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She’d lost her temper at Raoul and Buri in the council meeting. It didn’t happen often with those two — Raoul was mostly easygoing these days, and Buri had learned to save her acid remarks for informal occasions. But they’d all been trying to parse out a tricky bit of border enforcement strategy, and the two of them had been seven steps ahead of everyone else. Swift, wordless glances at one another had somehow been turning into a full Rider/Own operation plan. Alanna hadn’t been able to follow it, and they weren’t even trying to get anyone else up to speed, and this was supposed to be a council meeting, not two-person charades —
At least, that was what she told George afterwards, still steaming a bit.
“And what exactly did you say to them?” her husband asked, voice full of laughter.
“I told them their blasted Tourakom-Goldenlake hand signals were all very well and good, but that for the sake of politeness they should at least pretend they can’t read each other’s minds,” she snapped.
George laughed and swung his feet up on his desk. Alanna stomped into the small library that adjoined his study and got on a stepstool, eyes tracking the top shelf to see where in the Goddess’s name she’d left the book she’d been meaning to return to Jon for months. “And what did they say to that?” called George.
“Nothing!” she exclaimed. “Blinked at me, couldn’t even figure out how to apologize, had to back themselves up to explain —“ she wiped dusty hands on her trousers. “It’s like they didn’t even know they were doing it.”
“Maybe they’re lovers,” suggested George casually.
Alanna froze.
Maybe they’re —
She dropped off the stool and stuck her head around the doorframe to peer at her husband. “What do you know, o Rogue of mine?”
He grinned at her. “Nothing. Or nothing yet. Just a guess.”
Alanna narrowed her eyes at him. “Why would them being lovers make a difference?”
George shrugged. “We all know mind-reading isn’t a thing, unless you’re a cursed powerful mage with the kind of Sight I’d never want. But lovers have their own code.”
She snorted and retreated back into the library to continue her search. “Lovers have their own code,” she muttered under her breath, clambering back up the stepstool. “What horse shit is that?”
She heard him chuckle from the next room. His chair scraped back, and when she glanced down from her perch he’d propped one broad shoulder against the doorframe and was smiling up at her.
It was a very specific kind of smile, and even though she huffed at him and tried to concentrate on her task, it was hard to ignore. Her man always did have a way of undressing her with his eyes. Fifteen years of marriage and three children and he could still knock her sideways when he wanted.
And right now, he did want, or so it would seem. She put her hands on her hips and glared down at him. “What?”
“Well, now,” he drawled. “I’m not sayin’ I can read your mind all the time, but I’d wager you know what I’m thinking right now, and I haven’t said a word.” He blinked long eyelashes at her and tilted his head sideways, gaze sweeping over her in the way that always made her blush.
And blush she did. “George,” she said, trying to be as firm as possible, “now is not the time –“
“Where might you be running off to?”
“I still haven’t found that second volume of the Haryse history and I have a meeting with Jon in half an hour —“
She immediately realized her mistake and shut her mouth with a near-audible snap. His eyes lit up and his grin turned wicked.
They’d never spoken of it. But she knew there was little George loved more than sending a thoroughly fucked-out Alanna to meetings with Jonathan. Make her come, leave teeth marks on her throat, and then drop her (breathless, flustered, dizzy) on the king’s doorstep with a wink. Each time was a victory for George in the long quiet war he and Jonathan had had over Alanna since she was barely more than a child. He never missed an opportunity for it.
He moved towards her, intent, and try as she might to fight it, Alanna felt her knees go a little weak. “Get down here.”
“George —“
She was still on the stepstool, and when he got close he slid his hands up the backs of her legs. “Wife of mine,” he rumbled, eyes dangerous, “I know you know what I want.”
She bit back a smile and bent down to take his face in both her hands, shaking her head. “Husband of mine,” she murmured, “you know your timing is cursed inconvenient.”
He turned his head and kissed her palm. “And we both know my timing’s exactly what I want it to be. See what I mean about codes?”
She laughed, and kissed him properly, and he pulled her down off her stepstool and kicked shut the door.