Chapter 12
chapter
twelve
On the other side of Bridget’s yellow front door, the world is the same orderly, indifferent place I’ve mastered.
On this side?
It’s too chaotic to be heaven, but too sweet to be anything else.
The curvy little omega’s entire house smells like lemons, but better.
Far from the plain sorts of desserts I’m used to, this scent is rich and layered.
Sumptuous and silky, like custard, but with a delicious caramelized crunch and the most tantalizing, bittersweet edge of burned sugar.
All drizzled in delicious citrus tartness.
I’ve been dragging the drugging scent into my lungs from the second I walked in. Tasting it. Processing how it could possibly get better with every draw of sticky, slicing air.
As we stood in her kitchen, waiting for her to get dressed, an insistent throb started at the base of my knot, syncing with the ache in my canines.
Bite her. Claim her. Knot her. Hold her forever .
I put Bridget’s breakfast together to distract myself from hunting her down.
The fact is, I’m forty and I’ve never met an omega this close to perfection. There’s something about her scent that just barely keeps it from being absolutely flawless. A thread that’s more unsettling than arousing.
It’s maddening. Like the sensation of a word sitting on the tip of your tongue while your mind struggles to recall it.
I’ve experienced this before—with other, less-appealing omegas. Only a fraction of packs are actually scent-sensitive. And in all other cases? A gorgeous omega’s scent is still tempting as sin, even if it doesn’t click one hundred percent.
I should be stronger than this. So why is the sugared tartness swirling around Bridget’s home making it hard for me to think ?
Her reappearance hasn’t helped. The de-scenter she spritzed on burns my nostrils. And she’s so damn beautiful , I can’t keep my thoughts—or my eyes—off the way her top molds to her curves. The creamy skin of her throat, her legs…
I want to drop to my knees and bury my face in those soft, thick thighs. Lap up all the sweet lemon cream between her legs. Show her the way a king treats his queen.
Fuck .
While the others bicker, I wrestle myself back, locking my muscles into stillness. Thank God control comes naturally to me, or I’d be ripping her panties right off those wide, gorgeous hips and?—
No.
Focus.
She’s just admitted she doesn’t know how to fix this. And I suspect she’s correct about the media dumping this mess on her doorstep if we simply sever our ties and walk away.
God. The very thought has my insides lurching. My fingers tingle, threatening to clench, but I only allow my eyes to move, sweeping over every bit of her pretty face.
She looks angry. Confident and in command. I admire the way she’s advocating for herself, but I hate the fact that it seems to come so naturally to her.
Who’s been bullying this omega, and why has she learned to defend herself so fiercely?
That should be her alphas’ job .
My glare has the guys straightening. Yeah , I tell each of them silently. You clowns .
Bridget continues holding her head high, but I can tell she’s more nervous than her expression lets on. Her shoulders tremble slightly, and her lovely peaches-and-cream complexion pales by the second.
I don’t think she’s wearing any makeup today, which is a change. In pictures, she always has eyeshadow to match her colorful clothing and appears to enjoy new beauty trends. I’ve seen her dolled-up face in magazines and all over the latest gossip articles.
But I came here today to see her .
She has freckles. Only a small splattering, but still. Adorable. Almost as cute as her little upturned nose. And her full, pouty lips .
Look at this beautiful baby. How did they ever let her out of their sight?
Which gives me an idea.
“I do,” I intone. “I know what we need to do.”
Bridget starts to react to the burst of alpha energy infused into my words. Her posture softens the smallest bit and her eyes widen before she snaps back to a sassy stance.
“And what is that?” she asks, placing a hand on her cocked hip.
I fight the urge to smile at her brattiness and settle for curving my brows at her. “We’re moving in.”