Blood Rights [Wicked River 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) by Gabrielle Evans Page B

the heat emanating from his body. “Just tell me that one thing.”
    “I didn’t want you to know.”
    “Know what?” Brock took the last step, trapping her against the counter. “What didn’t you want me to know?”
    With nowhere to run, no place left to hide, Moira had no alternative but to tell the truth. “I didn’t want you to know that I’ve worn that sweater almost every day since you left. I even blasted the air conditioner in the summer so I could wear it at night.”
    “Tell me the truth, Mo.” His strong hands settled on her hips and jerked her closer. “Did you honestly stop loving me?”
    Her heart beat faster, her breath hitched, and her throat constricted, making it almost impossible to form words. “You don’t just stop loving someone, Brock. I was angry. I wanted to forget you.” She sniffed audibly and slapped at his chest. “You’re like a damn leech, though. You burrow in and won’t let go.”
    “Then why are you still fighting me?” His hands inched their way up under the hem of her tank top, the rough calluses of his palms smoothing over the skin on her belly. “Stop fighting me, Mo.”
    Why was she fighting so hard to hold on to her anger? Really, Brock hadn’t done anything wrong—if he was telling the truth. She’d never known him to lie, though. He hadn’t forgotten her, had risked much more than his pride to come back for her.
    Dropping her brow to his chest, she rolled her head from side to side and groaned. “I have no idea. I guess it just seemed like the right thing to do.” She didn’t want to be one of those women who forgot every bit of hurt she’d felt just because her white knight had returned. In her desire to be strong and independent, perhaps she’d taken it a bit too far in the opposite direction.
    “Stop being such a brat and kiss me. You always overthink everything.”
    The minute she lifted her head, Brock’s lips were on hers, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth, reestablishing his claim. One hand tangled in her hair while the other fisted the fabric of her top against the small of her back.
    It wasn’t sweet and gentle, coaxing, or hesitant. Brock dominated every aspect of the kiss, taking what he wanted while somehow making her think it was her idea. He’d always been tricky that way, but she’d never complain.
    “No more, Mo,” he rasped as he wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head up under his chin. “No more running. No more fighting.”
    “We have to tell Koba.” Not knowing what his reaction would be was nerve-wracking, but it wasn’t about her. “He has a right to know about me. I can’t lie to my mate.”
    “He’ll understand, and I’ll be right there with y—” Brock stopped abruptly, gripped her upper arms, and pushed her back from him. “Did you say mate?”
    “Yes.” Warmth and happiness invaded her just thinking about the kiss she’d shared with Koba in the bedroom, and she shivered down to her bare toes. “Definitely our mate.”
    Brock didn’t seem as ecstatic about the news as Moira had anticipated, however. “That’s great. I mean, really great.”
    “Cut it out. What’s wrong?”
    Brock glanced around the kitchen as though searching for the answer. “Where is he?”
    Something tickled at the edges of Moira’s subconscious. “I think he left the bedroom when we were arguing.”
    “Maybe he’s in the shower,” Brock suggested, though he didn’t sound very hopeful.
    Ducking under Brock’s arm, Moira darted from the room, calling Koba’s name as she went. “Koba! Koba, are you here? Where are you?” Not finding him in any of the rooms, she hurried back down the hallway, colliding with Brock when he stepped out of the guest bathroom. “You don’t think he left the house, do you?”
    “He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself, Mo.”
    “He’s an unclaimed omega who’s a long way from home!”
    Brock dipped his head curtly, took her hand, and pulled her toward the back door.