CHAPTER 3
WINDY
“Why are we here?” I ask, knowing I won’t get the response I’m wanting, but I ask anyway.
I sway to the music, doing my best to look like I’m having fun.
I shouldn’t be here, not at Luscious. I tell myself the bass shaking the floor will drown out my nerves, but it doesn’t.
The place is packed, with lights flashing and people everywhere.
Even so, all I can think about is how close I am to home.
Too close.
I’m close enough that anyone from my hometown could walk through those doors and recognize me right off the bat. Close enough that the whole facade that I’ve painstakingly built over the years could crack and crumble into a heap at my feet.
Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe no one will wonder why I’m here with a stranger who clearly isn’t from Cedar Hill. But maybe they will, and then they’ll start asking questions.
I’m screwed if they do.
I just hope no one I know walks in. Still, the thought weighs on me. Every time someone brushes past or looks my way, my stomach tightens.
Then, there’s him.
The client I’m with.
He’s loud and careless, drinking so much he forgets I need to keep things subtle. He already slipped once, almost saying my real name instead of my alias. I caught it and covered it with a forced laugh.
The potential damage is unreal. One wrong word or a familiar face could destroy the separation between my work life and home life.
I stay near him, trying to keep out of sight in case someone I know is here.
I’m close enough for him to step in if needed, but not so close that he gets the wrong idea.
My heart pounds, and I can hear my blood rushing in my ears.
I scan the room again. Every shadow feels like a threat.
Every laugh reminds me I shouldn’t be here. Not like this, not tonight.
“Oh, we’re just having fun, doll,” he says, sliding an arm around me and pulling me to his side.
I cringe, but only for a second. If I let him see how much I hate his touch, I’ll lose my job. He’s the type to tell my boss, and she doesn’t give second chances. She might be cool, but no one messes with her business. One mistake, and you’re gone.
I take slow breaths to steady myself. Being this close to home, I feel exposed for the first time in years. My jobs have never brought me here before. One wrong move and my cover is gone. My client doesn’t know any of this; he has no idea Cedar Hill is where I’m from.
If I make it through tonight without any trouble, I’ll be shocked. All I want is to get us out, back to the city, back to being anonymous. That’s where I feel safe. But here at Luscious, I can’t shake the feeling that one mistake will expose me.
“Why don’t you get us a drink, doll?”
I look down, copy his words with a silly face, and give him the fakest smile I can manage.
“But, honey, you wouldn’t want the bartender to hit on me, would you?” I playfully bat my eyes while gagging on the inside. “Remember, he was eyeing me when we walked in.”
The client, Taylor Sheffield, straightens up and puffs out his chest. He looks over at the bartender and sees the same guy from before is still there. Luckily, I don’t know him.
“You’re right.” He nods with his jaw set tight and his shoulders pulled back. “I’ll be back in a minute, my love.”
I flash him a big smile and act impressed by his manliness. As soon as he turns away, I roll my eyes and slip into the shadows, putting some distance between me and the dance floor.
Pulling my phone out of my clutch, I type out a quick text to my boss. While she may be professional to a T in business, she is still a woman I’m close to.
WINDY: You owe me Chinese for this.
Within moments, those familiar dots pop up on my screen. A second later, her text comes through, and I can’t help but giggle at it.
BOSS: Boo, you whore.
Too soon, Taylor comes back from the bar and hands me the white wine he ordered. I take it with a practiced smile, but inside I’m rolling my eyes. Where’s the tequila, the lime, the salt?
“You know just what I like, honey,” I say, taking a sip. The taste hits my tongue, and I wish I could wipe it away. It’s awful.
“Of course I do, my love. I know everything about you.”
He gets even creepier, and I shift uncomfortably in my heels.
I wipe my sweaty palm down my dress, then switch my wine to that hand so I can do the same with the other.
When I try to move away, even a little, he notices.
He pulls me close, his fingers pressing into my hip.
Then he lets go and taps my ass. I think I hear him groan over the music, but I’m not sure.
The bass shakes the floor, making my whole body vibrate. I pretend I’m having a great time, even though Taylor won’t tell me why we’re in Cedar Hill. I keep my smile relaxed and my posture loose, even though my nerves are shot, and my eyes keep scanning the crowd.
Lights flash in a blur of colors. People press together, sweating on each other. The air is thick with a mix of alpha pheromones and omega perfume, all blending into one strong scent that makes my head ache.
Just as I’m about to make excuses to go to the bathroom to get away from the scents, a shadow cuts into our little bubble.
My eyes fall on a man in a perfectly tailored suit.
His eyes are the first thing I notice. They’re a honey-whiskey color, so light brown they look almost like caramel.
When he fleetingly glances at me, it feels like I’ve been seen and assessed in one heartbeat.
But it’s impossible because his gaze doesn’t pause.
It’s more of a perfunctory glance of acknowledgement, nothing more.
He’s several inches taller than my 5’2”. He moves with a quiet confidence that makes you notice him. His body is athletic and well-built under that fitted suit.
Good lord, that suit fits him damn well.
His broad shoulders narrow into a strong torso, and I’d bet it’s well-defined. Just a glance tells me he works out. He’s not bulky, just carved. Every move is precise, like someone who knows his strength and doesn’t have to show off.
His appearance doesn’t keep my attention long, though, as a faint hint of a scent snaps my spine straight and has me on alert. I vaguely hear Taylor and this mystery man speaking as my attention turns elsewhere.
“Wolf,” Taylor says, his creepy voice is smooth enough to glide over your skin like slime. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
I nod absentmindedly. I’m looking all over for a different reason than before. The scent is soft at first, then sharp enough to steal my breath.
“We need to talk business,” The man I now know as Wolf replies.
This isn’t just any scent. It’s the most amazing, mouthwatering hit of cinnamon candy—sweet, warm, and a little spicy. It’s like someone opened my favorite candy right in front of me. It teases me, curling around me like a thin cloud of smoke. For a moment, I forget myself.
My eyes slowly close as I inhale deeply. I try to pinpoint where the scent is coming from, but with so many people packed around us moving here and there, it’s hard to place it in this chaotic mess. It’s close, I know that. So, so close that it makes my pulse skip.
Suddenly, I’m no longer pretending to be interested in something or someone. I’m invested. Truly. Wholeheartedly. This scent pulls at something deep inside of me so hard that it feels like a tether tied around me, slowly reeling me in.
“Let’s go talk shop and leave this pretty filly down here to enjoy herself.” Taylor gives me a kiss on the temples that I barely pay attention to as I’m still looking for the cause of that terrific scent.
I wave him off with a smile and keep searching.
My eyes slowly roam over the alphas in the room.
Many of them are looking at me, but none of them ring any of my bells.
A select few walk off the dance floor after Taylor and Wolf do, and to my dismay, the scent of cinnamon goes along with all of them.
One second, it’s there, warm and sweet and teasing my senses, and the next, it’s disappeared, swallowed by the sea of alphas and omegas as the scent of stale sweat and alcohol filters back in.
Sadness washes over me at the thought of never smelling that scent again.
A helpless whine rises in my throat before I can stop it.
I want the scent so badly that I start to shiver without it.
Something cold settles inside me, a feeling I can’t explain.
I shift from foot to foot, unable to stand still.
A face … A presence … I want it. Need it. Anything that will bring that cinnamon sweetness back to me.
When I can’t take it anymore, I push through the crowd, weaving between dancers.
I ignore the annoyed looks and the hands that brush against me.
I don’t even know where I’m going, just that I have to move.
My feet act on instinct, chasing something that won’t come back.
Every breath in disappoints me. Every breath out feels heavier.
Tears sting my eyes before I even realize it.
Everything blurs into a haze. I blink hard, trying to fight the emotions choking me—the feeling of being left behind, of being unwanted.
It’s like a noose tightening around my neck.
I don’t get it. Losing that scent shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does.
I feel like something precious was taken from me—something I barely touched, let alone held. The emptiness, the missing scent, feels like a sharp pain in my ribs. Breathing in is hard. Breathing out is even harder.
I feel like I’ll crumble to nothing without that scent.