The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 260

Chapter 131-1

Clam

“We don’t need to answer that phone tomorrow,” Locke says softly after a long time, “If you change your mind about Willow, say the word. I’ll handle it. You don’t owe anyone a single piece of yourself.”

I lift my head slightly, resting my chin against his chest to look up into his steady eyes.

“I know,” I whisper, “I know I don’t. But right now… I don’t care about tomorrow. I don’t care about Willow, or Dad, or whatever shit Kox is up to.”

A small, rare smirk touches the corner of his lips, his eyes softening as he pulls me half an inch closer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, a lazy, mischievous smile spreading across my face. I poke him lightly in the center of his chest. “In fact, I’ve decided we’re not going back to the bedroom tonight. Or tomorrow.”

Locke raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“It is,” I state with absolute authority, propping myself up on an elbow and looking down at him. “We are officially camping out right here in front of the fire. I want all the heavy blankets brought out from the hall closet, three pillows each minimum, and you’re going to go into the kitchen to get us supplies.”

Locke grunts, his lips twitching as his hands slide up my bare back, smoothing down my tumbled curls. “Supplies? Like water and a fresh set of clothes?”

“Try again,” I laugh softly, nipping playfully at his lower lip. “Like marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate. We have a perfectly good open fire right here, Locke. It’s practically a crime not to make

s’mores.”

Locke stares at me for a beat, a rich, deep chuckle coming out of his chest… a sound so rare and light it makes my heart soar.

“Let me get this straight,” he says, his eyes sparkling with absolute affection. “You want a six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-forty-pound club member to hunt for marshmallows and get blankets so we can build a pillow fort?”

“Yes,” I say. “And I expect you to toast my marshmallow to a perfect golden brown, too. If it catches fire, yo u have to eat it.”

“You’re a tyrant, Zara,” he says, but he’s already moving, rolling over with effortless power and scooping me up into his arms like I weigh nothing at all.

“Hey!” I gasp, laughing as he hauls us both up toward the sofa, grabbing the oversized fleece throw and wrapping it snugly around my shoulders before setting me down on the plush rug like a queen on her throne. “What are you doing?”

“Stay right there, boss,” Locke says, standing up in all his muscular, delicious glory, entirely unbothered about his nudity as he turns toward the kitchen with a devastating, wicked grin over his shoulder. “I’ll go raid the pantry. But if I’m making s’mores, you’re paying for them in trade.”

“Deal,” I call out after him, leaning back against the pile of sheepskin with a deep, happy sigh, watching the firelight dance across the room as the man I love scavenges around the kitchen.

1/2

Chapter 12

Claim

The clatter of cupboards opening and the quiet rustle of bags echo through the living room, accompanied by his tow hum. It’s a sound so rarely heard from him that it makes my heart swell in my chest.

A minute later, he pads back into the living room, carrying a wooden tray loaded with a bag of oversized marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, chocolate bars, and two long metal barbecue skewers that he must have unearthed from the back of a drawer.

He settles his massive frame back down beside me on the rug with effortless grace, his eyes warm and entirely fixed on his new task.

After all, Locke is a man of lethal precision. He can shoot a moving target from a hundred yards, dismantle a drug operation almost blindfolded, and terrify grown men with a single glance.

And, as it turns out, that same terrifying focus applies directly to roasting marshmallows. I have the proof five minutes later:

“Locke, it’s on fire,” I say, pointing to the marshmallow at the end of the long wooden skewer he’s holding over the embers. “It’s burning.”

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