She challenged him. Fascinated him. Delighted him. In sum, she was an absolute joy to him. And despite all the crap that was currently going on around them, Luke had never been more content in his life … because she was finally part of it on every level.
“You get me?” she pushed.
A smile pulled at his mouth. “I get you.”
“Good. You may kiss me now.”
He chuckled. “I may?”
“Yes, you may.”
A rhythmic knock came at the front door.
Luke gave her nape a squeeze. “Hold that thought.” His stomach hardened when he found a solemn-faced James standing at the other side of the door … holding a square, gift-wrapped box that sported a shiny red bow. Fuck. Luke’s cat jumped to his feet with a rumbly hiss.
“I found this on the bench outside,” said James. “Someone left it there. It’s addressed to your mate.”
Grinding his teeth, Luke took the damn thing from James. “Did anyone see who left it there?”
“I doubt it, or they’d have picked it up to see what it was.”
Luke felt a muscle in his cheek tick. “We need to be sure.” It would have been helpful if they’d had camera footage to check, but they didn’t have CCTV near the building since it was too easy to tap into camera feeds nowadays. They didn’t want outsiders seeing things they weren’t supposed to see. “Ask around. Get back to me on that.”
James gave a quick nod and then left.
Anger bunching every muscle in his body, Luke strode into the living area, hating the way Blair paled. “This was left on the bench outside the building.”
She swallowed, padding closer. “It’s the same bow that was attached to the other gifts,” she said, her voice flat. “Wrapping’s different, but that’s never the same anyway.”
“It doesn’t carry anyone’s scent other than James’, who brought it up here. You good with me opening it for you?”
She gave him a “knock yourself out” shrug. “Be braced for weirdness.”
Luke placed the gift on the coffee table. Sensing Blair sidle up to him, he tore off the wrapping, revealing a simple, blue cardboard box. Luke removed the lid. The scents of silk, musk, and ink greeted him. And as he stared into the box, he and his cat snarled.
Grimacing, Blair said, “It’s all the underwear from the bouquet thing he sent. I put it in the trash and—oh, Jesus, is that crusty stuff what I think it is?”
“Yes,” growled Luke, anger bubbling in his blood. “He jerked off all over what, in his mind, are your panties.” Son of a bitch.
She put the back of her hand to her mouth. “God, this sick piece of shit needs decapitating.”
“I’m leaning more toward chopping off his dick.” Luke snatched the pen from the table and used it to move aside the underwear. Beneath the scraps of lace were photos—so many damn photos—of Blair. None were indecent. They were of her talking with Sylvan Pack members, going to and from her old cabin, smiling or waving at people out of view. Others were taken from outside the cabin, showing her cooking, reading, sleeping, or watching TV.
“Bastard,” Blair bit out, backing up a few steps. She drew in a deep breath. “He must have a long range camera. There’s no way he could have gotten so close to the cabin without my sensing him. No way.”
Spotting the edge of a sheet of paper, Luke moved some pictures aside, revealing a drawing of Blair’s face. He found two similar ones beneath other photos.
“You’re always smiling,” Luke observed.
“What?”
“On the photos. Even while doing inane things, you’re wearing a ghost of a smile or laughing. The drawings depict you in the same light. This is how he sees you. Sweet. Serene. Wholesome. The classic girl next door.”
“Which isn’t me at all,” she said, moving back to his side.
“He sees only what he wants to see. He’s shaped you in his mind to be his perfect match.”
“Well I’m not.” Blair hooked her hands around her nape. “I don’t understand why he boxed this crap up and left it for me. Is he, what, giving me all this as a gesture that he’s ‘done’ with me? Kind of like someone packs up all their ex’s stuff and hands it back?”
“I might have thought so if he hadn’t jacked off all over it. I think this is supposed to be both proof of his devotion and a reminder that—in his messed-up version of reality—you’re his, not mine.” Noticing yet more paper, he expected to find another drawing. He quickly realized that, actually, it was a letter. “Shit.”
“What? What did—oh.”
The letter read: Why are you doing this, Blair? Why are you dragging things out this way? I don’t know exactly what got said between you and your parents, but it seems you all came to an understanding. Yet, you didn’t return home with them. You’re still staying with Devereaux. Do you not care how much this hurts me?