Tempting Frey (Bears of Beauville #2)

Chapter 1

FREY

When Oliver Klondike turned eighteen, I took it personally. It felt like fate was pranking me.

I remembered little Ollie zooming around Beauville on a goddamn tricycle. Tonight, he blew out eighteen candles on the slightly crooked two-tier chocolate cake his omega dad Phil had made him and drank champagne with the grown-ups.

How could Chickie’s baby boy already be an adult?

Monty brought a karaoke machine to Chickie’s backyard, and he and Jordy built a makeshift podium from pallets.

Even Barclay got up there, and while he didn’t sing, he used the mic to make a brief speech that left everybody misty-eyed.

Oliver’s older brothers and cousins performed some silly birthday song parody, and the ruckus must have been heard all over Beauville.

Nobody complained, though, since half the town was at the party.

Besides, it was the sheriff’s youngest son’s eighteenth birthday; who would folks call to complain?

The mayor? Oops, that was me, the sheriff’s best friend.

Phil and Chickie were the perfect image of proud parents, and Oliver laughed, eyes shining and cheeks pink. He was pretty. He’d be breaking hearts at college.

The celebration was so sickeningly wholesome… and I felt old. I was old.

Little Ollie wasn’t little anymore. He’d soon be off to college. My friends had adult children, and I lived alone.

Time was cruel.

I walked home late and buzzing, which didn’t stop me from pouring myself a nightcap. I didn’t turn on the light in the living room. Instead, I opened the patio door and gazed at the starry sky above the mountains as I drank my whiskey. The night remained hot, with crickets chirping in the bushes.

When I downed the last drop, determined to go to bed, somebody knocked on the door. Beauville was quiet, boring, and predictable, and I liked it that way. A sudden knock on my door in the middle of the night couldn’t mean good news.

I set the empty tumbler on the bar in my living room and went to open the door.

My porch light illuminated a head full of honey-blond and copper hair. Large green eyes blinked up at me, anxious.

“Oliver? What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Frey.” At first, my heart picked up. Had something happened to Phil or Chickie? But Oliver looked nervous, not outright scared or sad.

“It’s nothing bad,” he assured me. “I just need to talk to you. Is it okay if I come in?”

I stepped aside to let him in and closed the door. He’d changed clothes since the party. Now he wore an oversized dress shirt with skinny jeans and white sneakers.

“It’s… I need your advice. I can’t bring this up with my dads. And all my friends from school are… They’re just kids, you know? And you’re a friend. A good friend. I figured I could talk to you.”

Oliver’s halting explanation only freaked me out more. I showed him to the living room.

“Can I have something to drink?” he asked as he made himself at home on my sofa.

“I’m not giving you alcohol.”

His crooked smile looked way too knowing for such a young omega. Oliver had inherited his smarts from Phil. Not that Chickie was dumb in any way, not at all, but Phil was quick and playful. Young Oliver reminded me of Phil’s snarky side.

“I didn’t ask for alcohol,” he said.

I leaned on the bar counter so I wouldn’t fidget. Why did the kid make me apprehensive? “Okay. How about I make you a cup of tea?”

He gave me a blinding smile, dimples and all. “That would be great. Thank you.”

“I’ll be right back.”

In the kitchen, I put the kettle on. I was lost as to why he was here.

Did he want to talk about college? Maybe he wanted advice about his major or something, and he figured I’d be more objective than his parents.

But why come in the middle of the night?

My head was fuzzy because of the whiskey I’d drunk, but the more I thought about it, the less comfortable I felt alone with Oliver in my home after dark. Something about it didn’t feel right.

Unless he needed something urgent, I’d send him home. I’d ask him to come to my office on Monday morning instead.

When I entered the living room a few minutes later, I almost dropped the tea. My knees weak, I set the steaming mug on the bar counter.

This couldn’t be happening. I was probably drunk, passed out on my bed.

Oliver sat sideways on the sofa. He bit his lip, batting his eyelashes.

His legs were bare, and he’d unbuttoned the dress shirt, revealing his collarbones.

The fabric slid down his shoulders and pooled around his hips.

His youthful, slim torso was encased in the most outrageous lingerie I’d ever seen.

“Oliver…” I’d intended a warning tone, but what came out was just a croak.

He stood and ambled toward me. His pecs were covered with turquoise lace, held in place by thin ribbons that stretched over his shoulders and spiraled down around his waist. The fucking briefs were sheer. I glimpsed Oliver’s soft cock and squeezed my eyes shut.

It isn’t happening. Just a weird-ass dream.

A warm hand touched my chest.

“This is the only thing I want for my birthday. To wrap myself up like a parcel and give myself to you.”

I opened my mouth to say something harsh. Something like Get the fuck dressed and haul ass back to your dad! Except I sucked in a waft of his scent, and I groaned instead.

What the hell was that? Some extravagant perfume? It smelled like nothing I’d ever encountered before. Not a flower, not a fruit… more like butter and honey, maybe a hint of vanilla, like fresh cookies dipped in something decadent, something entirely other… The divine scent burned in my lungs.

Like distilled lust.

Fuck . I should stop breathing.

“I’ve been in love with you since I can remember. I’ve been waiting for this day so I could finally tell you how I feel.”

“Oliver, don’t,” I rasped.

“I get that you’re worried because of my dad. But I think… I know you’re my fated. That’s why I’ve never even looked at anyone else. My dad can’t be against us if we’re fated.”

With my eyes closed, I shook my head. My mouth was dry. “Put that shirt back on.” Why couldn’t I make my voice work?

“I want you to make love to me, Frey. I want you to be my first.”

He pressed his body to mine.

“You’ll take my virginity tonight,” he whispered, “and I’ll go into heat for you.”

My cock stirred. Of course it did. A beautiful, nearly naked omega was rubbing himself all over me, asking me to fuck him. He smelled outrageously sexy, and the alpha in me wanted to lick him head to toe.

But this was Oliver . The eighteen-year-old son of my closest friend. All I had to do was remember Chickie’s face when he told me his youngest boy had gotten into the most prestigious college he’d applied for, and my dick shriveled, my balls all but crawling into my body.

The scene quickly transformed from a bizarre dream into a very real disaster.

Eyes wide open, I grabbed Oliver by his shoulders and held him at arm’s length.

“No,” I said, my voice harsh enough to make him wince. “Get dressed and go home. This never happened, understand?”

Those huge green eyes got even bigger. “You don’t want me? But I’ve seen you looking at me…”

He thought I’d been ogling him!? “Fuck no! I’m more than twice your age!”

“You’re my fated,” he piped up.

Shit, he was persistent. I pushed him further away and moved behind the bar. I felt safer with the counter between us. I kept my gaze pinned to his face.

“I’m not,” I ground out. “Go. Home.”

Oliver wrapped his arms around his torso, and his chin wobbled. He wasn’t going to cry, was he? “I love you, Frey.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “No, you don’t. You have no idea what love is. And if we were fated, which we’re not , do you seriously think I’d send my best friend’s son into heat and get him pregnant just before he’s supposed to go to college?”

“A lot of shifter omegas study later in life.”

“Oliver, for the last time, I’m not having sex with you. I don’t want to. Go home, or I’ll call your dad to pick you up.”

Finally, he got it. He spun around and reached for the shirt. Of course he flashed me his butt in the process. The lace parted over his crease. Fucking hell and all the demons. The kid came here to ask me to punch his V-card wearing assless panties.

I looked at the ceiling as he dressed.

When he turned back to me, his cheeks were stained with tears, and his jaw was set in anger. The sight was a gut punch, but what did he expect?

“I’m sorry, Oliver. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. But soon you’re off to school, and you’ll forget about me in a few weeks.”

“You can’t forget your fated mate.” His voice broke on the word mate.

Then he ran out. The entry door banged shut behind him.

I filled my whiskey glass with a shaking hand and gulped half of it in one go. If Sheriff Hawke “Chickie” Klondike ever heard of this, he’d skin me alive and use my fur as a doormat.

Luckily, by August 15, Oliver would be gone.