HIS HOUSE

HIRAM'S POV:

“What happened last night?” she asks, her delicate fingers trailing around the rings.

The truth is right on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t confess I’m a werewolf who marked her as my mate and dreads having sex with her because it will complete the bond.

“We both got too drunk and ended up here,” I reply. She glances at me briefly, allowing me to take in her beautiful black eyes. “We were too drunk to have sex, but somehow we managed to get married. Oh, and you had a terrible fall too,” I lie, and she rubs her neck.

“I really need to stop drinking,” she says, then briefly stares at the certificate before bursting into laughter. The sound is intoxicating, and I can’t help but feel a mix of confusion and admiration as her laughter fills the air, vibrant and sexy.

I’m lost for a moment, and when I regain my composure, I keep a straight face.

“What’s funny?” I ask, and she stops laughing at once, facing me with her lips puckered.

“I don’t know what city you’re from, but this is Vegas, Professor Hiram. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, so you don’t have to worry,” she replies. “Thank you for saving me, but I need to find a solution for my aching neck.” She turns to leave, but my hands grab hers instantly.

Her hands are so tiny that I fear mine will crush them.

As she flips around to face me, I’m at a loss for words. What is this woman doing to me? I question myself.

“Let me take care of that,” I manage to say, and she raises a brow. “We can go back to my place and…”

“You threw me out, and now you want me back at your place?” she scoffs. I let go of her, diverting my eyes from her soul-stealing gaze.

“I… I’ll make it up to you,” I stutter, and she scoffs, her expression flat.

“I’ll show you my art collection, which might interest you. I have a huge library and art collections that might interest. Plus, you can take anything you want,” I say. She holds my gaze for a moment.

“That would be nice, but my car is still at that club. Plus, you’re my professor, and people will talk if they see us leaving together. It’s not appropriate, and…”

“I’ll pay for a cab, and I’ll have my driver fetch your car,” I cut her off before she can finish.

Her mouth shuts, and I instantly regret speaking so quickly. I feel desperate, but I want to be around her and keep her for myself, for my view and no one else’s.

“That could work,” she says, and I try to maintain a straight face as I pull out my phone.

I call Justin, my driver, and as soon as he picks up, I say, “I need you to go to the B & S club and help me pick up a…” I glance at Juniper.

“Honda Civic,” she says, then I open my mouth to speak. “A 2008 Civic to be precise,” she adds.

“A 2008 Honda Civic.” I relay her message to Justin, my mind clouded with the pride in her tone. She may not have much, but she’s grateful for it.

Could she be more sexy?

“Okay, sir,” Justin says, and I end the call, sliding my phone into my pocket.

Once the call ends, I take out a hundred-dollar bill from my wallet and grab a piece of paper from my desk, writing my address.

“Here,” I say, handing her the cash. She opens her mouth to protest. “Keep it, and take it as an apology because I was an asshole this morning,” I say.

What now, Hiram? Belittling yourself for a girl? I question myself as I try to maintain a strong exterior.

“Thank you,” she mutters, and I grab my briefcase as we both leave the room.

**

Shortly, I pull up to my house, stepping out of the car and leaning against it as I watch the see-through black gate. A yellow cab pulls up, and I walk toward it, opening the gate for her. She gasps in surprise as she sees her car parked in the lot.

“Thank you,” she mutters, and I try to force a smile, watching her take in the vast compound. “Wow!” she mouths, walking toward the front door while I watch her hips sway and her face light up as she admires the large architecture before her.

Her eyes widen as she appreciates the intricate carvings and deep blue shutters. The steep roof gives it a regal feel, and I see her smile when sunlight glints off the large bay windows. We walk to the garden behind the house, filled with vibrant colors—roses and lavender bursting with life, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. I notice her soft gasp as the birds sing a sweet song, and a swell of pride fills me as I watch her truly appreciate my home.

Why do I want to keep her so much? This can be hers, and I can watch her all day while she brings me peace.

“It’s like living in a castle!” she exclaims.

Then she rubs the back of her neck.

“We should get that fixed,” I say, grabbing her hand and walking her to the front door, which swings open unexpectedly, causing her to yelp in fear as she stumbles back, almost falling off the small flight of stairs. I catch her just in time.

Winston, my butler, stands before her.

“I just realized I’m really short,” she says, and a chuckle escapes my lips as I let go of her. She stands firm, straightening her skirt, then mouths a greeting to Winston, who bows slightly.

“Get the first aid box,” I instruct him, and he nods.

As we walk through the long hallway leading to the sitting room, I can’t help but watch Juniper’s every move. The walls, lined with elegant artwork, seem to catch her attention. She pauses to admire a framed painting, her fingers brushing against the ornate frame as if she’s connecting with the artistry.

The soft carpet underfoot muffles our steps as we move further into the living room, where a chandelier above casts a warm glow, illuminating the plush velvet seating and polished marble floor.

“Wow, your house is beautiful, and I had no idea you loved art this much,” she says, turning to face me again. “I swear I’ve seen this house in a movie or a book. Where do I start first?” She heads toward the hall on her right, and I grab her hands at once.

Winston returns immediately, causing me to breathe a sigh of relief. I never let anyone go into the hall on the right because that’s where my art room is situated, a sacred space for our ancestors. Who knows how curious she might get? I don’t have the strength to explain it to her.

I make Juniper sit while I walk to the bar in the corner, pouring myself a drink as I watch Winston apply a plaster to her neck, covering the marks. When he’s done, I gulp the remaining contents of my glass and set it down.

“Let’s go to my study, and I’ll let you see my book collection,” I say before she can make any suggestions.

As I lead Juniper into the study, the rich scent of aged paper fills the air. Towering mahogany bookshelves line the walls, while an intricately carved antique desk sits at the center, paired with a plush leather chair. Large windows draped in dark fabric allow soft light to spill into the room, creating a warm glow.

She releases my hands, jumping around like a kid in kindergarten as she explores the library, running her fingers along the shelves until she halts in front of a section filled with John Berger’s books.

“Ways of Seeing!” she exclaims, her eyes catching the book atop the shelf.

In the blink of an eye, she rises on her tiptoes, attempting to reach the book, causing her skirt to rise higher. I catch a glimpse of her pink underwear and soft white cheeks, an image I can’t help but desire to touch.

“I keep forgetting I’m five feet tall. Do you have a stool or something?”

Her words jolt me from my moment of lust, but I’m not thinking clearly. She’s done something that can’t be undone.

“Let me help you,” I say, closing in on her..