2. Alessandro #2
She shifts on her knees, patting her dog while sneaking glances around her, and that’s when I realize the truth. She can’t spring to her feet.
I offer her my hand, stooping down to her level. “If you’d like, I can show you some photos of what I mean?”
Getting in people’s business is a bad idea, especially around here. The locals don’t like suggestions most of the time, only a “yes, sir,” or “right away, sir” response. But I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut.
The woman glances at my hand, hesitates, and then takes the offered help. The moment her skin warms mine, I catch a hint of her scent. Jasmine, sweet, softened.
Merda! She’s an omega. A hot pulse runs through my chest.
At the same moment, she pulls free of her dog, revealing a small remote in her other hand.
The logo on its metallic gray covering belongs to an ultra up-market security company.
No wonder she isn’t afraid of me. But she does seem afraid of something, because she glances out at the sky as if looking for rain, before backing up from the doorway.
“Come in.”
I wipe my boots carefully and step inside, leaving the warm summer sun behind.
Like all the houses in Crescent Guild, hers is modern, built with timeless elegance and decorated in pale, neutral shades.
Her scent lingers, but it’s overridden by the less natural deodorizer air puffing from a small diffuser on the side table.
It’s as if the omega doesn’t like her own Jasmine tones.
Which is a pity, really, because I’d love to breathe her scent deeply.
But what strikes me most is the absence of personality in the house.
No photos of family on the walls, no eclectic art cobbled together from various travel or combined tastes.
Not even rumpled throw rugs draped over chairs or shopping bags waiting to be unpacked.
Just quiet refinement that reads like a static home display.
This omega lives as a ghost in her own home.
In contrast, the dog pads happily across to a round basket and flops down on the well-worn rug inside, as if he hasn’t just caused havoc in both our days. Well, dogs are simple like that.
The omega clears her throat, and I realize I’ve blocked the hall. I sidle to the edge and she brushes past, moving awkwardly.
“My name is Willow,” she announces.
Willow, like the tree. It suits her perfectly, with her willowy figure and long hair hanging straight down her back, holding the same warm glow branches do when sunlight burns through them. My fingers twitch as I imagine running them through her silky strands.
“And you?” One corner of her mouth lifts, reminding me I’ve been standing here staring like a fool.
“Alessandro. Alex, if that’s too hard to say.”
She cocks her head. “Why would Alessandro be too hard to say?”
A shiver runs through me as my name rolls off her tongue. “Ah, it’s not, but . . .” I shrug. “Well, some of my employers find it too difficult.”
“Ah, I see.” She hoists herself up onto a bar stool. “You must work in this neighborhood then.”
I grin. “Correct.”
She flicks long, polished fingers toward the fridge. “There’s iced tea or Coke in the door. Help yourself.”
So open, unconscious of the difference in our status. That shiver returns, stealing lower in my body. My curiosity gets the better of me.
“You’re not afraid of having an alpha in your house? To have me here, looking in your fridge?” What the hell am I saying?
She twitches, a guilty look flashing across her face. As if catching herself, she smooths her expression. “Should I be afraid of you, Alessandro?”
“No, of course not.” I lurch toward the fridge just to break her hypnotic eye contact. “Just . . . people are usually more reserved.”
She laughs, and I about implode with the need to know what’s funny.
“I’m not as social as you think. But Mr Shares likes you.” She points to her dog. “And you brought him all this way using your belt, so I’d say that’s a good enough character reference.”
My cheeks heat, and I’m suddenly grateful for olive skin that handles both sun and embarrassment with ease.
“He’s a good boy,” I mutter.
I open the fridge door to discover it’s just as picture-perfect as the rest of the house.
Precut vegetables lie inside neatly stacked glass containers.
Beside them sit rows of yogurt tubs, lite wraps, an assortment of dips, and cheese with names I can’t pronounce.
When I take a can of tea, the newly empty space in the rack appears unbalanced.
I offer her a drink but Willow declines with a polite wave of her hand. Nodding, I swing the door closed, careful not to let it slam. Moving further along the kitchen brings a new room into view; an office, set up like a studio with lights and cameras on tripods.
All very professional looking.
A unique pair of artworks hang on the wall just outside the open office door.
Cracking open my drink, I step closer to inspect and discover the two framed pieces are radar weather maps.
Both have dates printed at the bottom, roughly two years apart, and both look to be this part of part of Texas.
The vivid blues, greens, yellows, and reds swirling together seem out of place in this elegant home.
Which means they’re important, but how could weather charts be important to this lovely omega?
“See something interesting?” Her voice is deceptively calm, but one glance at her rigid body tells me I’ve crossed a line.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, stepping back to her side. The soda can clinks as I set it on the marble breakfast bar. “I was going to show you fencing photos, and here I am daydreaming.”
I drag my spiraling focus together to pull up images of the decorative fence tops I’ve seen, the ones with lattice patterning.
She takes my phone and studies each photo carefully, zooming in on the details with her nicely manicured hands.
“This could work.” Her blue eyes flick up. “Do you think I could install this around the entire backyard?”
A reason to see her again?
“Sì, absolutely,” I murmur before I’ve thought it through. “Well, I mean, fencing isn’t what I usually do, but I’m sure I can manage.”
The omega smiles faintly. “Well, I didn’t mean you have to do it. I do have someone that comes around for the lawns—”
Panic blinds me.
“I’m very good with my hands. I think I’ll do a better job.” The words come out of nowhere, but nothing in the world would make me take them back. I don’t care how stupid I sound; I need a reason to see her again.
Her lips twitch with a smile. “Well, since you sound so confident.”
I draw up to my full height. “Sì. I’ll need to measure up your yard, though.” I pull a business card from my pocket and slide it over to her. “That’s my number. I have insurance”
The omega nods and pulls the card closer. Her hands are so elegant and pretty, I can’t help wondering what it would be like to hold them.
“Great.” She swivels to look at her dog. “I have to keep him safe.”
Her scent, her eyes, the mysterious sadness in her gaze; everything draws me in. I lean closer, trying to catch a hint of her Jasmine palate. Willow turns and flinches.
I jerk back, my arm slamming into a ceramic cannister holding a handful of cooking utensils.
In slow motion, it skids across the bench, gyrating before leaning over the edge, toying with doom.
I launch toward it, hoping to catch the pot before it falls, but my fingers close around a wooden spoon while the holder slips free and smashes to a thousand pieces on the floor.
Merda!
The crash ricochets through the air and the omega screams, covering her head and throwing herself under the overhanging breakfast bar.
“No! No! No!” she wails, rocking into the cabinetry underneath. “I’m sorry! It was an accident!”
Her shoulder slams into the carved wood below the breakfast bar and the golden retriever barks. He runs over, sticking his wet nose into her throat as he climbs up onto her chest.
The omega freezes. Silence descends, eerily poignant after the outburst, as she clutches her dog’s shaggy neck.
What have I done? And more importantly, what did I just witness? “I’m so sor—”
Willow coughs and untangles herself, cheeks pink and tears pooling in her eyes. “I think you better leave.”
The ice in her voice would make the Arctic jealous.
“But the mess,” I protest, pointing to the broken shards. “I’ll clean it up.”
“No.” Her rejection stabs through me like a knife. “Just go.”
She wants me to walk away, to spare her dignity. Sucking in a breath, I turn and flee. I’m halfway down the driveway before I realize I don’t know if she wants me to come back for the fencing.
That shame in her eyes probably means she never wants to see me again, because I’ve glimpsed something she doesn’t want anyone to know about.
I hesitate halfway down the drive, turning back. Is it really okay to leave her in that state?