Chapter 10
10
JAMES
S leep is impossible. I stare at the cabin’s dark ceiling, my mind racing with thoughts of her. Of all the places, of all the storms... Lily. My Lily. It has to be her—how many Omega bakers named Lily could there be in Whispering Grove who run a shop with their sister? The coincidence is too perfect, too precise.
Her scent still lingers in my nose from earlier—vanilla and peppermint, warm like freshly baked bread. Exactly how I’d imagined she’d smell during those long nights exchanging messages, when I’d lie in my cell, dreaming about the woman behind the words. But the reality of her is so much more than I could have pictured.
Those curves hidden beneath her clothes—soft, inviting, the kind a man could lose himself in. She’s petite compared to me, barely reaching my shoulder, but there’s a fullness to her that makes my hands itch to explore. And that wild hair of dark curls—I wanted to bury my face in them, feel her, smell her.
Her eyes, though—golden-brown, almond-shaped—lingered on me when she thought I didn’t notice. They haunt me most of all. The way they widened when she first saw me before her guard went back up. I’d memorized every word she’d ever written to me, built an image of her in my mind, but nothing prepared me for the living, breathing woman.
She’s more beautiful than the fantasies that kept me sane in the darkest hours in that hell-hole, more tempting than the freedom I fought for. And make no mistake, Lily is mine. She just doesn’t know it yet. The storm that brought her to me wasn’t chance—it was fate. And I intend to claim what fate has delivered.
The mattress creaks as I shift, frustrated. I’d message her if I could, but our conversations ended abruptly over a week ago when they caught me with the burner phone in prison. That almost cost me another year inside—as if eighteen months weren’t enough for a crime I didn’t even commit.
Thank God for expensive lawyers. My family name might be mud now, but at least they saved me from doing more time after they busted me with the burner phone. The lawyers had gotten me out on technicalities and procedural errors.
I’d planned to find her the moment I got out, but two days of dealing with lawyers and catching up with Archer and Hunter in our hometown had stolen my time. Today was supposed to be the day—the day I crossed the mountains to Whispering Grove to finally pay her bakery a visit. I told Hunter and Archer I’d stop by the cabin since they were both there to do some hunting, seeing it sat right between both towns.
But then, right in the middle of my drive through the mountains, this fucking storm hit out of nowhere.
Now, it’s worked in my favor. The universe has a twisted sense of humor that way.
I see her face when I close my eyes—the delicate curve of her jaw, the way her hair falls in waves past her shoulders, how her face glows when she laughs. All those nights in the cell when I’d lie there constructing her from bits and pieces of our conversations. Her wit, her intelligence, the way she could make me laugh even on my darkest days—I’d known she’d be beautiful inside, but this...
The sheets tangle around my legs as I get up. Standing still is impossible. I need to move, need to think, need to figure out how to handle this. The hallway is dark and quiet as I step out, but my feet carry me to her door before I can stop them.
She’s in there. Lily. The woman who made me laugh when I wanted to put my fist through a wall, who understood loss and pain and healing in ways no one else did. The woman who sent me pictures of failed desserts at midnight with captions like Pretty sure this is what murder victims’ last meals look like .
My hand hovers near the handle, not touching. The memory of her in the kitchen earlier makes my chest tight. Everything about her calls to something primal in me, something that wants to claim and protect and possess.
“Fuck,” I whisper, stepping back. I can’t push this. Can’t rush it. She’s already nervous about being trapped here with three Alphas—finding out one of them is the convicted criminal she used to text with? Except she has no idea about my past… not yet, anyway. So, I take this slowly so I don’t spook her. This needs to be handled carefully.
The storm rattles the windows, and cold flares in my bones despite the cabin’s warmth. The sauna downstairs calls to me—it’s always been my go-to when I need to clear my head before I landed in prison. The stairs creak softly as I descend, my mind still full of her.
The spa room is one of Hunter’s grandfather’s better ideas—a full facility with a steam room, a sauna, and a small pool. The old man believed in luxury, even in a hunting cabin. I strip down, grab a towel, and step into the cedar-lined sauna. The heat hits immediately, and I pour water over the hot stones, watching steam hiss up into the darkness.
The heat seeps into my muscles, but it does nothing for the tension building inside me. I keep picturing her curled up in that armchair earlier, her lips parted when she tasted Archer’s stew, the softness of her laugh. My cock hardens, and I don’t fight my reaction.
I picture telling her the truth, seeing recognition dawn in those eyes. Picture her understanding, wanting me despite everything.
My hand slides lower, gripping my thick cock as I imagine her straddling my lap, her drenched pussy sliding over my dick. Fuck! She’d be pressed against me and the sounds she’d make. Her skin under my hands, her back arching, her voice gasping my name, her full breasts against my chest as I lean down to take one into my mouth.
I palm my cock harder, faster. In my mind, she’s everything I dreamed of during those lonely nights—soft and warm and perfect.
Release hits hard and fast, a growl escaping. I use my towel to catch the ribbons of cum spewing free.
For a moment, everything is perfect.
Then I hear a small gasp from the doorway.
My eyes snap open. Through the glass door, illuminated by the dim spa lights, stands Lily. She’s wearing sleep shorts and a tank top, her hair loose around her shoulders, her gaze wide as they meet mine. She’s flushed, whether from embarrassment or heat or something else, I can’t tell, but she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—all tender curves and sleep-mussed hair.
For one endless moment, we stare at each other—then she flees. Her footsteps echo on the stairs, quick and light.
“Fuck.” I clean up quickly, grinning despite myself. The look on her face—shock, yes, because she watched me, but for how long? Interesting.
With a towel wrapped around my waist, I find myself outside her door again. I hear her pacing inside, the floorboards creaking with each step. My instincts scream to go to her, to explain, to claim, but that would only frighten her.
Every muscle in my body tenses as I struggle against the urge to break down this door between us.
“Fuck,” I hiss through clenched teeth, pressing my forehead against the cool surface of her door. My palm presses against the wall beside it, fingers splaying as I try to ground myself. The beast inside me claws at my restraint, demanding I take what’s mine.
I can smell her through the door—that intoxicating blend of vanilla and peppermint, now laced with fear and something else. Something that makes my blood run hot. My breathing turns ragged, each inhale feeding the fire burning in my veins.
I listen to her movements, tracking her like prey. One turn of the knob is all it would take.
Pushing away with a strangled sound, I run trembling fingers through my hair as I force myself to back up. Not like this. Not when she doesn’t know who I am. Not when I’m this close to losing control.
Instead, I retreat to my room and grab a notepad and pen. Old school communication, since phones are useless in this storm. Settling with my back against the wall near her door, I start to write.
“Shouldn’t all good bakers be asleep by now?” Then I slide the note under her door. There’s a pause in the pacing, then the sound of paper being picked up.
A moment later, a note slides back. “Says the man who clearly can’t sleep either. You had other activities to keep you occupied.” The little drawn emoji makes me smile.
“Fair point. Though, I’m not the one wandering into saunas at 3 a.m.” I add my own emoji, just like old times.
Her reply comes quickly, written on the back of my note. “That was an accident! I was exploring. I didn’t expect... that. I should have knocked first.”
“Exploring strange houses in the middle of the night? Someone’s been watching too many true-crime shows.” I start a fresh page, remembering how we used to debate the merits of different murder weapons.
Her next message has a poorly drawn knife sketched in the corner. “Hey, in my defense, most murders happen in homes the victim is familiar with. I’m just being cautious.”
“By wandering around alone? Pretty sure that’s how horror movies start.”
“Please. I’m clearly the final girl in this scenario. I’ve got all the qualifications—tragic backstory, practical shoes, and excellent situational awareness.”
“Is that what you call walking in on private moments?”
There’s a longer pause before her response. “I prefer to think of it as gathering evidence. Never know when you might need blackmail material.”
My laugh is probably too loud for the late hour. God, I’ve missed this—her quick wit, the way she can turn any situation into a joke. “Blackmail? That’s cold, baker girl. All those true crime shows are affecting you.”
The next note takes longer to arrive. When it does, her handwriting is slightly shakier. “How did you know I watch true crime?”
This is it. The moment, to be honest, to tell her everything. My pen hovers over the paper for a long moment before I write. “I’ve missed our chats.”
The silence from her room is deafening. Then, very softly, I hear her gasp. The sound is followed by complete stillness—no more pacing, no more notes.
I wait for what feels like hours, hoping for another note to slide under the door, but nothing comes. Finally, when the first gray light of dawn starts to creep through the windows, I stand and make my way back to my room.
Sleep still won’t come, but now for entirely different reasons. She knows. The ball is in her court. All I can do is wait, hoping she’ll give me a chance.
The storm howls outside, but for once, I don’t mind being trapped. After all, she’s here. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly where we both need to be.