HARPER #2
The man filling the doorway was nothing like what she'd expected and everything she hadn't known she'd been hoping for.
Six and a half feet of solid muscle and controlled power, with dark hair that looked like he'd been running his hands through it and eyes the color of winter storms. His presence hit her like a physical force, making the air around them seem to crackle with electricity she couldn't explain.
God, how am I supposed to function around someone like him?
His gaze swept over her with a burning intensity that made her skin flush, taking in her practical jeans, her comfortable blouse, her hiking boots—nothing special, nothing designed to impress.
But something in those ice-blue eyes darkened as they lingered on her face, and Harper felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her clothing and everything to do with the way he seemed to see straight through her composure to something raw and vulnerable underneath.
The air between them seemed to thicken with heat and tension, and his scent—pine and cedar and something wild and masculine—filled her lungs and made her head spin.
For a heartbeat, Harper forgot how to breathe, forgot everything except the way this stranger was looking at her like she was salvation and damnation wrapped in one impossible package.
"Well, isn't this interesting," Gerri murmured beside her, and Harper could hear the smile in her voice even without looking.
The matchmaker stepped forward with the confidence of someone accustomed to navigating supernatural politics. "I'm Gerri Wilder, the woman your grandmother hired to help find a therapist for Lila. And this is Harper Lane, the therapist from Oregon to help your sister."
The man—Dorian, it had to be Dorian—remained silent for a long moment, his gaze still fixed on Harper with a piercing intensity that made her want to squirm.
He didn't step forward to shake her hand and didn't offer the polite pleasantries she'd expected.
Just stood there in the doorway like a mountain that had decided to take human form, radiating power and something else she couldn't quite name.
"Well, Dorian," Gerri said with pointed sweetness, "certainly you have better manners than that."
Something flickered across his expression—annoyance, maybe, or resignation. He looked at Gerri with the kind of look that suggested he knew exactly what game she was playing and wasn't particularly amused by it.
But then he stepped forward, extending one large hand toward Harper. "Dorian Holt. Alpha of the Holt Pack and Lila's older brother."
Harper reached out to shake his hand, telling herself this was just professional courtesy, just the normal introduction between a counselor and a client's guardian. Nothing more complicated than that.
But the moment their palms touched, the world tilted sideways.
Heat flooded through her body like someone had opened a furnace door, racing up her arm and spreading through her chest until she felt like she might spontaneously combust. His eyes darkened to the color of storm clouds, and something that looked disturbingly like hunger flickered in their depths.
His breathing grew noticeably deeper, and his hand tightened around hers with a possessiveness that should have alarmed her but instead sent a thrill of awareness skittering down her spine.
What the hell is happening?
The logical part of her brain—the part that had spent years learning to read people and situations—screamed warnings about inappropriate attraction and professional boundaries.
But the rest of her, the part that had been lonely and touch-starved for longer than she cared to admit, wanted to melt into that warmth and never let go.
She suddenly couldn't handle this. Couldn't handle feeling this exposed, this vulnerable, this completely out of control in front of a man she'd known for all of thirty seconds.
Harper pulled her hand away like she'd been burned, which wasn't far from the truth. "I'm sorry, I really need to use the restroom. Could you point me in the right direction?"
Dorian cleared his throat, and she caught a flash of something almost like disappointment in his eyes before his expression returned to its controlled mask. "Of course. The main level bathroom is just down the corridor and to the left."
Harper practically fled into the house, not even taking in the beautiful architecture or the careful craftsmanship that had clearly gone into every beam and stone. All she could focus on was getting away from those knowing blue eyes and the way her hand still tingled like it had been branded.
She found the bathroom and locked the door behind her with hands that shook slightly, then immediately went to the sink to splash cold water over her burning palm. But the tingling sensation persisted, like some kind of invisible mark that refused to wash away.
Oh my god, this is not what I expected at all.
Harper stared at her reflection in the mirror—flushed cheeks, wide eyes, lips slightly parted like she'd been running instead of just shaking hands with her client's brother.
This was exactly the kind of complication she couldn't afford, exactly the kind of distraction that could destroy her professional credibility.
Get yourself together, she commanded her reflection. You're here to do a job. You're here to help Lila, nothing more.
But even as she tried to rationalize what had just happened—some kind of Alpha phenomenon, maybe, just the natural response to being in the presence of that much concentrated power and intensity—her treacherous body refused to forget the way his hand had felt against hers, warm and strong and impossibly right.
You've never met an Alpha before. That's all this is. Just your body responding to supernatural energy you don't understand.
She splashed more water on her face, trying to wash away the heat that seemed to have taken up permanent residence under her skin.
So why does it feel like there's so much more going on here?