Free And Then Comes Marriage by Celeste Bradley

delicious. Such honesty is a refreshing change, I must admit.”
    Honesty. She liked that. She twined her arms around his neck and sighed into his shirt. “I like you,” she whispered, risking more honesty. “Now I think I like you even more.”
    He said nothing for a long moment. Then, very softly, “I like you too, Mira.”
    She smiled, sifting her fingers through his curls. Then she yawned, so deeply that her jaw popped. She ducked her head, mortified. He only laughed and bent to sweep her into his arms, lifting her easily. Then he carried her to the bed and tucked her in, dressing gown and all.
    “Sleep,” he said. “You are up much too early. My sisters would never be about at such an unholy hour.”
    She curled beneath the covers, smiling. His sisters … Callie and Ellie and Attie. She yawned again, this time without apology. He’d told her so much about them, she felt as though she knew them … and his brothers … Dade and Zander and Rion … and the other one … what was his name?
    “Sleep well. We’ll have plenty of time for that kiss later,” Castor whispered as he tucked the covers high under her chin. Such a beauty she was, with her slender legs and her long neck, like a swan or a Thoroughbred horse, shimmering with life and sweet honest lust.
    Absolutely delicious.
    Perhaps he did have a new girl.
     
    Chapter Seven
     
     
    When Cas left Miranda’s house, it was still early morning.
    She had fallen asleep at once and he’d not had the heart to wake her, for she seemed so tired. He’d stayed awhile anyway, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her sleep with her forehead tucked down into the pillows and her long limbs curled up beneath the covers.
    Before he’d left, and when he knew she was quite deeply asleep, he’d buried his face in her fragrant hair and breathed her in as he stroked his fingertips down her arm with a tenderness he did not remember ever feeling before.
    Not only was it a relief to spend time with a woman who did not seem to know the concept of romantic strategy, but her bashful sincerity made him feel trusted. He felt a rare desire to be forthcoming in return, as though he might be able to share things with her that he’d never shared with anyone.
    Not that he would truly spill his heart, of course. That was not his style. There were places inside him that he would just as soon not know about himself, much less share with a woman—a woman who might look at him differently after, or might not wish to look upon him at all.
    Although, if ever there was such a woman, he thought she might be a lot like Miranda.
    At the bottom of the steps, he had the good fortune to hail a hack right away. Swinging himself up into the taxi before it even stopped rolling, he called out his destination and settled back into the shabby velvet seat.
    *   *   *
     
    Poll stood on the grass of the park across the street. He’d cut across rather than try to hail a cab at one of the busiest hours of the morning. Now he stood openmouthed as he watched his twin ramble down the steps of Miranda’s house and ride away.
    Cas? And Miranda?
    Snap. Poll looked down at the double handful of splinters in his palms. Splintered wood that had once been a pretty little carved hair comb. He’d begun it years ago, probably as a gift for his mother, but had finished it in the wee hours of the morning, inspired by Miranda’s rich dark hair.
    There was nothing left but splinters. Ruined past repair.
    How could she? With his own brother? His twin—which was somehow worse, although he couldn’t say precisely why.
    How could she do such a thing to him?
    Fury swept him, yet there was a single, dissenting voice in his mind.
    Miranda is not the two-timing sort.
    But Cas—with the rumpled hair—
    Your hair still looks like a woman’s had her hands in it.
    No. Miranda was painstakingly honest. She simply wouldn’t.
    A horrifying thought crossed his mind. If Miranda was seeing them both—yet was a woman