Chapter 17 #2
“For a while.” The memory of those years sits heavy inside. “Until I realized no matter how much I gave, it would never be enough for some people.”
Understanding dawns. “Because of who you are, not what you do.”
“Yes. For some, a woman on a construction site will never be acceptable.” The word comes out rough, scraping at old wounds. I clear my throat. “The lasagna needs another layer of sauce.”
We work in silence for a moment, the air between us charged with unspoken recognition. When he sets the spoon aside and reaches for the noodles, his movements are more confident.
“The resort owners,” he says finally, “don’t seem to care that I’m scent-blind.”
“Of course not. They hired you for your skills in the upkeep of boats, not for your nose.” I spread more cheese over the pasta, steam rising to dampen my cheeks. “There are people who see beyond designations. You found some.”
“And you?” His question hangs between us. “Did you find your people?”
The spoon in my hand stills. “I thought I did. Once.”
He doesn’t demand more answers, and gratitude warms me. As he hands me the bowl of mozzarella, our fingers connecting in a brief, electric touch that sends a current up my arm.
His chest lifts with a slow inhale before he releases it. “When did you learn to cook?”
“My grandmother taught me. She said food builds bonds stronger than blood.”
“Smart woman.” He lays down another noodle. “What else did she teach you?”
The question opens a door I rarely allow anyone through, with memories of flour-dusted afternoons and family secrets whispered over rising dough.
“How to bake bread. Crochet sweaters. Fix a leaky pipe.” I pause, surprising myself with my willingness to share. “How to build a home that stands no matter what storms come.”
“You’ve done that here,” he says, leaning a little closer without seeming to realize he’s doing it. “Built something strong.”
The assessment catches me off guard, warmth spreading through me at his recognition of what this cottage means to me. Not ready to open up more, I focus on our dinner.
“Final layer.” I sprinkle mozzarella, and he helps push it into the corners I missed, our hands brushing.
His pheromones curl around me, subtle but insistent, mingling with the rich scent of tomato and herbs until I can’t separate them anymore. My body responds without permission, my own scent deepening in answer, clover and flannel rising to meet his ocean air.
“I think we’re getting good at this,” Jared says, stepping back to admire our work. The lasagna sits completed between us, the perfect layers visible through the glass dish.
“We are.” I reach for the aluminum foil, tearing off a sheet to cover the dish, explaining, “The cheese gets too brown otherwise.”
He helps me crimp the edges, our hands working together along the glass rim, fingers bumping, retreating, meeting again. Each contact sends a small shock through my system, my body hyperaware of his proximity.
I open the oven, letting out a blast of heat, and slide the heavy lasagna onto the rack. “This needs to bake for forty minutes. We’ll take the foil off halfway through.”
Straightening, I wipe my hands on a kitchen towel and set the timer.
As I turn back around, Jared steps into my space, his cheeks flushed pink, not from the oven’s heat but from the current running between us. His hooded eyes meet mine, dark with unasked questions, and my breath catches in my throat.
He leans closer, his intent clear in the tilt of his head, the slight parting of his lips. He moves slowly, giving me every opportunity to step back, to break the spell winding around us.
I should move away. Every scar tissue of memory from Auren’s betrayal pulls at me to put distance between us. To protect the fragile peace I’ve built in this cottage. To remember what happens when I give pieces of myself away.
But my feet remain rooted to the floor, my body swaying toward his, drawn by the same force that pulls a compass needle home.
His lips meet mine with tentative pressure. Clumsy. Inexperienced. Sweet in a way that weakens my knees. His hands hover at my waist, not quite touching, afraid of crossing another boundary, and the restraint in his hesitation undoes me more than confidence ever could.
Heat spirals through my body, coiling outward into my limbs until my fingers tingle with it, and the intensity of my reaction terrifies me.
I jerk back, my breath ragged as I stare at him. My lips burn from the contact, and my pulse hammers in my ears.
Jared takes my hand in his, his palm engulfing my fingers, and he sets them over his chest, where his heart thunders. “Don’t be afraid.”
A tremble goes through me. “I haven’t figured out how to not be afraid.”
I’m scared of the power I’m giving him without meaning to. The way my body responds to his presence. The ease with which he’s slipped into the spaces of my life.
His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand, still held against the steady rhythm of his heart. “I won’t hurt you.”
He leans down, our lips meeting again with more purpose, and the restraint that held me back shatters. His arms encircle my waist, drawing me flush with the solid wall of his chest, and I open to him with a hunger that surprises us both.
His mouth moves over mine with more confidence this time, learning the shape of my lips and the right pressure to draw a sigh from me. When his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I answer by parting them, inviting him deeper.
We kiss hungrily, a month of tension dissolving into this moment. My hands explore the planes of his shoulders, the muscles shifting beneath my touch as he holds me tighter. His pheromones wash over me, no longer subtle but demanding in a way that leaves me dizzy.
My body responds, my own scent rising to meet his, weaving our pheromones together into a new blend that belongs only to the two of us.
My pulse pounds in time with his, our hearts racing together, and for the first time in years, the Alpha in me stirs to life, answering the pull of a partner whose body chemistry matches mine.
Mixie winds around our ankles, meowing with displeasure at being ignored. Neither of us breaks the kiss to acknowledge her, too caught in the gravity of each other. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to me as if he might vanish if I let go.
The shrill beep of the oven timer slices through the moment.
I jerk back, dazed, staring at the clock in confusion. Forty minutes couldn’t possibly have passed. The timer reads twenty minutes, set for when we need to remove the foil.
“Half-time warning,” Jared murmurs, husky with desire.
His thumb brushes across my cheek, tracing a line of heat down to the corner of my mouth, and the simple touch sends another wave of longing through me.
He purrs, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest in a pure Alpha response. The sound washes over me, primal and possessive in a way that should send me running. Instead, I lean into it, my body recognizing what my mind resists.
With a crooked grin, he murmurs, “We need to take off the foil.”
“Right.” Still dazed, I grab the oven mitts and open the oven, letting out a flood of heat.
As soon as the foil lands in the sink, and I reset the timer, Jared’s mouth finds mine again, his confidence growing with each heartbeat. This kiss holds nothing back, his tongue sliding past my lips to delve deeper.
A sound escapes my throat, half surprise and half surrender, as my body melts against his. My hands find purchase on his shoulders, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath the thin T-shirt.
Jared walks me backward until my hips meet the counter edge. His height pushes my chin upward, baring my throat and sending a primitive thrill through my system. His hands settle at my waist, fingers gripping the soft flesh above my hips.
The kiss deepens, turning hungry. His teeth graze my bottom lip, and the gentle sting pulls a gasp from me that he swallows with another kiss.
My fingers slide up into his hair, still damp from the shower, curling into the light brown strands to hold him to me.
His purr rumbles between us, vibrating from his chest into mine, where our bodies connect.
“Emily,” he breathes, my name broken into syllables of wonder. His scent shifts, deepens, salt air becoming a storm surge that floods my senses.
His hands slide lower, curving around my hips to lift me onto the counter in one fluid motion that speaks to his strength, and the new position puts us eye to eye. My legs spread to allow him to step between them, bringing our bodies flush together.
His palms slide up my thighs, heat seeping through the denim to warm my skin beneath. “Is this okay?”
In answer, I hook my ankles behind his back, drawing him closer. The friction where our bodies meet sends electricity coursing through my veins, lighting me up from within. His pupils dilate, and he swoops forward again.
Our mouths meet again, the kiss deeper, wilder. My hands roam across the expanse of his back, feeling the shift and play of muscles as he moves against me.
His lips trail from my mouth to my jaw, then down the column of my throat where my pulse hammers. When he reaches the juncture of my neck and shoulder, where a mating mark would go, he pauses, his breath hot on my skin.
The moment stretches between us, loaded with possibilities.
“Not there,” I manage, the precaution dragged out on a shaky breath.
He swallows hard and nods, understanding this isn’t a rejection but a boundary. His mouth returns to mine, reclaiming the connection without pushing for more than I can give.
My hands slip under the hem of his shirt, seeking the warmth of bare skin.
He sucks in a breath as my fingers trace the ridges of his abdomen, the dip of his spine, the curve where back meets waist. The exploration feels illicit and necessary all at once, my body demanding to know his in ways my mind still resists.
His own hands mirror mine, sliding beneath my sweater to splay across the small of my back. The heat of his palms brands me, sending shivers up my spine. When his thumbs trace circles on my bare skin, my body arches into his, seeking more contact.
Our kiss turns urgent, desperate. His teeth catch my lip again, harder this time, and the flash of pain-pleasure draws a moan from deep in my throat. The sound surprises us both, his body going rigid for a heartbeat before melting back into mine with renewed fervor.
As my lips find his throat, I taste salt on his skin, his pulse thundering beneath my tongue. His scent floods me, a tidal wave of pheromones that calls to the Alpha in me.
His fingers tangle in my hair, cradling my head as he reclaims my mouth. The gentleness in the gesture contrasts with the hunger in his kiss, showing this young Alpha’s strength and tenderness in equal measure, and it undoes me more than passion alone could have.
My legs tighten around his waist, while the edge of the counter digs into my thighs, a counterpoint of discomfort that keeps me from floating away on this tide of sensation.
His hands slide down to support my weight, and the shift brings our bodies into perfect alignment, drawing gasps from us both.
The kitchen disappears around us, leaving only his mouth on mine, his hands on my skin, his heartbeat matching the rhythm of my own.
For the first time in years, I feel fully present in my body, every nerve ending alive and singing with awareness.
The Alpha in me, so long suppressed, responds to his call without reservation.
The second oven timer breaks us apart again, breaths coming in ragged pants. Another twenty minutes passed in what felt like seconds. I can’t remember the last time I lost myself in another person. Not even Auren held this much sway over me.
“Time flies,” Jared murmurs, his shoulders easing into a relaxed, satisfied curve.
Unlike me, he doesn’t seem startled by the interruption, but content, as if we have all the time in the world to explore this rising hum of awareness between us.
He doesn’t step away, his body still cradled between my thighs, his hand resting on my hip. The position carries a quiet intimacy and an easy comfort, as if we’ve done this dance a hundred times before.
His thumb brushes across my cheek, tracing the flush that stains my skin. “You’re so beautiful.”
I blink, uncertainty setting in. No one has ever called me beautiful, but the way Jared stares at me in wonder leaves no room for doubt.
With a crooked grin, he murmurs, “Show me how to tell if it’s ready.”
The double meaning in his words hangs between us, a question about more than lasagna. My breasts still heave with uneven breaths, my lips swollen from his kisses, my body humming. Every inch of skin he touched tingles with awareness, craving more contact even as my mind begins to clear.
“We need to check it,” I say, my pulse racing, “to test if the center is hot, and the cheese is browned.”
His hands slip from me as he steps back, allowing me space to slide off the counter. My legs wobble beneath me, and I grab the edge for support. The distance between us now is both necessary and unbearable as cool air rushes into the space his body vacated.
As I reach for the oven mitts again, my hands shake, and Jared takes them. “Allow me.”
Heart pounding, I brace against the counter, watching as he pulls the lasagna out of the oven and turns to me with an excited grin. “It’s ready.”
I swallow hard. Dinner may be ready, but I’m not.