Page 23 of Alpha's Claim

Paloma startles awake, sitting forward and sucking in a gasp. “What wasthat?”

Chapter Six

Paloma

I wake in bed with my Viking.

I fell back to sleep after the loud motorcycle woke me up on the road. Darius told me we were almost there, and he’d wake me when we arrived, but I guess he’s a liar. He must’ve carried me inside without me waking, which is crazy. Either the medicine made me extra drowsy, or I trust this guy completely. Plus, I’m heavy–as Thom always points out.

I sit up now and look around. I’m under the covers, but Darius lies on top of them, still fully dressed, as if he fell asleep while on guard. The ‘safehouse’ is not the barricaded basement bunker I imagined. Instead, it’s a luxurious beach house. Light streams in through the windows of the bedroom we’re in, which look out on the ocean.

I slip out from under the covers, careful not to wake Darius, and investigate. I discover we’re in a gorgeous three-bedroom luxury vacation home. I use one of the bathrooms and wash my face. In a basket under the sink, I find the emergency toiletries one might need–unopenedtravel toothbrushes and toothpastes, mini bottles of mouthwash, individually wrapped combs. Even sunscreen and lip balm. I brush my teeth, comb my hair, and put on some lip balm.

Then I investigate the kitchen. The cupboards are stocked with canned goods. We won’t starve here.

There’s a fancy Nespresso machine that takes me a while to figure out, but when I do, produces an incredible cup of coffee. I open a shelf-stable box of whipping cream to pour in and turn it blond.

“Paloma?” Darius calls from the bedroom, a sharp note of panic in his voice.

“I’m in here,” I call back. I put a second pod in the machine and set a mug underneath to make him a cup.

He emerges from the bedroom. He’s in his bare feet, but still wearing his rumpled tuxedo shirt and pants from last night. The bowtie is gone, and the black shirt is open at the throat, revealing a patch of golden curls above the neckline of his undershirt.

He rubs his jaw. I swear to God, he went from a closely shorn beard last night to almost full-on beard and mustache today, and his hair seems to be longer, too. But that’s impossible. I must be confused.

“I can’t believe I didn’t hear you get up.”

I’d forgotten how deep his voice is. How much I enjoy the gravelly rumble of it.

“I’m sure you were tired. What time did we get here?”

“Close to five a.m. But I don’t usually sleep heavily.” His gaze at me is both sleepy and speculative. “I must trust you.”

His words startle me. “That’s weird,” I mutter.

“What?”

“Just–I had the same thought when I woke up.” I shovemy hair back from my face. “It’s strange I didn’t wake up when we got here.”

“Mmm,” he rumbles.

The Nespresso machine finishes, and I take the filled mug and hold it out to him. “Cream?”

“Thank you, princess.” He reaches out, and I find myself marveling at how sexy the watch on his wrist looks. Not because it’s some expensive designer piece–which it is–but because his wrist and forearm are things of beauty. The wide bone of his wrist is probably twice the diameter of mine, and the golden hair on his thick muscled forearm make the perfect backdrop to the Rolex, or whatever it is.

But then, everything about this giant is deeply attractive to me.

His fingers close around the mug, brushing mine. Flutters go off in my belly at the touch. “Yes, please, to the cream.”

That rumbling voice!It stirs my insides even more.

I add cream from the little box to his mug while he watches me appreciatively.

There’s no cunning or conniving in his gaze. It doesn’t slice and dice me the way Thom’s does. This man has a presence that seems to hold me. My body can relax around him, as if it knows I’m safe. I don’t have to stay vigilant.

Which is false.

I’mnotsafe. And while I don’t believe Darius would hurt me, wearein terrible danger.

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