Chapter 3 #2
He's close enough now that I can see the pulse hammering in his throat. I can smell the sharp edge of his arousal cutting through the scent of snow. He's as affected as I am. He's just better at hiding it.
Or maybe not. His hands are gripping the arms of his chair with white-knuckled force and a muscle in his jaw keeps twitching.
When he speaks, his voice is rougher than it was in any of the press conferences I watched.
"Thank you for the opportunity to set the record straight."
He doesn't look at me. I understand why. If he looks at me right now, I don't know what will happen. I don't know what I'll do. I don’t know what he’ll do either.
Glass is talking. I can hear words—something about allegations, something about setting the record straight—but they're just noise. Background static. All I can focus on is Carter's scent, Carter's presence, the heat radiating off his body from three feet away.
The masquerade. It was him.
"Mr. Dean?"
I jerk my attention back to Glass. He's looking at me expectantly. So is Carter. So is everyone in the studio.
I have no idea what was just asked.
"I'm sorry," I manage, sounding far too breathy. "Could you repeat the question?"
Glass grins and I can see the glee in his eyes. He knows good television when he sees it.
"I asked if you could address your allegations directly to Mr. Crane, now that he's here."
Right. The allegations. The story. The reason I'm here in the first place.
I force myself to look at Carter Crane III.
That's a mistake.
He's already looking at me, and the eye contact sends a jolt through my whole body. His gaze is intense, burning, and underneath the hostility I can see something hungry.
The scent is everywhere. I can taste it on my tongue.
"The allegations." My voice comes out steadier than I expected. Some professional instinct kicking in, maybe. "Aren't personal. They're factual. Your family has been engaged in corrupt practices for three generations. The documents prove it."
Carter's jaw tightens. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, nothing like the polished politician from the press conferences. "They prove nothing. You have successfully created a new conspiracy theory."
He leans forward, and the movement brings him closer to me. The scent intensifies. I have to fight the urge to lean in, to close the distance, to bury my face in the curve of his neck. "There's nothing illegal about any of it."
"Then why hide it? Why the shell companies?"
"My family has been in public life for sixty years. We're entitled to keep our personal finances private."
"Not when those 'private' things involve funneling money to influence government decisions."
We're leaning toward each other now. I don't remember deciding to move, but suddenly there's only two feet between us, then eighteen inches.
I can see the individual threads of silver in his tie.
I can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.
I can see his pupils dilating further as my scent hits him, and I watch his nostrils flare as he breathes me in.
"You don't know anything about my family," Carter says, low and sharp. His voice has dropped into a register that makes something in my core sit up and pay attention. "You spend a few months digging through our lives, and you still don't understand who we are or what we've done for this country."
"I understand exactly what you've done. That's why I wrote the story."
Something dangerous flashes in Carter's eyes. His scent spikes—sharper, more aggressive—and my body responds instantly, a fresh wave of slick that I pray to God isn't visible through my pants.
"Careful," he says, and the word is almost a growl.
"Or what? You'll sue me? Go ahead. It’d be an expensive mistake.”
Glass makes a small sound that might be a laugh quickly suppressed. He's loving this. The ratings for this episode are going to be astronomical.
We're practically nose to nose now. I don't know how that happened. I don't know when I stopped thinking about the cameras and the audience and the millions of people watching. All I know is that Carter Crane is right there, inches away, and his scent is filling my lungs, and I want—
I want—
"When this all falls apart—when the investigations find nothing and the public moves on—you'll be exactly where you started. Nowhere." Carter says. He spits the words like they taste bad, but his voice cracks on the last syllable.
"We'll see," I say quietly. "We'll certainly see which one of us is telling the truth."
Something shifts in Carter's expression. We stop talking.
I don't know how long it lasts. Seconds, maybe. It feels like hours. We're just staring at each other, breathing each other's air.
The studio is completely silent. I've forgotten Glass. Forgotten the cameras. Forgotten everything except the gray-blue of Carter's eyes and the scent of him wrapping around me like a promise.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
My lips part.
"Gentlemen." Glass's voice shatters the moment like a hammer through glass. "I think we've given our viewers quite a lot to think about tonight."
I jerk backward so fast I almost fall out of my chair. Carter does the same, putting distance between us like the proximity was physically painful. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Glass wraps up the segment smoothly, but I barely hear him. I'm too busy trying to remember how to breathe. I’m trying not to look at Carter and trying to process the fact that I just had some kind of primal mating display on national television.
The red light on the camera blinks off.
"Well," Glass says, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. "That was certainly something."
I can't speak. I'm shaking and I need to get out of this studio before I do something I'll regret. I stand, fumbling with my microphone clip.
"Mr. Dean." Carter's voice stops me.
I make the mistake of looking at him again. He's standing too, and he's closer than I expected, close enough that his scent is almost overwhelming.
"This isn't over," he says.
I don't know if it's a threat or a promise.
"No," I hear myself say. "It isn't."
A production assistant appears at my elbow, guiding me away from the studio. I let myself be led, not trusting my legs to carry me without help.
The green room is empty when I collect my things. The food is still sitting there, untouched. I grab my bag and head for the exit, desperate for fresh air.
Outside, the car the show sent is waiting. I climb into the backseat and close my eyes.
The car pulls away from the studio, and I try to make sense of what just happened.
My phone is already buzzing. I don’t want to look but I can’t resist. I set the damn phone to alert me to trending posts. I pull it out and find out that social media is exploding.
Ok but they literally couldn't stop staring at each other
Did anyone else see what I just saw on Point of Contention??? Thought they were going to fuck live on air. Lol.
The TENSION between Crane and that journalist holy shit
bro that's not tension that's PHEROMONES
#CraneAndDean forever. I am HERE for it
Tell me I'm not the only one who thinks they just witnessed a prime match on live television
I scroll numbly through the reactions. The clip is already being shared, dissected, set to music. People are making memes. Someone's done a side-by-side comparison of my face before Carter walked out and after. The difference is... obvious.
prime match confirmed, someone writes, look at his pupils dilate
Carter Crane is engaged to Georgia Mitchell but okay…. Who wants to take a bet on how long that engagement lasts? Ten bucks on it not lasting til morning.
Engaged. Right. Carter Crane just got engaged to Georgia Mitchell, the media heiress. I knew that.
And I just had some kind of pheromonal crisis on live television in front of his fiancée and the entire country.
The phone buzzes again. This time it’s Akari.
JAMIE. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT.
I don't know how to answer. I type back: I don't know.
You looked like you were going to pass out when he walked in. Are you okay?
No.
Do you think that was a prime match? It looked like it.
I don’t know, I type back.
I’ve never had a prime match before. I know what they are, of course.
They’re matches where the chemistry is so damned strong that the government pretty much forces you to get married.
It’s one of the many reasons I’ve never registered at the Bureau.
Why would any omega? Not when the risk is being forcibly married to a total stranger whether you want to or not?
Prime matches might be rare but I think I might have just had one anyway. That was the single most insane moment of my life.
The phone buzzes again with a text from Akari. There are press outside the apartment. You might need to do that thing where you put a jacket over your head when you get out of the car.
I shut my eyes. I'm so fucked.