Chapter 18
The rest of the work week is less painful than my first day back.
My boss sends no more judgmental messages, and he’s stayed holed up in his office with meetings, so I haven’t run into him in the hallway.
For once, I’m glad he’s ignoring me, because I don’t want to deal with any awkwardness or confrontation.
While the lack of boss drama is nice, the real reason the week isn’t hell is because Lauren forces me to take coffee breaks and go out to lunch with her every day.
I tried to resist at first, but she’s very persistent.
She’s decided I’m under her care, despite the fact she’s got to be almost a decade younger than me.
Her gentle bullying would’ve made past Camille bristle and dig her heels in, unwilling to accept that it didn’t have an ulterior motive. But after Lauren helped me and promised to keep my secret for as long as I need, I let myself give in to her.
Turns out, having a close work friend is amazing. Lauren and I were always friendly, but never like this. We laugh and joke in the break room, bitch about annoying clients, and exchange silent eye rolls when our most obnoxious coworker, Holden, tries to talk over someone.
It wasn’t something I realized was missing from my life until now.
It’s hard to see how lonely you are if that’s been your normal state for years.
Yes, I have Astrid, but she’s busy with her family, so we only have time to hang out a few times a month.
Occasionally, I’ll go visit my brother and dad for the weekend.
But the rest of the time? I’ve been alone.
The ache of that isolation is so ingrained in me I didn’t pay attention to it. My omega makes me keenly aware of it now, and the taste of regular socialization shines a light on the void in my life.
At my new work bestie’s behest, I schedule a follow up at the omega clinic. And by that, I mean Lauren glares at me and refuses to continue our lunch conversation until I call the clinic and make an appointment.
She assumes I’m hesitating because I don’t want to deal with any omega stuff, and I don’t correct her. I don’t think we’re at the friendship level where I tell her about how I begged for my doctor to fuck me during my heat.
A different receptionist than I’ve spoken to in the past picks up and asks if I’d like to see Dr. Stills again, clearly not aware of what occurred during my heat.
Like a dumbass, I panic and ask if Dr. Stills wants to see me again.
I almost hang up the phone when there’s a long, confused pause on the receptionist’s end, but Lauren shakes her head at me and holds me in her stare until I get through booking the appointment.
Friday arrives, and finds me sitting in my car outside the omega clinic on my lunch break, working up the courage to go inside.
I should’ve called back and requested a different doctor, but my omega wouldn’t let me.
She’s eager to see Dr. Stills again, convinced that he’s going to take one look at me, pull me into his arms, and ravish me right on the exam table because he’s been dying without me.
Meanwhile, I’m convinced seeing the man I coerced into being my heat minder is going to be the most awkward doctor’s appointment of my life.
My phone chimes with the reminder that my appointment is now, and my hatred of being late for appointments is the only reason I’m able to force myself out of my car and into the building.
In the light of day, the sterile, bright waiting room is a lot less jarring. I check in with the receptionist and barely have a second to sit down on one of the squeaky plastic chairs before they’re calling me back.
Their efficiency is impressive, and while it’s bringing me closer to my dreaded reunion with Ambrose, I’m glad I don’t have to wait around and let the anticipation build even more.
The kind brunette beta nurse brings me to an exam room, where she takes my vitals and draws a few vials of blood. Once that’s done, she instructs me to get changed into the paper gown on the table and says that Dr. Stills will be in shortly.
I undress as quickly as possible, like I’m worried he’s going to burst in before I’m changed and he’ll see me naked.
He’s already seen me naked, so there are worse things that could happen, but that doesn’t stop my nerves from spiking.
To my horror, when I go to take off my underwear, I realize I’m slick between my thighs as my omega delusionally gets ready for Ambrose’s massive cock and knot.
I grimace and shove my panties back on, unwilling to drip slick all over the exam table.
There’s already a faint aroma of coffee in the air from the few moments I had my panties off, and I scramble to fish my scent neutralizer spray out of my purse, surrounding myself in a thick cloud of it that makes me cough.
I’m sweaty and breathless, the paper gown clinging to my damp skin as I hop up onto the exam table gracelessly right before there’s a knock on the door.
“Ms. Clairmont? May I come in?”
Thank god I put my panties back on because the husky, warm sound of Ambrose’s voice through the door is enough to have my omega ready to spread her legs.
“Y-yeah!” My reply is a high-pitched squeak and I clutch the front of the gown closed like it will hide my mortifying reactions to my doctor.
The door swings open and there he is, looking even more handsome and perfect than ever.
Tall and broad, with those piercing gray eyes that match the sprinkling of silver in his hair and beard.
The kindest, heart-melting smile known to man.
Even his hands are sexy. I remember how they felt petting me, holding me steady while he fucked me and whispered praise…
Stop thinking about that!
My omega is unhappy that there’s no trace of his refreshing cocktail of citrus and aromatics, but I’m glad because smelling him again would make this infinitely worse.
“Camille.” My name is barely more than a whisper as Ambrose steps into the exam room and shuts the door behind him.
“H-hi,” I say, swallowing hard against my nerves and my overwhelming need to be close to him now that he’s here with me.
“I thought—” He starts at the same time I say, “I’m so sorry!”
Ambrose’s smile drops, and his posture stiffens. “Why are you sorry, sweetheart?”
There’s a pulse of heat between my thighs at the endearment, and I have to grab the edge of the exam table so I won’t launch myself at the alpha.
“I should’ve asked for someone else. I know you probably don’t want to see me after…” Unexpected, hot tears spring to my eyes as I acknowledge the possibility that my omega is wrong, and he’s not interested in me.
A whine slips out of me before I can stop it, and the effect it has on Ambrose is instantaneous. He’s across the room and scooping me up against him. His chest rumbles in a deep purr, just like he did my first time here. Except this time, he doesn’t pull back after a moment.
He buries his face against my neck and shudders, letting out a deep groan. “Fuck, Camille, tell me we can’t do this,” Ambrose murmurs as he fists the back of my gown, threatening to tear the thin paper.
“Why?” I ask, head clouded with relief that he’s holding me and heady desire. I want him to rip this gown off of me and touch me everywhere.
He pulls back to look me in the eye, worry etched in his brow and pupils blown wide with arousal. “Because if you let me hold you again, let me touch you again, I’ll want more.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I can’t think of anything better than Ambrose taking me right here on the exam table. Pressed this close to him, there’s the faintest hint of his scent, and it’s making my omega feral for more.
Something in the core of the being tells me to grab this alpha and never let him go. It’s terrifying. Exhilarating.
Ambrose shuts his eyes like he’s in pain and lets out another deep groan.
I don’t like that at all. I reach out and cup his cheek, needing to comfort him through his distress.
He leans into my touch, eyes fluttering back open to look at me with so much longing it makes my breath hitch.
“You don’t understand, sweetheart. If I don’t keep my distance, I’ll want to make you mine.”
The words thrill my omega and I lean in to kiss him, desperate to feel his lips against mine, but freeze when my logical brain comes back online.
I don’t know this man.
My body and omega sure as fuck want and trust him, but we’re strangers. It should be a red flag that he’s saying shit like this when the extent of his knowledge of who I am is my medical history and sexual preferences.
“You don’t know me,” I whisper. If my omega could strangle me right now, she would, but decades of dating and relationships have taught me that when something seems too good to be true, that’s because it probably is.
My words are like ice water poured over the heat between us. Ambrose moves back, and the loss of his touch makes my body sag.
“You’re right,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair.
There’s a long, tense silence where I think he’s going to pretend nothing happened and proceed with my appointment, but then he shakes his head and gives me a small smile.
“Camille, do you know what a scent match is?”
It sounds vaguely familiar. Like something from one of the cheesy romances I read as a teen. “I assume it means what it sounds like. People matched up because they have compatible scents.”
Ambrose nods, his smile broadening. “Yes. It’s when you find someone whose scent overwhelms you with how right it is. It’s an instinctual recognition that this person is special. That you belong with them.”
The weight of his gaze on me as he keenly observes my reaction to his words makes butterflies kick up in my stomach. I swallow hard. “Oh.”
“We’re scent matches, Camille. It’s why I’ve desperately needed to take care of you from the moment we met. It’s why your omega wanted me during your heat, and why I came.”