Chapter 17
17
RUBY
I wake up feeling like I’m floating on a cloud, which is weird because my mattress at home definitely has a spring digging into my lower back. As my eyes adjust to the soft morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows, reality comes at me like a ton of bricks. This isn’t my shoebox apartment above the bar—this is straight out of Architectural Digest or maybe Bruce Wayne’s summer cabin.
I know instantly I’m in Knox’s place. It smells like him; it screams him. The last thing I recall is being in his car with his finger inside of me—fuck, I tingle with the memory—then exhaustion came over me, and I assume I fell asleep. He must have brought me to his place.
The room is massive, all clean lines and minimalist luxury. A California king bed, which I’m currently sprawled in the middle of like some sort of starfish, is flanked by ornate dark wooden nightstands. The walls are a soft charcoal gray, decorated with black and white photographs of mountain peaks and snow-covered trails. There’s an absolutely ridiculous chaise lounge by the window that looks like it’s never been sat on.
The built-in bookshelves catch my attention—they’re filled with adventure magazines, travel books, and what appears to be a complete collection of wilderness survival guides. Clearly, someone takes their mountain man persona seriously. But it’s not just for show—some of the books are well worn, their spines cracked and pages dog-eared.
But it’s the scent that really gets me—chocolate, crisp snow, and something wild that reminds me of thunderstorms. Knox. It’s all over these obscenely soft sheets, and my head is spinning with it. I bury my face deeper into his pillow, inhaling deeply. God, who even is he? Batman in disguise? Some secret millionaire who gets his kicks leading hiking tours?
Last night plays on my mind—the kiss and mind-blowing orgasm in the gondola, him punching Marcus in the face, which I can never forget. The way Knox looked at me like I was something precious, something worth protecting. How much I’d wanted… still want him to fuck and knot me. The memory of his hands, fingers, and tongue on me makes my skin tingle, and I have to press my face into his pillow to muffle my groan.
I flop back, hugging his pillow close. His scent wraps around me. Part of me wants to curl up here forever, surrounded by his scent, preferably with him in the bed, too... And that thought right there? That’s exactly why I need to order those suppressants. I’m losing my damn mind. Next thing you know, I’ll be picking out curtains and naming our future children.
With a herculean effort, I force myself to untangle from his sheets. The bed is ridiculously high, and I slide down rather ungracefully, my red dress from last night falling around my ankles in a wrinkled mess. Right. No underwear. Fantastic. Nothing says walk of shame quite like going commando in last night’s party dress.
I try what I think is the exit door and instead find myself in a bathroom that’s bigger than my entire apartment. The mirror shows me exactly what I feared—raccoon eyes from smeared makeup and messy nest hair. I look like I’ve been thoroughly kissed, and... well, I have been.
Knox’s shower has multiple heads, and I’m already making my way in that direction, turning on the hot water.
Once in, I can’t resist using his shampoo, and yeah, maybe I spend a little too long enjoying how it makes me smell like him. The water feels amazing, and I may or may not pretend I’m in some sort of luxury spa retreat rather than hiding out in my... what is Knox, exactly? My potential boyfriend? My Alpha? One of my Alphas? God, I’m in so much trouble. Not only am I falling for Knox, but there’s Garrett, too, and... My stomach does a little flip just thinking about them both. Oh right, and my reaction around Dominic.
I’m so lost in thought, I nearly slip on the fancy stone tiles and have to catch myself on the wall.
After my shower, there’s no way I’m putting that dress back on—it smells like sex. I find a white, fluffy robe that has to be Knox’s, hanging on the back of the door. It’s huge on me, wrapping around me almost twice, but once I cinch it tight, I feel somewhat decent. The sleeves hang past my fingers, and I have to roll them up several times.
Gathering up my dress and shoes, I venture out into the hallway. The house is just as impressive as the bedroom. A plush red runner carpet leads to a sweeping mahogany staircase, complete with a crystal chandelier. Everything’s very bachelor pad chic—lots of clean lines and muted colors, minimal furniture, but what’s there screams money. There are more photographs on these walls, but these have people in them. A younger Knox with what must be his parents, all of them geared up for hiking. Another of him teaching what looks like a kids’ ski class, his smile bright and genuine.
I pause at one that shows him on top of a serious mountain peak, arms raised in triumph, the sunrise painting the snow pink behind him. He looks so alive, so free. Something in my chest aches looking at it.
Downstairs, I find myself face-to-face with a massive white Christmas tree, decorated with the kind of precision that speaks of professional help. My throat tightens at the sight. I haven’t put up all the decorations in years, not since... The memory overwhelms me without warning—my father throwing my mom into our tree, ornaments shattering, blood mixing with broken glass. Her trying to smile through split lips, telling me it was just an accident, just like always. The way she’d still insisted on cleaning up all the broken ornaments herself, as if somehow that would make everything okay...
“Morning, beautiful.”
I whirl around to find Knox leaning against the stair railing, one hand tucked into the pocket of his low-slung jeans. His white t-shirt clings to every muscle, and those biceps... He’s barefoot, looking completely at home in this palace of his. The heat must be cranked because I’m suddenly very warm.
“So, this is where mountain guides live nowadays? I think I chose the wrong career.”
He pushes off the railing and walks toward me with a devastatingly sexy grin curling on his lips. “I prefer outdoor recreation specialist .”
“Fancy title for someone who basically gets paid to go hiking.”
He stops inches from me, close enough that I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes. “I do more than just hike. I’ll have you know I’m an expert in making trail mix and telling top-notch jokes.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. What did the mountain climber name his son?”
I groan. “Please don’t...”
“Cliff.”
“That’s terrible.”
“I’ve got more. What kind of photos do mountain climbers take?”
“Knox...”
“Cliffies.”
I can’t help but laugh, which makes his whole face light up. “Do you actually tell these to your clients?”
“Only the special ones.”
"And why's that?"
His eyes flick upward, and I follow his gaze to a sprig of mistletoe dangling from the ceiling. I take an immediate step back, my chest tightening. "Nope. Not happening. Never beneath the mistletoe."
I try to push away the memories that surface - Dad's cruel laugh, Mom's face crumpling as he tore into her for being so pathetic, so desperate for a Christmas kiss. Just marketing for weak-minded fools, he'd snarled.
Knox’s watching me carefully, his earlier playfulness dimming. "Something wrong with mistletoe?"
"Let's just say my father wasn't a fan when I was growing up." I shrug, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. "Guess some things stick with you."
"Not sure how anyone can hate a symbol that encourages kissing."
“You hungry?” He changes the topic and I respect him even more for not prying.
Something sweet and cinnamony wafts through the air, making my stomach growl too loud. “Is that what I think it is?”
Instead of answering, he cups my face and kisses me on the mouth. It’s not gentle—it’s hungry and deep and makes my toes curl against the hardwood floor. He tastes like cinnamon and coffee, and my insides just melt. When he pulls back, I’m breathless and a little dizzy.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand. “I’ve got something to show you.”
I join him, unable to stop smiling.
The kitchen is a chef’s dream—all stainless steel and granite, with a huge island in the center. Lily and Hannah would go insane for this kitchen. Industrial-grade appliances gleam, and there’s a coffee maker that looks like it could power a small city. But what catches my attention are the cookies cooling on a rack by the window. “Are those...”
“Snickerdoodles.” He lifts me easily onto the counter, stepping between my legs like he belongs there. My heart does a little skip when his hands settle on my thighs. “My specialty.”
“Liar. They’re my favorite.”
“Mine, too.” Something shadows his expression. “My mom used to make them. Taught me before...” He clears his throat, and I resist the urge to smooth away the crease between his brows. “Said every man should know how to bake at least one thing properly. Want to be my taste tester?”
He holds up a cookie, and I take a bite, trying to be objective even as the sugar and cinnamon melt on my tongue. There’s something different, something that makes me want more...
“Did you put ginger in these?”
“Family secret.” His smirk is almost mischievous. “Addictive, right?”
I finish the cookie in two bites, not even trying to be ladylike about it.
“I should warn you… I’m a cookie addict. This could get dangerous. I once ate an entire batch of chocolate chip cookies during a single shift at the bar.”
He laughs, the sound warming me more than any cookie. “I’ll risk it. Been baking early in the hours when I couldn’t sleep.”
“A man after my own heart. I do my best baking at three a.m.” I steal another cookie. “Coffee?”
“Already on it.” He moves to the fancy machine, and I definitely don’t watch the way his back muscles move under his shirt.
“But I need to grab my phone from the car first. Think I left it there.”
“Already handled.” He reaches across the counter and hands me my phone. “It was dying, so I plugged it in. Figured you might need it.”
My stomach drops when I see all the notifications. Messages from Ash checking I’m okay, so I quickly send back that I’m fine. One from Lily asking about the Christmas party, and suddenly Dominic’s face flashes in my mind, making guilt curl in my gut. But it’s the message from Marcus that makes me feel sick.
You think you were real clever last night. The gloves are off, cousin.
“Everything okay?”
I look up to find Knox watching me, concern etched on his face. His hands are wrapped around two coffee mugs—both, I notice, decorated with terrible mountain puns. One says Life is peak-uliar , and the other says Don’t take these views for granite. This man is such a dork.
I force a smile and put the phone face-down. “Yeah, just work stuff. Speaking of which, I should probably get back soon. Ash is alone at the bar...”
“I’ve got some clothes that might fit you for the drive,” he offers, but his eyes say he knows I’m lying. He sets the mugs down and moves back between my legs, hands settling on my hips. “Ruby...”
“A lift would be great,” I cut him off, not ready to deal with any of it—not Marcus’ threats, not my growing feelings for both Knox and Garrett, not the call I know I need to make between these Alphas. Instead, I steal another cookie and try not to think about how perfect this kitchen would be for stress baking at three a.m. or how easy it would be to imagine a life here with him.
His thumbs trace small circles on my hips through the robe, and I have to fight not to lean into him like a cat seeking attention.
“You know,” he says carefully, “I’m a pretty good listener. And I make excellent stress cookies.”
“I noticed.” I try for a smile. “What’s your stance on stress brownies?”
“Double chocolate, with extra chocolate chips.” He tucks a damp strand of hair behind my ear, and the gentle touch nearly breaks me.
I want to tell him everything—about Marcus, about the bar, about my Aunt Eve—but once I start, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop. And right now, in this perfect kitchen with these perfect cookies and this perfect man, I just want to pretend for a little longer that my life isn’t a complete mess.
So, I lean forward and kiss him instead. His hands tighten on my hips, and for a moment, I let myself believe that everything might actually be okay.
I’m in so much trouble.