Chapter 13
Ben
Ivolunteered for fire duty. Told myself it was the responsible thing to do—let the others get some real sleep. “I’ve got it,” I said, like some kind of hero.
Three hours later, I’ve barely looked at the flames. I can’t stop watching her.
She’s curled up on the pull-out bed, buried in quilts, her dark hair spread across the pillow.
Elijah’s on the edge of the mattress, sitting upright with his back against the couch arm—he fell asleep like that about an hour ago, stubborn bastard.
Milo’s on the floor near the hearth, dead to the world, one arm thrown over his face.
And me? I’m in this armchair, holding a book I haven’t read a word of, trying not to breathe too deeply.
Because her scent is everywhere.
Lavender and citrus, but darker now. Heavier. Like someone took those soft notes and dipped them in honey and heat. Every time she shifts, it rolls through the cabin, and my body responds like I’m seventeen again—instant, embarrassing, impossible to control.
I adjust in the chair. Again.
This is fine. Everything’s fine. I’m a grown man. I can handle sitting in a room with a beautiful omega whose scent is slowly driving me out of my mind.
Totally fine.
She makes a sound in her sleep—a soft whimper—and I’m on my feet before my brain catches up. Then I freeze. What am I gonna do, hover over her like a creep? Fan her with my book? Offer her a glass of water and my undying devotion?
Get it together.
But she shifts again, restless, kicking at the quilts. Her skin is flushed even in the dim light. Sweat beads at her temple. And her scent spikes—sharp and distressed—cutting through the heavy sweetness with an edge of pain that makes my chest ache.
She’s uncomfortable. Her body’s fighting itself, caught between suppressants wearing off and heat trying to break through, and she’s miserable.
I hate it. I hate that she’s hurting and I can’t fix it. Can’t joke it away or distract her from it. Can’t do anything but watch.
Elijah stirs, blinking awake. Our eyes meet across the dim room.
“She okay?” he asks, voice rough.
“Restless. Pre-heat, I think.” I keep my voice low. “She’s burning up.”
He looks at her for a long moment, then at me. Dark circles under his eyes. He and Milo have been running on fumes—they were already tired when the storm hit, and the past day has been... a lot.
“You should get some real sleep,” I say. “Both of you. Take the bedroom.”
He frowns. “And leave her out here?”
“I’ve got her. She’s restless but I’ll keep an eye on her.” I try for a grin. “Besides, if her heat hits in the middle of the night, you’re gonna want to be functional. Nobody wants a tired alpha. It’s just sad.”
He doesn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “You sure?”
“Go. I’ll wake you if anything changes.”
He hesitates. Then he reaches down, brushes a strand of hair from Tessa’s face with a gentleness that makes something twist in my chest. She doesn’t wake, just turns her face into his touch, chasing the contact even in sleep.
“Take care of her,” he says quietly.
“Always.”
He nudges Milo awake—a feat that involves some prodding and a muttered threat—and they shuffle toward the bedroom. Milo pauses in the doorway, looks back at me with knowing eyes.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he says.
“That leaves a pretty wide field.”
“Exactly.” He winks and disappears.
The bedroom door clicks shut. And suddenly it’s just me and Tessa and the crackle of the fire.
She whimpers again, twisting in the blankets. Her hand reaches out, grasping at nothing. Searching.
“Hey.” I crouch beside the pull-out bed, pitch my voice low. “Tessa. You’re okay.”
Her eyes flutter open. For a second she looks lost—then her gaze lands on me and her whole body relaxes.
“Ben?”
“The one and only.” I try for a smile. “Though I’ve been told there’s a Ben Wilson in Bozeman who’s much more impressive. Lawyer, apparently. Very serious.”
She doesn’t laugh. Just stares at me with those dark eyes, her breath coming too fast, her skin flushed with heat.
“I feel...” She shakes her head. “Everything’s too much. Too hot. Too tight. Like my skin doesn’t fit right.”
“That’s the pre-heat talking. Your body’s gearing up for the main event.” I grab the glass of water I’ve been refilling all night. “Here. Drink.”
She takes it, and I notice her hands are trembling. She manages a few sips before setting it aside.
“Where are the others?”
“Sent them to bed. They were dead on their feet.” I settle on the floor beside the pull-out, back against the couch frame.
“You’re stuck with me for the night shift.
Fair warning: I’ve been told I’m terrible company after midnight.
Something about ‘too many bad jokes’ and ‘please stop talking about conspiracy theories.’“
That gets a small smile. Barely there, but I’ll take it.
“I can’t sleep,” she says. “I’ve tried. Every time I close my eyes, I just...” She trails off, frustrated.
“Feel like you’re going to crawl out of your skin?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
I nod slowly, thinking. “Okay. New plan. You’re not gonna sleep, and I’m apparently incapable of it, so let’s do something else.”
“Like what?”
“Come on.” I stand, offer her my hand. “There’s something I want to show you.”
She looks at my hand, then at me. “Ben, I can barely walk straight.”
“Then I’ll catch you. I’m good at catching things. Footballs, car keys, feelings...” I waggle my fingers. “Trust me.”
She takes my hand. Her skin is hot—too hot—and I can feel the fine tremors running through her. I pull her up slowly, steady her when she sways.
“Easy. I’ve got you.”
Her scent wraps around me, and for a second I can’t think.
Can’t breathe. She smells like everything I’ve ever wanted and a few things I didn’t know I needed.
My cock stirs, and I have to take a breath and think about unsexy things.
Tax returns. Engine sludge. Bea’s face when she caught me eating her leftover pizza.
Okay. Better.
I keep hold of her hand and grab a candle from the mantle on the way. The spare room doesn’t have a window—she’ll need the light.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“You’ll see.”
The room is small, but perfect. I push open the door and hold up the candle.
She gasps.
The nest takes up almost the entire space. A proper nest—a deep mattress besides Elijah’s hand-carved mahogany frame, piled high with blankets and pillows and soft things. Everything an omega would need.
“Ben.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “What is this?”
“Elijah built the bench. That’s actually why he and Milo were here when the storm hit—they were delivering it, along with those chairs for my kitchen table.
” I scratch the back of my neck, suddenly awkward.
“I commissioned it a few months back. Told myself it was for someday. For the right omega. Whoever that turned out to be.”
She moves toward it like she’s in a trance. Her hand reaches out, touches the carved edge of the frame, trails over the plush blankets.
“But I kept adding to it,” I continue. “Blankets. Pillows. That stupid soft throw Bea gave me for Christmas. The fancy sheets my dads bought me that I said were too nice to use.” I watch her face in the candlelight.
“I didn’t know why I couldn’t stop making it softer. More comfortable. More... ready.”
She turns to look at me. Her eyes are wet.
“And now you’re here,” I say quietly. “With your heat coming and the storm not letting up. And I’m really glad I built it, Tessa. Because you need a nest. And I have one. For you.”
“Ben...” She shakes her head. “You’re being so serious right now.”
“I know. It’s uncomfortable for everyone involved.” I try for a smile. “I could make a joke if it would help. Something about how I’m basically a very large, very awkward bird who built a—”
“Don’t.” She crosses the space between us and puts her hand on my chest. “Don’t deflect. Not right now.”
My heart is pounding under her palm. She has to feel it.
“I’ve wanted you for two years,” I tell her. “Since the first time you walked into my garage with that clipboard and told me my filing system was a disaster. I’ve been running from it ever since. Making jokes. Keeping my distance. Telling myself you’d never want someone like me.”
“Someone like you?”
“Grease under my fingernails. Three unpaid invoices on my desk. No plan for anything beyond next Tuesday.” I laugh, but it comes out shaky. “You’re so put together, Tessa. So competent. I didn’t think I was enough.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she reaches up and cups my face in her hands.
“You built me a nest,” she says softly. “You came out into a blizzard to find me. You gave me your bed, your clothes, your—” She gestures at the room around us. “This. All of this.”
“Tessa—”
“I’m not done.” Her eyes are fierce. “You make me laugh. You make me feel safe. You walked through a snowstorm because you were worried about me, and then you carried me through it when I couldn’t walk. That’s not ‘not enough,’ Ben. That’s everything.”
I don’t know what to say. Nobody’s ever said that to me.
She doesn’t give me time to figure it out.
She kisses me.
It’s not gentle. It’s not tentative. She grabs my face and pulls me down to her like she’s been waiting just as long as I have.
I kiss her back. One hand slides into her hair, the other wraps around her waist, and I pour two years of wanting into it. She makes a sound against my mouth—needy, desperate—and I pull her closer, angling her head so I can kiss her deeper.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I want to make it mine,” she whispers. “The nest. I want to—I need to arrange it. Is that okay?”
“It’s yours.” My voice comes out rough. “Do whatever you need to do.”
She pulls back, her eyes bright with wonder. And need. The heat is building—I can smell it in her scent, richer and sweeter by the minute.
“Will you give me a few minutes?”