closet they shared. Closing his eyes, he focused on deep, even breaths. How did one force an issue ready to fracture the awkward balance of opposite worlds? A tightrope they’d tiptoed since first shared glance.
For her, he’d stepped away from shadowy pursuits to assume the role of businessman. As if that wasn’t shock enough to his solitary lifestyle, somehow, he’d also inherited a clan of endangered shapeshifters threatened with extermination. She’d been his complete opposite, a fiercely determined detective sworn to protect a different kind of citizen. Though their paths were separate, they led to the same end . . . the survival of those they loved. Hers walked the streets of New Orleans oblivious to the danger closing in on their right to ignorance. His kind existed only because they remained anonymous, working and living undetected next to their human counterparts. But those pathways were on a collision course, bringing their goals at odds once more, upping the level of personal danger past his comfort zone.
His precious detective didn’t understand. Max feared for her, not because she was weaker, but because she was his. Just, as she would ferociously claim, he was hers. Two parts of the same whole now that they were a bonded pair in both human and shifter worlds. But those two parts would soon become a trio.
He paced the room where he’d been raised in isolation by Jimmy Legere, his path as rigidly back and forth as the earlier conversation, going nowhere in a distressing hurry. Though they hadn’t had any kind of normal family life growing up, their child, he vowed with every glance at that ever-increasing midsection, would be different. She’d be fiercely loved and protected, spared from the violence that had shaped both parents. He’d do anything to keep that promise. Anything. And that included meeting his mate’s cautious stare as she exited their posh bathroom retreat.
“You look refreshed,” he murmured, smile neutral.
“You look . . . Savoie, you are the hardest damned person to read sometimes. Hell,” his wife corrected, “make that most of the time.”
As she crossed to where he stood by their open balcony doors, a cool night breeze did tempting things beneath one of his long T-shirts. Her fingertips did the same along his shirtfront as she stepped up close. Though not her nature to hide from a problem, she’d mastered circumventing them.
“Could you just hold me?”
“I can do that, Detective.”
Big hands soothed along the tough line of her, one going high to press flat between always capable shoulders, the other slipping low to rest at the tempting dip of her spine. She melted against him, all supple muscle and heat and—Max realized with a jolt-vulnerability.
“I don’t like it when we argue.” Her long, low sigh triggered a seismic heart quake.
“Nor do I, sha.” Discussion neatly tabled for the night, but not forever. “How’d you suggest we use our time instead?”
She leaned back far enough for him to test the temperature of her mood. That fire kindled earlier sparked anew. “If you’re up for suggestions, we could adjourn to more comfortable surroundings, say someplace king-sized, oh King of the Beasts?”
“I believe we’re of one mind. On this, at least.”
Why had he added that codicil? As she went still in his embrace, stubborn chin tucking, Max stroked fingers through her short hair, clutching to tip her head back so he could hold that suspicious gaze.
“In all things,” he amended. “There’s no disagreement or point of pride greater than your place in my heart. You know that, Charlotte. It’s been true since the moment I met you.”
She held her stony stance for a beat longer then whispered, “Same here, Savoie.”
He snorted. “Really? Even when you were putting me in restraints and reading me my rights?”
“Especially then.” She traced a fingertip down his rough cheek, letting it linger along the seam of his lips until they moistened beneath her touch. “Would you like me to prove it? My cuffs are right over there?” Her head gave a sassy nod toward the dresser. “Or I could just phone you? Maybe invite Cale to make it a party line?”
His booming laugh burst out as he scooped her up for a brisk trip to their bedside. “Not my kinda party. I’ve no plans to share you with anyone.”
“Except our daughter.”
His move to deposit her atop their covers halted. “Our little girl,” he mused. “Marie for my mother and Camille for yours.” When her expression clouded, he nudged, “And Dr. LaRoche says everything is fine