Chapter 9
Nine
LIANA
I’m going to be late. I’m going to be so fucking late, and the bride will have a meltdown, and my reputation will be ruined, and I will never get another wedding booking again.
I might even have to accept the horrible deal that Ezra gave me.
White roses are scattered all over my store.
Buckets of them, stems too long, thorns not stripped, still wrapped in plastic from Toby’s delivery this morning. Two hours until the ceremony. Two hours to trim, color-code, arrange into bouquets, transport them to the venue, and set everything up before the bride walks down the aisle.
My hands shake. I’ve been up since four, but somehow I’m still behind.
I’m wearing gloves to protect my perfect manicure I got last night.
My dress is red. Knee-length, simple, the only formal thing I own that isn’t black.
My hair is straight. I spent forty minutes with a flat iron this morning, smoothing my hair into something sleek and controlled that falls past my shoulders instead of my usual wild mess.
And I’m also not used to wearing two-inch heels that make my calves ache and my ass look fucking incredible, and I hate myself for caring about how my ass looks when I have two hundred roses to process in two hours.
The shears snip. Stem after stem. Water everywhere. My apron is soaked through the front because I’ve been working too fast to be careful. The cooler hums. The radiator ticks.
A whistle cuts through the shop.
Low. Appreciative.
I turn my head.
Julian stands in my doorway with his hands in his pockets and his hazel eyes wide and his mouth slightly open as he gazes at me. He’s wearing a navy button-down with the sleeves pushed to his elbows, dark jeans, and boots. His dimple is already forming.
“Moons, you’re looking good today, Lia.”
My heart does something complicated and painful behind my ribs at the sight of him.
My pussy clenches hard, and I press my thighs together under my dress. It’s been three days since the fair. Three days since his mouth was on mine on a sidewalk while I held a stuffed parrot and a cotton candy cone and my entire life felt briefly, dangerously simple.
“You’re here,” I breathe.
“You’re...” He gestures at all of me. The dress. The hair. The heels. The gloves. “What’s going on? Did you know I was coming here?”
“I’m busy,” I say, but my voice comes out softer than I mean it to, and I’m blushing, and I hate that I’m blushing, and I turn back to the roses because looking at Julian in a navy shirt with his hairy forearms bare is not going to get these bouquets made.
“You look beautiful,” he says. Simple. Direct.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the roses.
The bell rings again.
I don’t turn around. I don’t need to. I can feel him.
The air in the shop changes, goes cold and charged, like the moment before lightning. My skin prickles. My nipples tighten against the fabric of my dress. My pussy is already wet. Slick gathers between my thighs with an urgency, knowing that the main alpha and oldest brother has just walked in.
“Ms. Marsh.”
Ezra Frostwood’s voice. Low. Steady. The kind of voice that could freeze an omega with the compulsion behind it.
I turn. Slowly. The white rose is still in my gloved hand, pressed against my chest like a shield.
He’s wearing black. Charcoal suit, white shirt, no tie, the top button open. His pale gray eyes find mine across the shop and hold. His jaw is tight. His shoulders are rigid under the expensive wool.
August walks in behind him. Cole follows last.
My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“What do you want?” I ask, forcing myself to be strong and make sure my voice doesn’t tremble. I have to show him that I’m not scared or intimidated, even though deep down I am.
Ezra swallows. I’ve never seen Ezra nervous. I didn’t know he could be nervous. He looks at my arms. My sleeves are long, covering everything from wrist to elbow.
Cole must have told his brothers. Ezra knows. He’s standing in my shop looking at my covered arms like he’s trying to see through the fabric to the marks beneath, and the pity in his eyes makes my chest go tight with something hot and defensive.
“Have you thought about the offer?” Ezra asks. His voice is quieter than I’ve ever heard it.
“No,” I say. “I’m not even considering it. I’m…” My voice cracks. I am not going to cry in front of four alphas. I don’t want that kind of pressure right now. “I’m in a rush right now. I have a wedding. In an hour. Probably less now.”
“What needs to happen?” he asks. Concern. Genuine concern in that ice-cold voice.
“I need to trim these roses. Color-code them. Make twelve bouquets. Haul everything to the venue on my bike, which is insane, and set up before the bride has a panic attack.” The words come out in a rush. My eyes are burning. “It’s a lot. Don’t worry about it.”
Ezra steps forward. He takes my hand. His fingers are warm through the glove, his grip firm but careful, like he’s holding something fragile. “How can I help?”
I stare at him. “What?”
“Tell me what to do.” His gray eyes are steady on mine. “We’ll help.”
“We have a car,” Julian says from the doorway. “We can drive everything. Consider it done.”
Ten minutes later, four powerful, wealthy men are standing amid buckets of white roses, and I am giving orders while they follow them.
Ezra at the workbench, his charcoal sleeves rolled to his elbows, his large hands surprisingly gentle with the stems. Julian sorting roses by shade, making piles of cream and ivory and snow-white with the focused intensity of a man arranging flowers for the first time in his life.
Cole hauling buckets to the door without being asked.
August wrapping finished bouquets in kraft paper, his fingers careful around the delicate stems.
My chest feels tight. I don’t know what to do with this.
Twenty minutes later, the brothers are loading the last of the bouquets into the back of an expensive-looking black SUV.
I lock the shop and climb into the back seat between August and Cole, my red dress riding up my thighs, my heels clicking against the floor mat.
The car smells like pure alpha males.
Bergamot from Ezra in the front passenger seat. Lemon from Julian behind the wheel. Black tea from Cole beside me, his thigh pressed against mine in the narrow back seat. Honey from August on my other side, warm and golden and so sweet it makes my head swim.
My scent blockers aren’t strong enough here.
The rose scent of me, thick and warm and unmistakably omega, is filling the car with every breath I take.
My pussy is throbbing. Slick is soaking through my underwear, dampening the seat beneath my dress, and I press my thighs together and stare at the back of Julian’s head and try not to think about how four alphas can probably smell exactly how wet I am right now.
“We’re going to make it to the wedding,” August says quietly. His blue eyes find mine over the rims of his glasses. “I can feel how worried you are. But we’ll fix it. All of it. In time.”
“I hope so.”
August’s hand finds mine on the seat between us. “May I?”
I nod.
He pulls me onto his lap in one smooth motion. My ass lands on his thighs, my dress rucking up around my hips, and I gasp, one hand braced against his thigh.
“August… I thought you were just going to hold my hand,” I whisper.
“Is this uncomfortable?” His arms wrap around my waist. He holds me against his chest, and I feel it — the vibration. Deep. Resonant. A purr, low and steady, rolling through his chest and into my body where we’re pressed together.
An alpha’s purr. Meant to calm. Meant to soothe.
“No, it’s not uncomfortable, but…,” I say, trying to resist his calming effect. My shoulders stay rigid. My jaw stays clenched. I am stressed. I have a right to be stressed. This wedding is too important.
His purr deepens.
The vibration moves through my ribs, my spine, the base of my skull.
My muscles begin to unlock, one by one, against my will.
My head drops back until my neck rests against his collarbone.
My breathing slows. My heartbeat steadies.
The tight knot of anxiety in my chest unravels, thread by thread, until I am boneless against him, my body melting into his warmth like wax.
“Better?” he murmurs against my hair from behind.
“Yes,” I whisper. “But I need to think about work. The arrangements.”
“You’ll think about work when we get there,” he says, as his hand strokes slow circles between my shoulder blades. “Right now, just breathe.”
I’ve never met an alpha like this. Tender. Patient. Caring about my mental state like it matters. My eyes burn as I close my eyes and breathe in his honey scent.
Suddenly I feel him.
His erection.
Hard and thick against the curve of my ass, pressing through the fabric of his pants.
My pussy clenches. Slick floods between my thighs, hot and sudden, soaking through my underwear and onto his lap.
I can feel it. A warm, wet patch spreading across the seat of his pants where my pussy is pressed against him.
Oh god. Oh my god.
I try to jump off. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to.”
His arms tighten around my waist. He holds me there, his hips shifting slightly, his cock grinding against my ass through the layers of fabric. His mouth finds my ear.
“Don’t worry about it,” he whispers. His voice is rough. Dark. “It’s fine.”
I swallow. Hard.
My pussy is dripping.
I can feel slick running down my inner thighs, pooling beneath me on his lap. The car is slowly filling with my scent while four alphas are breathing it in. More slick drips from me as I sit on August’s erection.
I want all of them.
I want to be knotted.
“We’re here,” Julian says from the front.
I scramble off August’s lap.
My dress is damp between my thighs. His pants are visibly wet, a dark patch spreading across the front, and he doesn’t care. He adjusts his dick with a casual grace that makes my face burn and follows me out of the car.
The venue is beautiful.
A converted farmhouse with exposed brick and string lights and wooden pews arranged in rows.