Chapter Twenty – Jess
I’m in the process of getting out of the tub after a long, thoughtful soak when I hear a low voice on the outside of the door: “You all right in there? Do you need help?” Rourke. I don’t know what he did while waiting for me to get out of the bath, and it doesn’t matter.
Yes, my ankle is sore, but it’s not broken. I’m not helpless. I can manage just fine on my own.
Of course, right as I think that particular thought, I take a step toward the vanity, where not only my dry set of clothes sit but also my towel, and when I do, my ankle gives out and pain shoots up my leg.
Not a lot of pain, not enough to bring me to tears, but enough to tell me that, yes, I did in fact hurt it.
No more long walks for little old me, not until this thing heals.
I don’t even know where the nearest hospital is—and besides, even if there’s a bone protruding from my skin, I wouldn’t want to go. I had enough of hospitals in my life.
“I’m fine,” I say after I fall to the floor, thankful I’m light enough I didn’t make a sound to alert him of the fall. If he’d heard me, I’ve no doubt he would’ve come storming in here to save the day, as alphas typically do.
Or, you know, that’s how they do it in movies. Real life is always messier.
“Are you sure? I won’t look, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
As he says that, I can’t help but roll my eyes and get to my feet. I have to put all of my weight on my good ankle, which makes moving to the vanity not the easiest thing in the world.
He wouldn’t look. Right. Because he, along with Asher and Mason, totally didn’t look at me when I dropped my clothes and climbed into the tub in the first place.
Yes, I’m aware that was probably an overreaction on my part, but at the same time, it really did feel like their arguing was getting nowhere, and nothing any of them could’ve said would’ve ended it.
I make it to the vanity and grab the towel, drying myself off. “I said I’m fine, Rourke.”
“Okay, but if you change your mind—”
I tune him out. I have to. If I don’t, I might start to wonder just how bad it would be to let him help me, to rely on him and the others. I might start to think that, maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Maybe I’d like it, just like I sort of like them.
Honestly, more and more I need to remind myself that this isn’t a vacation. I’m not here to have some fun and bond with these guys. This whole thing is happening because of me and my desire to claim my full inheritance, to stick it to the man.
Or, you know, the woman, AKA my aunt. My aunt, who deserves absolutely nothing. That cold-hearted woman will get no more out of my family. I hope she’s home, losing her freaking mind right now.
If there’s one thing I deserve to be after living with her for so many years, after being subjected to lecture after lecture and insult after insult, it’s petty. Some people might believe pettiness is never worth it, but I’d tell them they just haven’t found themselves in the right situation.
And the right situation can push anyone to be petty. Or a monster. Anything, really. We’re all capable of anything.
Once I’m dry, I go for the clothes. The outfit Mason grabbed doesn’t exactly match: rose-patterned leggings with a pink shirt and mismatching underwear to go beneath, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. I throw it on with only one or two complaints in my head.
Who can forget what the alpha found before he pulled out those clothes? The alpha knot I brought to help get me through my heat. Hey, an omega has to do what an omega has to do.
I let my hair down and run a quick brush through my hair, all the while staring at myself in the mirror.
Hot water isn’t good for the color, but neither is getting caught in a rainstorm.
I was in the bath so long most of it is dry, but the part that was twirled up in the clip is still quite damp and kinky.
The girl staring back at me in the mirror is me, but at the same time, she looks different. Tired. Worn-out. Maybe even a little sad. The latter is just ridiculous, given the fact I’m going to get what I want.
Any other thoughts that rise in my head are full of stupid clichés. I didn’t come up here to fall in love or find alphas who make me feel all tingly and weird inside. This whole thing was born as a last resort, something I knew might backfire in my face, but I had to try.
I didn’t think… well, I didn’t think I’d start to feel anything for Asher, let alone his complicated brother, and that says nothing about Rourke and the way he makes my insides twist every time he looks at me.
Scent match. That’s what he said we are.
It would explain the way my body feels when I’m around him, why I want to throw myself at him and let him do unspeakable things to me.
It’d also explain why he remained so interested in me even after I kept insulting him at the Omega Garden.
If we’re scent matches, nothing I can say would permanently injure his ego.
His inner animal already views me as his.
And the messed up part of it is that somewhere, deep down inside me, I’m okay with that.
Just when I think things are complicated enough—that I have a crush on multiple different alphas—life throws a fast ball in my direction. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I want my inheritance, but at the same time…
Fuck. At the same time, I don’t know how much longer I can hold back from them. Not only from Rourke, but from Asher and Mason, too. It’s like I decided subconsciously they belong to me even though they aren’t a pack.
I’m sure packs are formed under much weirder circumstances, but I never imagined myself getting caught up in a mess like this. I’m so confused I don’t know what to think.
It’s that confusion I can blame for what happens next.
I set down the hair brush and drag my feet to the door, using the vanity as support as I go.
The moment I open the bathroom door, I see Rourke standing there on the other side, ready to pounce into action.
He changed into dry clothes that are a size or two too tight on his wide, muscular frame, but still, he looks damn good.
Very lick-able, all over. And those tattoos? I want to memorize them so I can picture him when I close my eyes.
His eyes land on me, and I stop halfway out of the bathroom, clutching the doorframe tightly as I meet those intense eyes—and as I do, I watch his pupils dilate and I realize my mistake. I was so caught up in my own confusion that I forgot to apply my scent-blocking cream.
And that means… well, that means one thing.
This über alpha, my supposed scent match, can smell my full, unbridled scent. I don’t know what it is, but I can tell it instantly affects him thanks to the dilation in his eyes and the way his hands flex at his sides.
Crap.
Rourke swallows hard before he says, “Let me help you to the bed.” The words are difficult in coming out; I can tell it’s an inner battle.
Knowing how tough my mere scent makes it for him? It shouldn’t bring me the kind of satisfaction it does, and I try to say, “I got it.” Though he’s all I can see, I don’t think the others are in the room. It’s just me and Rourke.
And that’s a dangerous thing, apparently.
He offers his arm. He doesn’t force me to take it and accept his help; he leaves it up to me, even as he struggles to be this close to me.
What I should do is go back in that bathroom and put on my cream, but for some stupid reason—maybe that inner confusion I keep talking about—I don’t. I reach for him and set my hand on that strong, warm arm.
You’d think after being in the bath for so long, surrounded by hot water, his skin wouldn’t set me aflame, but it does.
The moment my hand touches him, a different kind of warmth flows through me, a warmth no amount of hot water could ever give me.
I try not to let him see the reaction on my part, but I don’t know if I succeed.
Rourke is my support as we walk side by side to the bed. He yanks down the sheets with his other arm once we reach the bedside, and I pull my hand off his arm as I do my best not to focus on him or the way he’s looking at me. My only goal is to climb in bed and…
And I don’t know what happens after that. I don’t. I thought I knew what to expect from this whole thing, but clearly I was wrong.
I get on the bed, pushing my legs under the covers. Rourke leans closer, practically leaning over me, and I don’t look up at him. I can’t. I fear for both our sanity.
“Asher is making dinner. He’s going to bring it up to you when it’s done,” Rourke says, his voice so unbearably low it makes me clench my thighs together.
Or maybe my thighs squeeze because of the way the alpha’s looking at me.
I can feel the waves of intensity radiating off him, even without meeting his stare.
Every time I see him, it gets harder. It gets worse. How am I supposed to keep holding back from him when simply being near him makes me want to lose my mind? How do people function after finding their scent match? It must be ten times worse when you can smell them.
“Okay,” I whisper without looking at him.
He lifts a hand, and I hear his breath catch when he brings that hand to my face. His finger trails along my jaw, starting at my chin, and it goes all the way up to my ear, where he then tucks my hair behind my ear. Such a tender, intimate gesture, and a shiver crawls up my spine as a result.
“You smell,” he pauses, laboring for not only the words but also air for his lungs, “amazing, Jess. You smell like candy and Christmas, all the good things in this world.”
I move, ever so slightly. It’s not a movement that can move nations or anything, but it’s enough. It’s instinctual. I turn my head to the side, exposing my neck to him and thereby inviting him in closer.