Christmas Griffin - Zoe Chant Page 0,73

her guests—the twins in particular. “Yes?”

They agreed, loudly and at length, until their mouths were too full of pastry to keep talking.

Conversation swelled around him, filling the house with warmth and joy. It turned out that his old colleague Jackson’s mate Olly had been hanging around in owl form ever since she saw the twins climbing down the outside of the hotel earlier that morning. She’d wanted to know what the hell was going on, and when she put it all together, she’d told Jackson and they’d alerted the Heartwells.

The Heartwells were as different from the Belgraves as it was possible to be. Different from the wider Belgrave clan, that was. This small offshoot, Delphine and the people who loved her, were a fierce knot of love that burned all the brighter for how close it had come to being lost forever. Hardwick would have pushed through any amount of pain for that.

But there was no pain.

Even when Opal rounded up Cole to help in the kitchen, he didn’t try to bluff his way out of it. He complained, but even his teenaged whining didn’t contain any actual lies. “But I want to read my book,” he said, and “Can’t we just eat more croissants?” and “But it’s not fair!”

“Would you rather go outside and look after Ruby so your uncle can help?”

“Ughhhhhhh.” Cole kicked his feet but followed his mother out of the living room.

Hardwick’s griffin sifted through each sentence, pulling the words to pieces and flipping the pieces over with its beak. It couldn’t find so much as a trace of untruth. For whatever reason, objective reality agreed that it wasn’t fair that Cole had to help set up for lunch. Maybe his parents had told him he could have Christmas off chores; maybe growing up and having to drag your nose out of a good book in order to help out just plain wasn’t fair. Maybe living in the same house as an arsonist toddler meant ‘fairness’ was left by the wayside long ago.

Delphine caught his eye and left the room. Assuming she was heading for the kitchen to re-enact the Cinderella role she used to play with her own family, Hardwick followed her—and found her waiting for him in a quiet alcove.

She slipped her hands around his waist and drew him closer to her. He went to her without resisting. Outside, their touches had been muffled by the thick layers of their winter clothing; now, there was only a thin layer of knit fabric between his hands and her warm, inviting skin.

And a similar, solitary layer of cotton between her fingers and his skin. She untucked his shirt with a matter-of-fact swiftness that made his heart soar. Despite what he had done, Delphine still claimed him as hers. Her hands sliding up his back left no doubt about that.

Then she kissed him, and his thoughts splintered into blinding light.

The splinters of light rushed to fill his veins, then pulled back until there was only that single burning sun inside his heart. Stronger and brighter than before, and the thread connecting him to Delphine was more like a plaited rope.

Delphine pulled away so slowly that somehow the act of ending the kiss was more charged than the kiss itself had been. Her amber eyes bored into his, pupils huge and dark.

“Um,” she said, sounding as stunned as he felt. “That’s not what I came out here to do, but it’s…”

She kissed him again and gasped as the light connecting them pulsed.

“It’s stronger,” she breathed against his lips.

He waited for her to say isn’t it? and for self-doubt to darken her sparkling eyes. But she didn’t. Instead, her smile filled his heart.

“What do you think makes it change?” she asked, and the answer was on his lips before he’d even thought about it.

“Wanting it to be true,” he said. “Accepting that it’s real. That we might be good together, after all.”

“Oh, might we?” Her smile turned teasing. “Is that the truth?”

He answered her with a kiss that turned urgent too quickly.

Neither of them wanted to pull away, but the sound of a door closing made them jump away from each other guiltily.

“We’d better not,” Delphine murmured, her cheeks flushed.

Heat coiled between them. “Better not what?”

Whatever Delphine saw in his eyes, it made her tip her head back, part teasing, part defiant. “Disappear into a spare room somewhere and abandon our hosts who’ve so kindly taken us in on Christmas Day?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Hardwick!”

He felt drunk. Not just on