Broken Dove (Fantasyland #4)(90)

I shifted a hand to his neck. “Then don’t think about it, sweetheart.”

He held my eyes and again nodded.

“What I’m saying is, they took those attacks seriously. They did not send easily bested adversaries. They planned to succeed. And this would make quite the statement, that they could get to me, to you, to my children, invading my home and taking all of our lives without even using all the power at their command. It would be such a statement that it might strike fear. Frey, Lahn and Tor are not men who are easily cowed by fear or maybe ever cowed by it. But I think it’s safe to say, if their wives or families were in greater jeopardy than we originally thought, that would do it.”

The more he talked about these men, Frey, Lahn and Tor, the more I knew I would like them.

“Are we done with that topic?” he asked.

“Just one more thing,” I answered.

“Speak it,” he ordered and I grinned.

Then I queried, “Where’s Derrik? I’ve seen all the guys and not him since that night in the gardener’s shed.”

A shadow passed over his features before he replied, “He is away on assignment. A self-imposed assignment, but he is away on it.”

I didn’t get the feeling Apollo was happy about this.

“Self-imposed?” I asked.

“He was not commanded by me to take this assignment. I do not wish him on this assignment. He is under my command but he is still his own man. I had no choice but to let him go.”

I studied him closely.

“You’re worried,” I guessed softly.

“Indeed,” he agreed.

That meant I was now worried and I wanted to know more.

But I didn’t want to make Apollo tell me more when it was clear he didn’t like talking about it.

“Okay, then, let’s stop talking about that,” I offered.

“I would be obliged,” he accepted, his voice soft. “Now are we done with that topic?”

I nodded.

His hands started roaming.

“I have one more topic,” I reminded him.

“Speak of it quickly, I grow impatient,” he replied, his voice again low and rough but in a different way and this way I felt between my legs.

“Okay. Then, here it is. I made chocolate chip cookies,” I announced.

His hands stopped roaming and he blinked. “Pardon?”

“Well, they’re more like chocolate chunk since you don’t have chocolate chips here and I had to bash some chocolate to make chunks and some of the shards got in the dough so they’re kind of chocolate, chocolate chip coo—”

I was babbling

Apollo heard it and interrupted me with, “Cease. Explain. Clearly.”

See?

Arrogant.

Also dictatorial.

Unfortunately, still hot.

Whatever.

I sat up away from him and he let me. “Okay. Do you know what cookies are?”

He shook his head.

“Cookies are like little cakes. Except moister, richer, yummier. And the ones I made are the most favorite of most anyone in my world.”

“And you made these today?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

His face changed, his hands slid back up my sides but did that pulling me to him again and his voice was very low and rough when he queried, “For me?”

I held his gaze and whispered. “Yes. For you. And also for you to take to Christophe and Élan.”

His entire frame stilled.

Oh boy.

Okay, see, I had a plan.

Earn their hearts through their stomachs.

They were kids. That would work. Right?

When he said nothing, I said haltingly, “I, well…thought I would give them, um…a bit of my world. The kind of bit kids in my world like. And they might, uh…enjoy that.”

“You’re coming to meet them.” It was a question said in a statement.

“Yes, maybe…” I pulled in a huge breath and finished on a question, “The day after tomorrow?”

“We will dine together,” he decided.

Shit.

Crap.

Shit.

“Okay,” I mumbled.

Apollo wrapped his arms around me. “They will like your cookies, poppy. They both have a weakness for sweets.”

I nodded.

He pulled me closer. “And they will like you.”

I swallowed.

“They will,” he pushed.

“Okay,” I muttered.

“This makes me happy, my dove,” he whispered.

Okay. Well.

Him being happy made me happy.

“Good,” I whispered back.

“Now have we covered everything you wished to discuss?” he asked, his hands beginning to roam again, his eyes warming, his lids lowering and all that was hot.

And him and all his masculine beauty in that bed with its cream eyelet duvet cover and pale yellow sheets with peach embroidery, his broad shoulders against the headboard, his chest right there, I suddenly had something else to discuss.

“I have one more topic,” I shared.

“Speak,” he ordered, and I smiled a small smile that for some reason made the warmth in his eyes fire.

I didn’t speak.

I reached for his wrists and wrapped my fingers around. I then pulled his hands from my body and stretched one of his arms along the top of the headboard, curling his fingers around the edge.