Chapter 16 Presley
Presley
The bathroom tiles were cold against my palms as I leaned over the sink, water running over my wrists in a desperate attempt to cool down.
It wasn't working.
Heat prickled across my skin, spreading from my core outward like I'd swallowed the sun. My reflection in the mirror showed flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. My hair stuck to my damp forehead. I looked a mess.
This couldn't be happening. Not here.
My heat wasn't due for another week.
I turned the tap to cold, splashing water on my face, my neck, anywhere I could reach. The relief lasted seconds before the heat came roaring back.
I pressed my legs together, biting back a whimper as slick pooled between my thighs.
The bathroom door opened.
I jerked upright, my heart hammering.
Caron stood in the doorway, her expression shifting from curiosity to understanding in a heartbeat.
"Oh, honey." Her voice was gentle now, nothing like the sharp assessment from earlier. She crossed to me, digging through her designer handbag. "First time in public?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Here." She pulled out a small silver canister. "Heat delay spray. Medical grade. I buy it because the last thing I need is my heat hitting anywhere I’m surrounded by alphas who aren't mine."
She held it out.
I took it with shaking hands. "Thank you."
"Spray it on your scent glands. Wrists, neck, behind your knees if you can reach. It'll buy you a few hours."
I did as she said, the cool mist settling on my overheated skin. The effect was almost immediate. The fire in my veins banked, not gone but manageable.
And I could breathe again.
"Better?" Caron asked.
"Yes. Thank you so much."
"Don't mention it." She tucked the canister back into her bag. "We omegas have to look out for each other. Even the mysterious ones who show up with French flankers. We should meet for a coffee one day."
I managed a weak smile. “Love to.”
She left, and I stood there for another minute, gripping the edge of the sink, willing my body to cooperate.
The spray would give me a little longer before my heat hit in full force.
I just needed to get home. Needed to get back to the townhouse.
The moment I walked back into the VIP box, something had changed.
The match was over. The other wives and partners were gathering their things, chattering about dinner plans and after-parties.
And Etienne was there.
He stood by the door in his kit, dirt smeared across his face, his hair damp with sweat. His chest heaved like he'd run the entire way from the pitch.
His eyes found me immediately.
"Presley."
The way he said my name made my knees weak. I’d gotten used to him calling me Princesse.
He crossed the room in three strides, his hands finding my shoulders, his gaze searching my face.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You left. You were flushed. I could smell—" He stopped, his jaw clenching. "How long do you have?"
Heat crept up my neck. Everyone in the box was pretending not to listen, but I could feel their attention.
"Can we talk about this in the car?" I whispered.
He didn't move. "How long, Princesse?"
I swallowed. "Two days. I think I have two days. It starts slow, builds for twelve hours, disappears and then comes back with a vengeance."
His nostrils flared. His pupils blew wide, swallowing the hazel of his eyes until they were almost black.
He could smell me. Even through the spray, even with all the people around us, he could smell my heat starting.
What did that mean?
Was he mine?
"I need to shower," he said, his voice rough. "But I can do it at home. We're going home now."
He didn't wait for an argument. His hand found mine, his fingers lacing through mine with a possessiveness that should have scared me.
I didn’t know why, but it didn't.
The drive back was torture.
Etienne drove in silence, his jaw tight, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The engine purred, the road smooth, but the air between us was anything but.
He smelled of sweat and earth and something darker, richer. He smelled like my alpha.
Mine.
No. Not mine. I cleared my throat and stared at the traffic out of the window.
This was an arrangement. Nothing else. I just had to let my body know because it didn't care about arrangements.
Slick soaked through my underwear. I shifted in my seat, trying to find a position that didn't make me hyperaware of every ache, every pulse of need.
Etienne's hand tightened on the wheel.
"Don't," he said, his voice strained.
"Don't what?"
"Don't move like that. Your scent—" He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair. "Pres, you're killing me."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." His eyes cut to me, dark and hungry. "Just stay still. Please."
I pressed my hands into my lap and stared out the window, counting the minutes until we reached the townhouse.
The moment the car stopped, Etienne was out and around to my side, opening the door, offering his hand.
"Come."
It wasn't a request.
I took his hand, and he pulled me out of the car, his grip firm and steady. We walked to the front door in silence. He unlocked it, guided me inside, and closed it behind us with a finality that made my heart race.
The entrance hall was quiet. Hastings and Fritz were still somewhere over the Atlantic on their way to New York.
It was just us. Me and Etienne and the realization something had brought my heat on fast. It wouldn’t be long until it consumed me completely.
He turned to face me, his eyes searching mine.
"Go upstairs," he said gently. "I'll shower and meet you in your room. We have to talk about this. First I need to think."
I nodded, but I couldn't move. My feet were rooted to the marble floor, my body trembling with nerves.
"Presley."
I stared at Etienne and whispered, "I've never..." The words stuck in my throat. I tried again. "I’m scared I’ll lose all sense of myself. I want to remember something. Will you... I mean."
Understanding flickered across his face. He stepped closer, his hand cupping my cheek. "I'll take care of you."