2. Graeme #3
“Remy certainly could call me,” I suggested to Kat. “He has my number.”
“And the others?”
“They’re all so young, Kat. Should they be offering for an omega this quickly when they haven’t even given the whole finding your true mate thing a try? Perhaps me not being there would be a blessing of sorts.”
She sighed in a way that let me know I was terribly vexing.
“We could go to dinner instead,” I threw out hopefully.
She rubbed her forehead and then looked up at me as I continued to pick at the snack I’d pulled from my refrigerator, some sliced cheese and jamón ibérico.
“If you don’t go, you will receive a slew of emails—and by slew, I mean a flood from everyone here in Chicago, and across the country, and in England—accusing you of not taking your commitment to the family seriously, and then we will both receive a phone call, maybe even a Skype session, from your grandfather. ”
I grunted.
“I don’t know about you”—her voice dripped with sarcasm—“but I do not enjoy being browbeaten by a man in his pajamas and a fuzzy robe at three o’clock in the morning!”
He did have a habit of waking us up.
“And then he’ll come here and set up those horrible individual meetings, and then we’ll have to visit the matchmaker again, and she’ll ask me why I’m not married and what kind of girl am I looking for and––”
“Fine,” I growled at her, taking a gulp of the bourbon I was having along with the snack before I called our cook to have her prepare me a steak. “We’ll go. But if anyone faints again looking at my scar, we’re stopping for pizza on the way home, and you’re buying.” I was adamant.
“Agreed.” If she was any more smug, she’d be preening. “Now, shower and shave. Your tuxedo is in your closet; I’ve had the tailcoat and trousers freshly steamed. The lapel pin with your family crest is on your dresser.”
Once more into the breach.
As I suspected, on the way in, one after another after another, a vapid creature paled as they took in my scar. Or worse, pretended to ignore it and tried to make conversation as I moved, far too slowly because people kept stopping me, through the crowd.
Yes, I was actually an earl.
Yes, dual citizenship was a real thing, and yes, so fun.
Yes, lots of property, in America and England. All over the globe, actually. Loads of it, acres and miles of it.
No, it was a sapphire in my lapel pin, not a blue topaz. One was darker; might want to look that up.
“Mind the sarcasm, please,” Kat reprimanded under her breath.
Yes, born a cyne ; it was that pesky birth-order bit.
“Really?” she asked, sounding pained.
I could feel my right eye start to twitch.
Yes, yes, actually an earl—again with that one. I had the paperwork and everything.
“Don’t be glib,” Kat warned, shoulder-checking me.
“I need a super-secret earl decoder ring to show everyone.”
Her groan was long-suffering. “Just c’mon,” she prodded. “They want you to stand in a certain place.”
Of course they did.
“Don’t grind your teeth,” Kat reminded me. “It’s a terrible sound, like nails on a chalkboard, and it scares the omegas.”
“What about me, pray tell, does not scare the omegas? Perhaps make that list instead, as I’m certain it would prove shorter and easier to compile.”
“And stop growling,” she stated painfully. “They faint when you do that.”
I would do my best.
More omegas stopped me to chat. A few of them were so young. One girl swooned when she met my eyes. Her chaperone shot me a dirty look, as though I glared on purpose to see if they’d run. That didn’t even sound like something I’d do. It would have been naughty.
And now there was a line and…and…
I was cold. I was never cold. What in the world?
The hair on the back of my neck stood up; then there was a prickly flush of heat on my skin that unsettled me because I was shivering just moments before. I glanced around for Kat, but she was nowhere in sight.
Gentle throat clearing, and I focused on the woman in front of me, with her platinum blond hair and long-lashed blue eyes.
She bowed low, and when she straightened and offered me her hand, I took it quickly because there was a scent, a flutter of something in the air that was…
different. Since anything different could only be qualified as good, as in the opposite of this crushing boredom, I was intrigued.
“And you are?” I stared at her, inhaling deeply, trying to catch the scent again, the faintest trace of agarwood? Sandalwood? It was like the still-smoking embers of a fire, of oud and vetiver and musk.
It was sublime. I wanted it all over me.
“Bridget Mills,” she announced herself, smiling at me, lashes fluttering, eyes downcast before lifting, releasing pheromones at the same moment and filling the air with apricot and vanilla, caramel and a rush of fresh strawberry.
I dropped her hand and took an instinctive step back. I didn’t want her smell to have a chance to replace the faint trace of the other alluring, tantalizing aroma.
“Sir? Are you well?”
I would be as soon as I found the origin of the scent I wanted to roll in, or on. It was lingering on her clothes or in her hair and was released when she moved.
“I’m…fine,” I managed in response. “Where did you––”
“Sir, may I––”
“I’m sorry; there’s quite a line,” I explained, calming, collecting myself and my thoughts.
Clearly, I was confused. There were too many layers of perfume in the room, even as large as it was.
What I needed was some fresh air to clear my head and nose, but to do that I had to greet and dismiss all the waiting omegas, and this one was standing in my way. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Her eyes widened, and I saw the flare of anger but couldn’t have cared less.
Then I turned and suddenly found myself face-to-face with a truly stunning man.
His rose-gold hair and jade-colored eyes were a remarkable combination.
Along with his flawless porcelain skin, he was nearly blinding.
He was perfection, and for a moment I was enthralled…
because the smell, it was his. It had been coming from him.
His scent was heavenly. It was warm cedar and wild black spruce, and the musk was back, with the aged leather and that same vetiver smoke. It was rugged and wild and—
The disappointment was crushing, almost painful, and it took everything in me not to reel as though from a blow.
My chest tightened with defeat even as I faced perhaps the most beautiful omega I had ever seen in my life.
He was grace and beauty incarnate, a man who should have been kept under glass to remain forever immaculate and untouched.
But all of that radiant perfection was completely and utterly wasted on me, because I realized, beneath the rugged and wild, he smelled of uncut roses in a lush garden, honey, brown sugar, and a hint of jasmine blooming under a boiling midday sun.
What I wanted was muscles under sweaty, salty skin, evergreen woods at dawn, and a ride in the country with the windows down on a hot summer night.
Every omega gave off a scent meant to entice an alpha. I’d seen men I’d known my whole life catch just a whisper of something in the air and be consumed with finding the source, to the exclusion of all else. I had no idea that would ever, or could ever, be me until this very second.
“Where,” I began, but my voice went out on me.
“Have I been all your life?” he taunted me.
“No,” I rumbled hoarsely, and I realized I was probably glowering when he appeared startled. There was no doubt most people fawned over him, but I needed answers. “Have you and Miss Mills perhaps been running in a field?”
His face scrunched up as he recoiled from the mere suggestion. “A well-bred omega would never run,” he informed me. “That’s simply not done.”
I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Yes. I mean, no, of course not. Forgive me, I meant no offense. I would never wish to imply that you weren’t a gentleman.”
“Whatever would make you think that I—oh,” he groaned, sounding pained, as he breathed in. “I must have Avery’s scent on me. That’s horrifying.”
It was anything but, and I nearly gasped as I caught a hint of the spoor again when he ran his hand through his hair.
“He always comes to these things right from work. It’s totally barbaric.”
An omega who worked at all was unheard of, but the most important part of the explanation was that what I’d hoped was now confirmed—Avery was a man. A man I needed to meet as quickly as possible.
“If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a million times that he needs to take these events more seriously, and now he’s stinking up me and Bridget, and that’s just vile.”
It was incredible, and dear God, if Avery smelled this good on others, the scent would be even better all over me. I wanted that. Even more, I wanted mine on him. “Avery who?” I asked nonchalantly, masking my interest with a bored tone.
“Rhine,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “He’s Mr. Huntington’s son, your host for this event. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”
And I would spend the rest of my evening hunting him down, because nothing else mattered but finding the man and claiming him as mine.