Chapter 8
LUCY
Iwake up with my face on the mattress.
I lie there with my eyes shut, which is when I remember the kiss.
Roman’s mouth on mine unapologetically, all that heat coming off him, not to mention the way his hand pushed down into my pants. And my whole world narrowed to the orgasm tearing out of me.
I press my face farther into the pillow and grin into it like a fool.
Then I roll onto my back, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and push myself to sit up.
That’s when I spot the quilt on the floor.
I’m still in my hoodie and jeans and know that last night, after coming into my room, I crashed onto the bed on a huge high, then passed out.
Now, that’s a sign of a damn good orgasm when it knocks you out blind.
So maybe that’s the worst of my cravings out of my system. Perhaps the bond is a pot boiling over, and once it has done that, there’s nothing to worry about for a while.
Except I need an actual plan because I’m attracted to him. I still long for him today, which is significantly worse. Especially seeing as he’s the world’s best kisser.
So, change of plan: spend time with him, have a conversation in daylight, with clothes on, at a distance. And find out who he really is and how he ended up in prison.
Then I glance over at the clock.
10:13.
“Oh, shit.” Since when do I sleep in?
I race into the shower and finish in record time. Once I’ve combed my hair out, I pull on leggings and a pale pink sweater with a white cat wearing a tiara on the front. I then step into my glittery black sneakers.
The main room is empty, and so is the kitchen, though a clean towel hangs folded over the oven rail and the coffeepot has been used and washed, which means Ethan has come and gone.
I dig the muesli out of the pantry, hunt for a bowl, and enjoy it at the island, staring out the window at the side of the property.
That’s when the deer come out of the trees, and I stop chewing.
Three of them, picking their way down the bank at the edge of the driveway with those stiff, careful steps, ears turning like satellite dishes.
Out from behind the last doe, on wobbly legs, emerges a fawn.
I set the bowl down without a sound, and I’m out the front door in seconds, excited to see them properly.
The morning is cold as I ease the door shut behind me and stand under the eave while four deer cross the driveway one at a time. The fawn stops dead center in the gravel to consider a problem only it can see. Its mother waits.
“Oh my,” I whisper into my palms. They are so adorable.
They’re through the ferns on the far side and gone, and I’m standing there beaming at the sight.
Then I spot a black car in the parking area with no one inside. It’s parked nose out beside Grandma’s truck. I don’t recognize it. Ethan mentioned guests coming in this week, so maybe that’s them.
That’s when I hear male voices, and they’re coming from the direction of the cabins.
Ethan emerges first, talking nonstop. Beside him walks a man in tailored black pants, a button-up shirt, a tie, and a jacket. He’s holding a briefcase and stepping over every wet patch in the track.
Ethan spots me and smiles before he says something to the man beside him. Now, both of them head toward the lodge to join me.
“Hey there.” Ethan’s voice booms, and it’s clear he’s nervous. “Lucy, this is Mr. Colby. Mr. Colby, Lucy Rose, Eve’s granddaughter. She just arrived and now runs the lodge with me while Eve’s healing.”
The man pulls a folded handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and wipes his right palm twice. Once done, he refolds the handkerchief, tucks it back into his pocket, and then offers me his hand.
“Ms. Rose, it’s my pleasure.”
I shake it firmly. Up close, the man’s skin is very dry and pale. Short, thinning dark hair at his temples and a round face.
“I’m the parole officer for the three men placed on this property,” he explains. “Your grandma recently called me to inform me of an incident with Mr. Roman Alvec in the woods on the sixteenth of this month, and I’m here to investigate it. I’ve just spoken with Mr. Alvec.”
My stomach drops through the porch boards.
“Oh,” I say, knowing that Grandma had to contact them as part of her agreement.
“Do you have time to spare to share your side of the incident? I won’t be long.” Mr. Colby lifts his chin toward the door.
“Definitely.” I glance at Ethan for a split second, who just gives me an awkward grin. “Let’s go inside.”
We all head into the main room to the two long couches that face each other, with the cold fireplace in front of us.
Ethan drops down beside me. Mr. Colby takes the couch opposite, but before he sits, he passes his palm across the leather as though he’s checking it for grit, and then lowers himself onto the very front edge of the cushion.
He balances the briefcase on his knees, opens it, removes a notebook and a pen, closes it, and sets the pen down parallel to the notebook’s edge.
I can’t stop staring, unsure what to make of his mannerisms.
“I’ll grab coffee,” Ethan states, and he darts out of there, leaving me alone.
“Before we begin.” Mr. Colby picks up his pen.
“These men are convicts who have been approved to finish their sentence in this twelve-month program, and the terms are nonnegotiable. Approved employment and accommodation. No violence or breaking the law.” He takes a pause.
“A breach is not a warning, Ms. Rose. It will result in being returned to custody for the remainder of the term. The court could add to that term based on the nature of the offense.”
“Okay.” My mind races to keep up with everything he’s said.
“We take all incidents seriously.” He smiles, but it feels disingenuous. “Now, run through the incident in your own words. From the beginning.”
So, I tell him about all of it, from the man at the bar who knew my name and told me his name was Roman, to how he ended up trying to steer me toward the darker path quite roughly.
“It was when the stranger grabbed my arm forcefully,” I say. “That I knew I was in trouble. Until somebody ran out of the woods and shoved him off me. I was so relieved.”
“That being Mr. Alvec.”
“I had no idea at the time. He was a stranger, and there was a fight between the two men.”
Mr. Colby scribbles something in his notepad. “And then?”
“I panicked and got in the middle of it to try to shove them apart.”
The pen stops moving, and his gaze lifts. “Why?”
“Because it wasn’t fun watching a fight, I guess.”
“Ms. Rose. Would you say Mr. Alvec had lost control?”
My stomach turns over because I’ve reimagined the battle. Roman with his knee in the dirt and his fist going back, and growling, more animal than man. In that moment, if anyone asked whether Roman had control of himself, I’d have said no.
Except that isn’t true. A man rushed to protect a woman he’d never met and put himself in danger. If anyone panicked, it was me.
“No,” I finally answer. “It was my fault for panicking and jumping in when I shouldn’t have. The other man shoved me, then I fell into Roman. I hit him in the face with my hand to stop them from fighting, but it caught his mouth.” I hold up my bandaged hand. “The bite was a complete accident.”
“Hmm.” He writes for a long time, and I shift uncomfortably on the couch.
Ethan finally returns with three coffees and a plate of yesterday’s cookies. He sets the tray down on the small table between us and settles beside me with his ankle over his knee. I quickly grab a cookie and eat it.
Mr. Colby lifts his cup and wipes the rim with his thumb before he drinks.
“Thank you,” he says to Ethan, then glances around the lodge, including the stairs, the bookshelves, and toward the kitchen.
“So.” He sets the cup down and twists it on the coaster to face him.
“With Mrs. Rose in the hospital, who here is in charge of the lodge, and of the three men placed in her care?”
“I am,” Ethan states before I’ve opened my mouth.
“For eight years I’ve worked with Eve,” he explains.
“From the start of the program, I have worked with Eve on the daily checks, preparing meals, arranging their logging work, and knowing their constant whereabouts. Now, with Eve still in hospital, nothing has changed. We speak regularly, where I keep her updated, and feel free to confirm that with her.”
He writes some more, then turns to me. “And how comfortable are you as an Omega in close vicinity to three unmated Alphas out of prison?”
“Sorry, but you can’t ask me that?”
His shoulders square. “It’s a standard question for your own safety.”
“I grew up in this lodge and have been around this program before. I have never been harmed or felt as though I was in danger. The only person who’s laid a finger on me in years is a man who was not in your program but pretended to be one of your men.
” I pick the mug, curling my fingers around its warmth, tempted to hurl it at this prick.
“That’s the part you should be writing down. ”
Ethan nudges me gently.
I just huff and keep my mouth shut.
“Everything is fine,” Ethan explains to Mr. Colby. “As I said, Eve has run this program for years without a single incident. And it’s why your team keeps sending her more men to participate in the program.”
Mr. Colby writes for what feels like a week, and I sit there with the scratch of that pen going through my back teeth, watching his wrist move. I would give a year of my life to reach across that coffee table, take the notebook out of his tidy hands, and shove it down his throat.
I glance sideways instead. Ethan’s tipped back against the cushions, drinking his coffee. So maybe this is normal, exactly how it goes, and I’m the only one in this room whose fury is rising.
Finally, he caps the pen and lays it down parallel to the notebook again. “Ms. Rose, I’m going to be candid.”
“Sure.”
“I’ve been advised that the injury on your hand might be a mark, and Mr. Alvec has, accidentally or otherwise, instigated a bond with you.”