Reyland was holding a casserole dish in his hands, something he had just removed from the oven. Something that smelled divine.
He was wearing the same T-shirt he had on earlier, no sweater, and his dark jeans. No shoes on his feet.
Definitely not a warrior wolf, she mused as she stared at his bare feet.
For someone his size, his feet were slim and pretty.
Straight toes, clipped nails, nice ankles. She had not noticed it before, but he had a birthmark at the back of his left foot.
As she watched him, her mind wandered.
No one had ever cooked for her. But this was the third time, in as many days, that Reyland was not just making food for her, he was making delicious meals.
And just like in his home, he was moving around the kitchen smoothly.
And just now in the bedroom, he had moved
