Octo BEAR fest (Renaissance Shifters #1)

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

B ill froze, which was the absolute worst thing he could do, because it meant he was standing there holding two cinnamon rolls against Gwen's face. But he couldn't make himself move, either, because in his mind he could hear the sticky shluck! of the cream cheese frosting releasing from her skin, and that somehow seemed worse than…than standing there framing her face with cinnamon rolls.

Oh, God, he whispered to his bear. I don't think even fated mates can fix this.

Gwen's gaze had softened as he'd spoken. Those ice blue eyes of hers had darkened into warm, welcoming pools, and he'd believed for a moment that he could really tell her anything, that she would love and accept him exactly as he was. She'd tipped her chin up, invitation for a kiss, and…

…he'd smeared cinnamon rolls all over her face.

He was fairly certain several thousand years had passed in the few seconds he'd been standing there, holding sticky pastries as he gazed down at her in absolute horror. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and he waited for the inevitable slap, or knee to the nuts, or whatever the appropriately violent response to being cinnamon-rolled was.

Gwen slithered from between the cinnamon rolls as she doubled with laughter. Cream cheese slid through her hair. A blop of it fell from her hair to the ground, and her laughter rose into a helpless shriek before she fell back against the door of her car, absolutely howling . Tears ran down her face, smearing her eyeliner, so now she was both covered in frosting, cinnamon, and sad, dark clown streaks. She caught her breath, started to speak, looked up into his face, and dissolved into laughter again, clutching her arms around her belly as she shook with giggles. Eventually she gasped, "Oh my God. Oh my God," grabbed his shirt, and pulled herself upright to stand on her toes and kiss him.

She tasted like heaven and blessings and, inevitably, cinnamon-flavored cream cheese. She was also still laughing, and it ran through him like water, loosening some of his distress into an uncertain smile against her mouth. When she broke from the kiss, her eyes still bright with tears of laughter, he said, "I'm sorry," in a voice even he thought was small, and she threw her head back and laughed until she cried again.

"Don't be. Don't be. That was the best first kiss in the history of kisses. Oh, my God, that was amazing. 'How did you and Daddy meet, Mommy?' 'He shoved a cinnamon roll up my nose and I knew it was love.'" Gwen fell back against her car again, wiping her eyes as she giggled. "No, sorry, escalating, I know, big escalation there, just, oh my God. Your face. I have never seen a man's life pass before his eyes before. Ghosts would come to you for lessons on how to be white as a sheet. I thought you were going to throw up. And now you look like a fish out of water." A fresh bout of giggles swept over her.

She was right. Bill could feel his mouth opening and closing but he didn't seem to be able to stop it. He still had cinnamon rolls in his hands, for God's sake.

And Gwen Booker had just escalated their relationship in to 'Mommy, Daddy, love.'

He knew it was her amusement talking. That didn't stop his heart from clenching like someone had squeezed a fist around it, and he seem to have forgotten how to breathe. Weakly, as a protest that absolutely didn't help or even matter, he said, "I did not shove it up your nose ," and Gwen sank to the ground, throwing her head against the car door as she laughed and laughed.

"Oh, God, you really are the best. You're just wonderful. No, you didn't, you smeared it all over my face, but never let the truth get in the way of a good story, big man. Oh, man." She wiped at her eyes again, less carefully, and came away with makeup smeared on her knuckles. "Oh, God, look at me. Okay, first stop before we go hang these non-existent flyers, we gotta go to my hotel so I can shower and fix my face."

"I don't know what to do with these cinnamon rolls," Bill said desperately.

It set Gwen off again, and he couldn't blame her. "Is there a trash can out here? No way am I sending you back inside. They'd want to know what happened and then they'd tease you until the heat death of the universe, and we don't have time for that, so…how can a pub not have outdoors trash cans?" she added after glancing around.

"We do. They're just up on the deck."

"No, no, they'll see you if you go up there, too. Fine, get in the car." She crawled to her feet, still grinning hugely, and went around to open the passenger side door for him. "Don't get cream cheese all over the place, those seats are leather."

Bill sat carefully but froze again at that warning, feeling like a huge ungainly lunk. Gwen leaned in, murmured, "Safety first," and pressed right up against him as she buckled his seatbelt for him. Then from right there, she flashed another sudden bright and very wicked grin, almost against his mouth. "Oh, man, if it weren't daylight and in front of your actual family's pub, I could have a real good time with this."

The only thing that saved him from an instant raging erection was that only half the blood in his body flooded to his groin. The rest of it shot to his face, his blush hot enough that he thought it was actually melting the frosting on Gwen's cheeks. "Ooh," she murmured, still up close. "I think he likes it. Note to self: the big man might be into not being allowed to touch."

Then she withdrew, closed the car door firmly, and went around to the driver's seat while Bill was still trying to scrape enough brain cells together to decide what he thought of that idea. His blush was apparently fading, because his cock was getting harder, which seemed to be a solid answer to the proposal. He spluttered faintly as she slid into the car, and she gave him another bright, wicked grin. "Good news is the hotel is only a couple blocks away. You'll be able to throw those away in a minute. Although," she said, widening her eyes, "given that I'm covered in sticky white goo maybe you better hold on to them until we're in my room."

Bill slithered as far as he could down into the seat and groaned. "I live in this town."

"And when was the last time anybody gossiped about you? We'll give them a whole show this weekend," Gwen promised, and he was still trying to decide if that was a good or a bad thing when they got to her hotel.

To his relief, and her obvious huge amusement, there didn't happen to be anybody at the reception desk when they went in. He dumped the cinnamon rolls in the nearest trash can, blurting, "I can wait down here."

Gwen gave him a dubious look. "You could, but it'll be easier to clean up in my room. All the bathrooms in the lobby need keys, and the longer I stay down here the more likely somebody is to see me and get the wrong idea. Ah, there he goes, now." Bill was halfway to the elevators before she'd finished pointing out the flaws in his plan, and four floors later, she let him into what turned out to be a rather nice hotel suite. "Yeah," she said, watching him glance around in admiration, "you've put me up in style. And I appreciate it. Go wash your hands," she added with amusement, and he fled into the bathroom to do just that.

It took considerably more effort to get the sticky cinnamon roll residue off his hands than he expected, and their scent lingered despite the orange-sandalwood soap. He came out, hands dry but sniffable: his bear's nose was twitching and it was making him hungry. "That hotel soap smells amazing. Especially if you add cinnamon to it."

"Oooh, can I smell?" Gwen reached for his hand, then pulled hers back, looking embarrassed again. "I keep doing that. Sorry."

"You can touch me any time you want to. And, oh, God, that sounded better in my head."

Gwen laughed and did take his hand, bringing his knuckles to her nose and inhaling before she laughed again. "I think you're right, it does smell good, but mostly I can smell cream cheese and sugar. Cover me, I'm going in." She scooted past him to the bathroom while Bill stood there, frozen yet again as he tried to decide what 'cover me' meant in this situation.

Nothing , he told himself firmly. It was just a thing people said.

Blankets? His bear provided an image of them, warm and nestly in a den.

Bill relaxed with a chuckle. Bears don't use blankets.

Bears would use blankets if they had them, his bear informed him sternly, and Bill had to admit that seemed likely.

It also seemed likely that he should leave the room, go back down to the lobby and wait for Gwen there. That was probably the polite thing to do. Except it also seemed a little weird to just not be there when she came out of the bathroom, and it seemed even weirder to yell, "I'm going downstairs!" over the sound of the running shower, like they were actually a couple or something.

His bear said, You think too much, which was very likely. Sit down. Wait for our mate. Stop thinking!

Bill suspected it was a bad idea to actually stop thinking, but, chastened, he made his way to the room's couch and sat, knowing he'd wait for Gwen Booker forever.