Page 3 of Sweet on the Alpha

I take a bite, barely suppressing a groan as the flavors burst on my tongue. “Needed a change of scenery,” I say after I swallow, choosing my words carefully. “The city was getting a bit… suffocating.”

Grace nods sagely. “Ah, running from your past, eh? Don’t worry. I won’t pry. We’ve all got our secrets.”

Her words, lighthearted as they are, hit uncomfortably close to home. “Something like that,” I mutter, shoving the rest of the brownie into my mouth to avoid elaborating.

Grace just smiles, her gaze far too knowing for comfort. “Well, you picked a good place for a fresh start. Maplewood Grove might be small, but we take care of our own here. Even the grumpy ones.” She winks, and I feel a traitorous smile tug at my mouth.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I drawl, leaning against the booth in a way I hope looks casual and not like I’m seconds away from vaulting over the table and claiming her lips with my own.

Grace’s gaze darts to my arms, bare beneath the rolled-up sleeves of my flannel shirt, and I see her throat bob as sheswallows. A spike of pure male satisfaction shoots through me at the knowledge that I affect her too, even if she doesn’t understand why.

“So, what does a guy like you do for fun?” she asks, her tone deliberately light even as her cheeks flush prettily. “Besides terrorizing your friendly neighborhood bakers, I mean.”

I chuckle, the sound rusty from disuse. Damn. “Oh, you know. Long brooding walks in the woods. Chopping firewood with my shirt off. Howling at the moon. The usual.”

It’s Grace’s turn to laugh, the sound bright and musical. “Sounds thrilling. But seriously, if you ever want a tour of the town, I’m your girl. I know all the best spots—the secret swimming hole, the most scenic hiking trails, the coziest booth at Rosie’s Diner.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “I’d steer clear of the meatloaf, though. Pretty sure that’s where Rosie hides the bodies of chatty tourists.”

The thought of spending more time with her, of letting her lead me through her world, is equal parts tempting and terrifying. “I might just take you up on that sometime,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Grace beams, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Great! It’s a date then.” She freezes, her eyes going wide. “I mean, not adatedate. Just a… friendly neighborly outing. Between pals. Gal pals. Or, well, gal and guy pals, I guess.”

Her floundering is almost painfully endearing. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to end her babbling with a kiss, to seal the unintentional promise of her words with a claiming of lips and tongue.

Before I can do something foolish like claim her in front of God and everybody, a customer appears at the booth, breaking the charged moment. As Grace turns to serve them, I take the opportunity to slip away, my pulse pounding and my wolf pacing agitatedly beneath my skin. He wants to go back, the idea of literally claiming Grace in front of the town riding me hard.

What am I doing? I berate myself as I stalk through the crowded square, hardly seeing the colorful stalls and chattering people around me. I can’t let myself get close to her, no matter how much every part of me yearns to stick to her like glue.

But even as I try to harden my resolve, I can’t stop my gaze from drifting back to her booth, to the tempting sway of her hips and the warmth of her smile. I can’t stop replaying the lilt of her voice, the scent of her skin, the intoxicating combination of sweet and spice and something that calls to me on the most primal level.

My wolf whines low in my throat, a plaintive sound of longing and frustration. For once, we are in perfect agreement. Walking away from her feels wrong, like tearing off a limb or leaving half my soul behind.

But I don’t have a choice. Because as much as it pains me, I know the truth. A monster like me? I’ll only end up destroying a precious light like her.

So, when Grace starts to pack up her booth at the end of the day, I force myself to walk away and ignore the plaintive whine of my wolf as I turn my back on our mate. It’s for her own good, I tell myself. No matter how much it hurts.

Sleep eludes me that night as I lie alone in my big, empty Victorian. Every time I close my eyes, I see her—sweet curves and sweeter smiles, sunshine in human form. My skin feels too tight, my blood molten, every cell in my body attuned to her absence and filled with wanting. Craving. Needing.Fuck.

In the wee hours of the morning, I finally give in to what I’ve been hungering for. I fist my aching cock, the shaft rock-solid and thick against my palm and fingers, skin smooth and entire length throbbing with want. Eyes closed, I let images of Grace dance behind my lids. The swell of her breasts against the thin fabric of her sundress, the enticing flare of her hips, the way her cherry-red lips would look wrapped around my shaft, sliding up and down, leaving smears of that red lipstick behind as she pleasured me.

I imagine her here in my bed, spread out like a lush, curvaceous feast, her pale skin flushed with desire and honey hair fanned across my pillows. I’d worship her body with hands and mouth, mapping every succulent inch until she’s writhing and begging. I’d sink into her welcoming heat and make her mine in every way that matters. Mine forever.

I come with Grace’s name on my lips, a promise and a prayer for more. I should be horrified by the intensity of my need, the depth of my hunger for a woman I barely know. Should, but I’m not. Because as I drift into an uneasy sleep, my wolf whining at the lingering traces of her scent on my skin, all I feel is a grim sense of inevitability.

One way or another, fate has decided that Grace Carter ismine. And no matter how hard I fight, I know in my bones that I won’t be able to stay away from her.

For her sake, though, I have to try. Because the alternative—letting my sweet, innocent mate get dragged into the darkness of my world—is unthinkable.

“I’m sorry, sunshine,” I whisper into the quiet darkness of my bedroom, my heart clenching painfully in my chest as my wolf howls its denial. “The best thing I can do for you is stay far, far away. No matter how much it kills me.”

If only it were that simple. If only I’d known then how impossible it would prove to resist the pull of my fated mate. But then again, my wolf has always been the wiser—if mostly feral—half of me.

And he knows, even if I don’t want to admit it yet, that Grace and my relationship is inescapable.

Fuckingfated.

Chapter 3

Grace

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