Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Emily
Carson Whitaker’s name loops through my mind long after we’ve left the party behind.
Jared drives in silence beside me, one hand resting on my thigh, his thumb tracing small circles over the midnight blue fabric of my dress.
The simple contact grounds me, but I can’t dispel the image of Leif’s face draining of color, his broad shoulders curving inward as if trying to disappear the moment Carson entered the ballroom.
The gravel of our driveway crunches beneath the tires as we pull up to the cottage. Moonlight spills across the river stone path and climbs the trellis of wild roses, illuminating petals turned silver in the darkness. Jared kills the engine, and the sudden silence wraps around us.
“Home sweet home.” He squeezes my knee before withdrawing his hand to unbuckle his seatbelt.
I follow him up the walkway, the tension in my shoulders easing with each step toward our front door. My heels sink into the soft ground between stones, slowing my progress until I give up and slip them off, letting the cool earth soothe my aching feet.
Jared unlocks the door and steps back, allowing me to enter first. The familiar scents of clean wood, fresh bread from this morning, and the subtle combination of our pheromones envelop me.
After hours surrounded by overwhelming scents of competing perfumes and champagne, the simplicity clears my head.
I drop my shoes by the door with a thud, wiggling my toes on the smooth wood floor. Behind me, Jared secures the lock and removes his suit jacket, draping it over the coat rack. His blue tie matches my dress, a detail he’d been proud of when he emerged from our bedroom earlier this evening.
“Want some tea?” he asks, moving toward the kitchen.
“No.” I shake my head, watching him loosen his tie. “But thank you.”
Jared pauses, his sea-glass eyes studying me. “You’ve been quiet since we left.”
I drift toward the window, staring out at our moonlit garden, where the wind chimes hanging from the eaves tinkle. “Did you see how Leif reacted when Carson walked in?”
“Hard to miss.” Jared comes up behind me, not touching but close enough for the heat from his body to seep through my jacket. “He bolted like a startled deer.”
My fingers tap on the windowsill. “What do you think happened between them?”
“Nothing good.” Jared’s reflection appears beside mine in the window glass. “Carson kept scanning the room after Leif left.”
A chill runs through me at the accuracy of his description. “Should I check on him tomorrow?” I turn from the window. “To make sure he’s okay?”
“Of course you should.” The corners of his mouth lift in a gentle curve.
My brow furrows. “What?”
“Nothing.” He steps closer, his fingers trailing up my arm. “I like the way you worry about people.”
“It’s silly.” I move past him toward the couch, sinking onto the cushions. “Leif isn’t pack. He’s not even close to us. I barely know him.”
Jared sits beside me, close but not crowding. “Your instincts are good, Em. You notice things because you care.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.” He takes my hand, his thumb running across my knuckles. “It’s what marks you as a good Alpha.”
The compliment warms me deep inside. “I saw the way Carson treated Blake and Nathaniel, how they welcomed him. If he’s dangerous to Leif…”
“We’ll figure it out.” Jared squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to carry your burdens alone anymore.”
The simplicity of his statement untangles a knot in my chest that’s been there for years. How many times has Auren told me that protecting the pack was my responsibility alone? That an Alpha who couldn’t handle problems wasn’t worth following?
Jared brings my hand to his lips, kissing my palm. “Besides, I think Grady’s already on it. Did you see how fast he followed Leif out?”
“I did.” My lips quirk upward. “They’ve grown closer. Betas don’t put him on edge.”
“Grady’s easy to be comfortable around.” Jared grins, tugging me closer until our thighs touch.
His closeness shifts the air between us, the concern about Leif fading as my awareness narrows to the warm pressure of his body. Tonight, Jared’s cedar and salt air pheromones include traces of the whiskey he’d sipped at the party.
At times like this, I wish he could smell pheromones the way most Alphas can, to experience the merging of our scents the way I do. Not because there’s anything wrong with his scent-blindness, but because this intoxicating blend needs to be shared.
“You know,” I say, drawing out the moment, “you never told me what you thought of this dress.”
Jared’s pupils dilate as he skims down my body. “I think I’d rather show you.”
Heat pools low in my belly as I slide closer, lifting one leg over his to straddle his lap, the fabric of my dress riding high on my thighs. His hands find my waist, fingers digging into the curve where the material clings.
I place my palms flat on his chest. “Better view?”
“Much.” His heart pounds beneath my right hand, the rhythm quickening as I roll my hips.
I reach for his tie, loosening the knot before pulling it free. “I liked seeing you in a suit tonight.”
“Mmm.” His hands slide from my waist to my thighs, the rough calluses on his palms providing delicious friction on my skin. “I was hoping to entice you.”
The tie slithers to the floor as I move on to his buttons, revealing inches of tanned skin with each one undone.
Jared’s breath hitches when my fingers graze his collarbone.
His own hands aren’t idle, tracing paths up my legs to the hem of my dress and slipping beneath to toy with the elastic on my underwear.
“Zip,” I whisper, leaning forward to graze my lips over the hollow of his throat.
His hands move to my back, finding the zipper hidden beneath a small fold of fabric. The sound of it lowering fills the quiet room, followed by a soft groan from Jared as his fingers encounter bare skin.
“You’re not wearing a bra,” he murmurs, husky with desire as he pushes the dress from my shoulders.
“Couldn’t with this dress.” I finish with his shirt buttons and spread the fabric wide, revealing the lean planes of his chest. “You like?”
His responding growl vibrates through his chest as he pulls me closer for a kiss. His mouth claims mine, his tongue brushing the seam of my lips for permission, which I give without hesitation. My hips rock over him, feeling his hardness through the layers of fabric still between us.
The heady scent of his desire thickens in the air, slipping into my lungs and muddying my thoughts.
The wet heat of his mouth moves to my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot where my pulse throbs. His hands cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they peak, and a moan rises from deep in my throat.
As my hand reaches for his belt, a plaintive meow cuts through our haze of desire. Mixie appears on the couch, her green eyes fixed on us with feline disapproval.
She meows again, louder and more insistent.
Jared’s forehead drops to my shoulder with a laugh. “Someone’s hungry.”
Mixie hops onto the arm of the couch, her tail swishing as she glares at us.
“Traitor,” I mutter to the cat. “You have the worst timing.”
Jared kisses my lips before lifting me off his lap. “I’ll feed her. You go get comfortable.”
Mixie, recognizing the word feed, leaps down and trots toward the kitchen, pausing to peer back with expectation clear in every line of her body.
“Don’t take too long,” I say, pulling my dress back up over my breasts as I stand.
Jared’s nostrils flare, as if he can smell my desire despite his scent-blindness. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I retreat to our bedroom, my fingers already working the zipper the rest of the way down my back. The midnight blue fabric pools at my feet in a silken puddle, leaving me in nothing but the black lace underwear I’d chosen for tonight.
The familiar sounds of Jared in the kitchen opening the cabinet where we keep Mixie’s food come through the doorway, while her eager meows mingle with his murmurs as he fills her bowl.
The bedroom window stands open a crack, a cool breeze slipping across my bare skin and raising goose bumps. I leave it open. After hours in the crowded ballroom, I welcome the chill.
I drape the dress over the back of my reading chair, smoothing a hand over the fabric.
It was worth every penny, even if formal wear has never been my favorite thing to shop for.
The saleswoman had raised her eyebrows when I rejected dress after dress that tried to soften my muscular frame or hide my height.
This one had been perfect, if only for the way Jared had gone still the first time he saw me in it.
In the bathroom, I stand before the mirror and begin removing the pins that had kept my silver hair out of my eyes while allowing me to wear it down. It falls past my shoulders now, longer than I’ve kept it in years.
The final pin comes free, and I run my fingers through the strands, massaging my scalp where they’d pulled too tight. Should I let it continue growing, or return to the practical bob I’ve worn since establishing my construction business?
I gather the length of it in one hand, holding it away from my neck. The weight surprises me after years of shortcuts, yet the way it frames my face holds an unexpected appeal.
“Keep it.”
The suggestion startles me, and I drop my hair as I find Jared in the mirror, leaning in the doorway, his shirt still unbuttoned, staring at me with unmistakable heat.
“Reading my mind?” I ask as he moves up behind me.
His hands settle on my waist, thumbs rubbing small circles over my skin. “You’ve been playing with your hair all night.”
“Have I?” Heat rises to my cheeks at being so transparent.
Jared hums in affirmation, lowering his head to kiss the curve where my neck meets my shoulder, and the contact sends a shiver down my spine.
I lean back to let his broad chest support me and feel the rumble of contentment from deep inside him. Not quite a purr, not yet, but heading there. My own Alpha instincts respond, warming to his pleasure. His tall frame fits perfectly behind mine, his sandy-brown hair contrasting with my silver.
“So, you think I should keep it?” I ask.
“I think you should do what brings you joy.” Jared’s arms encircle my waist, holding me close. “Short, long, shaved on one side with the rest in braids… You’d still be you.”
His answer eases an uncertainty I hadn’t acknowledged. “Auren always insisted I keep it short. Said long hair wasn’t…”
Jared’s reflection scowls. “Wasn’t what?”
I swallow. “Proper for an Alpha. He said it made me appear weak.”
Jared’s grip on my waist tightens for a fraction of a second before relaxing. “Auren had a lot of bad opinions about how you should present yourself. He was wrong about a lot of things.”
The understatement hangs between us. Auren had opinions about everything from my clothes to my voice to how I carried myself in public. Small corrections delivered with a kindness that somehow cut deeper than shouting ever could.
“He did.” I turn in Jared’s arms. “But that’s not why I kept it short. I liked it that way. It was practical for the job site.”
“And now?” Jared tucks a strand behind my ear, his touch gentle.
“Now I’m wondering if I kept it short because it was easier than having another fight,” I confess.
Jared’s arms tighten around me. “You’re beautiful either way.”
The simplicity of his statement draws a laugh from me. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the truth.” He brushes his knuckles along my jawline. “Your beauty isn’t in your haircut, Em. It’s in how you move through a room. How people look to you for guidance. How you build things with your hands and your heart.”
My throat tightens at his sincerity.
“Besides,” he continues, his lips quirking upward, “long hair gives me more to hold on to.”
The suggestive words lighten the moment, and I smack his chest. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely.” His hands slide into my hair, fingers tangling in the silver strands as he tilts my face up toward his. “See? Very convenient.”
The tug sends a spark of pleasure down my spine, and I rise onto my toes to close the distance between our mouths. His tongue curls around mine, and I moan into his mouth as his grip in my hair tightens, pulling hard enough to send electric currents racing down my spine to pool between my thighs.
When we break apart, my breath comes harder, and the rumble in his chest deepens into a full Alpha purr that resonates through my body.
“You’re a good Alpha, Emily Wilson,” Jared says, serious despite his pheromones filling the air with desire. “Hair long or short, dress shoes or work boots. The core of you never changes.”
The words slip beneath my defenses, touching places I’ve only just started to acknowledge since Auren dismantled everything I thought I knew about myself. Jared accepts me. All of me, not just the constructed image Auren pushed on me or the tough exterior I show my crew.
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words inadequate for what his acceptance means to me.
Jared’s purr deepens as he lifts a hand to brush his thumb across my lower lip. “Now, where were we before Mixie interrupted?”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “I think you were about to take me to bed.”
“So I was.” Jared lifts me with ease, one arm beneath my knees and the other supporting my back, and he carries me the short distance to our bed.