Chapter 20 – BELLS #2
"Since when do you do anything logical?"
His lip quirks again, that not-quite smile that makes him seem almost mortal. "I have my moments."
"Few and far between."
"Careful. I might change my mind and kick you out."
But there's no heat in the threat, and we both know he won't. Because whatever fucked-up code Rex operates by, it won't let him put me in danger.
Won't let him leave me vulnerable when he has the means to protect me.
I know that's what it's about. Not performing.
He barely sleeps himself, and he knows I'm used to running on empty.
It's probably killing him that he gives a shit.
Rex Steele clearly doesn't do concern, doesn't do kindness, doesn't do anything that might be mistaken for human emotion. But here he is, packing his things so I can stay in his fortress because somehow, despite everything, he can't stand the thought of me being unsafe.
"The code," he says suddenly. "Change it."
"What?"
"The door code. Change it to something only you know." He closes his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. "The cameras feed to a phone app. There are instructions on my desk."
He points to a small white manual on his desk with the silhouette of a guard dog and AlphaSys printed on the front of it. It wasn't there the previous few nights. He must have been planning to give me his fucking room since before I came in here.
"Oh, wow," I say in a flat tone. "You really don't care about me at all. There isn't a 'chivalrous' bone in your cold-as-hell's-balls body. I'm totally convinced now."
His eye narrows slightly, but he doesn't otherwise acknowledge my snark.
"And there's a panic button," he continues.
He moves to the nightstand, pulling open a drawer to reveal what looks like a small remote.
"Press it and it alerts building security plus sends an emergency signal to my phone, Phoenix's, and Rafael's. "
"You really are paranoid," I mutter, but I move closer to look at the panic button anyway.
"Prepared," he corrects. "There's a difference."
"Is there though?"
He actually almost smiles at that. A real smile that reaches his visible eye for about half a second before he catches himself and schools his expression back to its usual murderous neutrality.
"The windows are reinforced," he continues, like he's giving a tour. "Bulletproof. The door can withstand significant force. There's a safe in the closet if you need to secure valuables."
I want to argue. Want to tell him I'm not some damsel who needs protecting, that I've been taking care of myself for years without his help. But there's something in his voice, some edge that makes me realize this isn't really about me at all.
This is about Rex needing to feel like he's in control. Like he can prevent bad things from happening if he just prepares enough, fortifies enough, watches closely enough.
"Understood," I say instead.
He nods, shoulders his bag, and heads for the door. His hand closes around the handle, and I think he's actually going to leave without another word—which would be very Rex—but then he pauses.
"And Bells?"
"What?" I ask warily.
"There's omega scent in my bed."
Oh SHIT.
My stomach drops so fast I feel physically sick, but I force my face to remain neutral. Years of practice not reacting on stage when shit goes wrong is the only thing that saves me now.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, sounding appropriately bored despite my heart hammering so hard I'm sure he can hear it.
He turns his head slightly, just enough to look back at me over his shoulder. "Yes, you do."
I force a shrug, going for casual indifference. "Yeah, yeah. Okay. You got me. Had an omega over one night."
The silence stretches between us for one beat, two.
"In my room."
Not a question.
A statement, flat and dangerous.
"Better to ask forgiveness than permission?" I try for wry, my lips twisting into an uncomfortable grin. At least the discomfort isn't part of the act.
Rex doesn't move for a small eternity. Just stands there in the doorway, bag over his shoulder, icy glare boring into me like he's trying to peel back my skin and see what I'm hiding underneath. There's something else there, too. Something I absolutely have to be reading into.
There is no fucking way he's jealous.
"No one but you is allowed in this room," he says finally, his tone making it crystal clear this isn't a request. It's an order. "If you want to bring an omega over, fuck them elsewhere."
"Yes, father," I say pointedly, because I can't fucking help myself, apparently.
He blows a puff of air through his nose. "Change the code," he mutters, turning back to the door. "Tonight."
"I will."
Then he's gone, and as soon as the door shuts behind him, I sag against his desk. My legs feel like jelly, and I slide down until I'm sitting on his bed—the bed that apparently reeks of omega pheromones.
My omega pheromones.
Shit. My suppressants are failing worse than I thought.
If Rex noticed after being in here for maybe thirty minutes, what about Phoenix and Rafael?
Have they been smelling it on me this whole time?
Are they just too polite to say anything, or have the suppressants been working just enough to keep it subtle until I spent three nights rubbing my scent all over Rex's most private space?
Gods, I'm so fucked.