Chapter 17 Carson
Carson
I find her sagged against the wall, head tilted back, chest rising and falling as she catches her breath.
She looks ravaged.
The smudged lipstick, the dazed look in her eyes—someone kissed her.
Not someone. Finn.
I catch it before she can say a word, the lightest of scents clinging to her. It’s all over her skin, her clothes. And worse, her own perfume is thick with something sweet. Something telling.
Desire.
My stomach tightens, a growl creeping up my throat before I force it back down. Not the time. Not the fucking time.
“Willow,” I say, all business. Even if my blood is anything but calm.
She blinks up at me, still hazy, as though she’s dragging herself back into the moment. Then she straightens, rolling her shoulders, that defiant fire snapping back into place.
She knows what I smell.
She knows what I see.
And she doesn’t fucking care.
“I’m fine,” she says, attempting to brush past me, pretending she didn’t just disappear into the shadows with her fucking stalker.
I grab her wrist, not rough, but firm. I don’t let her slip away. “What the hell happened?”
She jerks her hand back. “What does it look like?”
My jaw ticks. She’s baiting me.
“Don’t do that.” I keep my voice low, controlled. Because I’m seconds from losing it, and I don’t lose it. “Finn took you off the dance floor. That wasn’t your choice.”
She scoffs, arms crossing over her chest. “And what, you think I’m some helpless little thing? That I need you to swoop in and save me?”
“Maybe when the guy stalking you drags you into a dark hallway and you don’t fight it?” I snap. “Yeah. I fucking do.”
A shadow moves behind me, and I don’t have to look to know Hunter and Graham are here.
“Where is he?” Hunter’s voice is lethal. Pure threat.
Willow rolls her eyes, pushing off the wall. “Gone.”
Graham steps closer, close enough that I feel the heat rolling off him, close enough that Willow feels it too. I don’t miss the way her body locks up.
She looks at him, at both of us, her hands fisting at her sides. Daring us to say more.
“You might be a grown woman,” Graham says, “but letting a stalker kiss you isn’t a fucking power move, Willow.”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t back down.
“And what are you going to do about it?” she challenges. “Have Hunter carry me out of here on his shoulder? Lock me in my apartment? You might work for my dad, but you aren’t my daddy.”
Graham doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything at first. But his eyes drop to her lips, lingering there just long enough to make the tension turn thick. Then he exhales, shaking his head as if she’s the most frustrating thing in the world.
But I see it. We all see it. He wants her. And that carelessly thrown out daddy is definitely a trigger for him. The air changes ever so slightly. Willow shifts, her body suddenly hyperaware, her breath just a little too quick.
She notices it now; the way we’re all looking at her. Not just as guards. As men and as alphas.
Hunter steps closer, barely a fraction, but it’s enough.
She sucks in a breath.
“You still smell like him,” Hunter murmurs. His jaw locks, his fists clenching at his sides trying to shake it off. But through our bond, I feel everything the guys are feeling right now.
Possessiveness is unfurling and growing in all of us. He wants to erase the scent from her skin. Hell, I do too. Willow stiffens, her scent shifting, something uncertain creeping in. But she squares her shoulders, fighting it.
“Not your business,” she says, but her voice isn’t as cutting as before.
Graham tilts his head, studying her. “No?”
It’s not a question.
It’s a challenge.
And she knows it.
The tension thrums between us. Her eyes dart between us, like she feels it, too. Awareness blooms across her face—finally realizing it isn’t just Finn who wants her. It’s all of us. And she’s walking a dangerous line.
But she still doesn’t stop. She glares at him, then says, “Maybe if you were doing your job, you wouldn’t be jealous right now.”
The town car is silent.
Willow sits between me and Hunter, arms crossed, gaze fixed straight ahead. She’s not relaxed. She’s too still, too aware.
I am, too. Fuck, I’m pretty sure we all are.
I stare out the window, but my thoughts are stuck on her. Stuck on the way she still smells, the way she looked when I found her against that wall. I shouldn’t care. I really fucking shouldn’t care.
But I do.
Because I know exactly how I would kiss her.
How I’d take my time. How I’d let her slowly get used to my mouth on hers—just so she could realize how much she fucking wanted it.
How I’d touch her slow, make her tremble, and make sure she never thought about anyone else ever again.
The thought shouldn’t be there. But it is. It’s fucking there.
Hunter shifts beside her, the movement slight, but not casual. His knee brushes hers. Willow’s breath hitches. Her perfume smells sweet in the small space.
I smirk. Because she might have let Finn kiss her, but that doesn’t mean she’s not aware of the three of us. And I think it’s time for us to try a different tactic with her.