge hangar he housed the projects he worked on—the old helicopters he liked to rip apart and put back together.
Connected to the main lair, but not a part of it, the secluded space acted like a sanctuary, allowing him to retreat into a world of his own making. He worked out a lot of his frustrations by ripping things apart, letting his love of human machines out to play by improving upon the designs.
Far from humans and the clamor aboveground, his hangar was where he came whenever he needed a break from the Dragon’s Horn, the resto-pub and Scotch distillery he owned with his brothers-in-arms. A private place. A space he’d added to, perfecting over time. A workshop he planned to share with his mate, if she wanted to keep working.
“Wow,” Cate said, voice echoing under the cavernous dome.
Watching her reaction, Rannock experienced the hangar through her eyes. Smooth concrete floors. Walls carved from pale granite. A soaring ceiling. Six spacious workstations with long stainless-steel surfaces for repairing complex machinery. A dozen standing toolboxes. Mechanical parts stored on shelves in one area, helicopter tires, turbo engines, and rotor blades in another.
At the far end stood the lift he used to raise and lower helicopters into the courtyard behind the distillery. His favorite, the Hog, sat on the tarmac. Huge steel doors that slid open at the touch of a lever sat above it, for liftoff and setting down after he’d taken his baby out for a fly.
Everything in its place. Nothing to mar his setup.
Though he now owned a new section, something he’d worked hard to keep from Cate over the last couple of weeks. Not an easy proposition. A curious lass, she’d wanted to see his workspace. He’d kept putting her off, determined to keep his latest project under wraps until he was ready to reveal it to her.
Walking her down the line, he stopped in front of an area sectioned off by a thick rubberized curtain.
She glanced at him. “This is what you’ve been working on.”
“Aye.”
“For me,” she said, voice a little hoarse.
“For you.” Grabbing the rope hanging from the ceiling, he yanked.
The curtain came down, snapping against the concrete floor, revealing a brand-new area carved into granite. Shiny new worktables. Gleaming red standing toolboxes against the back wall. A customized two-post lift, designed to raise and lower cars. And parked in front of it, three long-neglected classics. A rusted-out Jaguar E-Type convertible with a torn top, a brutalized Aston Martin DB5, and a Fiat Dino coupe with missing quarter panels. All classics. All beat to shit. All vehicles he thought his mate would enjoy taking from trash to treasure.