Page 57 of Knot Beneath the Mistletoe

The gates open silently—perks of having more money than I know what to do with—revealing what my realtor called aprestigious estatebut is really just a fancy prison most days. Three stories of showing off how well the Andersons did for themselves, all stone and glass and emptiness. Too big for one person, too quiet, too fucking lonely. My eyes drift to Ruby, curled up in my passenger seat, and something in my chest does a weird flip.Time to change that, says the guy who has his thumb inside her delicious pussy.

Once parked outside my front door, I force myself to withdraw from her without waking her and step out into the cold night air. Deep breaths. Trying to get my shit together. Adjusting my cock with a groan. This night has been nothing but building tension with zero relief. But that’s not what this is about. Not yet. Even if my body strongly disagrees.

I move to open the front door to my home and leave it open, then collect her.

She doesn’t even twitch. I gather her up, kicking the car door shut as quietly as possible, and carry her inside. She fits against me perfectly, head tucked into my neck like she belongs there, as if she’s always belonged there. Christ, I’m in over my head.

I navigate the house in darkness, muscle memory guiding me up to my bedroom. She’s completely out as I lay her on my bed—reminds me of finding her in that storm, thanks to those assholes who left her out there. She’s a heavy sleeper.

The memory makes my jaw clench, so I focus on removing her shoes and pulling the blanket over her instead.

“Sleep tight, pretty girl,” I murmur, brushing hair from her face. “I’ve got you.”

I force myself to leave before I do something stupid like crawl in beside her. The bathroom beckons—time for the coldest shower known to man. Maybe then I can stop thinking about how right she looks in my bed. Maybe I can pretend I’m not already imagining her there permanently.

The water hits like ice but does jack shit for the burning need under my skin or my rock-hard dick. My fierce little Omega, who keys cars, makes me laugh, and drives me absolutely fucking insane. God, I’m so far gone already, it’s not even funny.

Tonight, she’s safe in my bed, and that’s enough. Even if I have to freeze my balls off in this shower to keep her that way.

Fuck, the things this woman does to me without even trying. But I wouldn’t be anywhere else.

17

RUBY

Iwake up feeling like I’m floating on a cloud, which is weird because my mattress at home definitely has a spring digging into my lower back. As my eyes adjust to the soft morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows, reality comes at me like a ton of bricks. This isn’t my shoebox apartment above the bar—this is straight out of Architectural Digest or maybe Bruce Wayne’s summer cabin.

I know instantly I’m in Knox’s place. It smells like him; it screams him. The last thing I recall is being in his car with his finger inside of me—fuck, I tingle with the memory—then exhaustion came over me, and I assume I fell asleep. He must have brought me to his place.

The room is massive, all clean lines and minimalist luxury. A California king bed, which I’m currently sprawled in the middle of like some sort of starfish, is flanked by ornate dark wooden nightstands. The walls are a soft charcoal gray, decorated with black and white photographs of mountain peaks and snow-covered trails. There’s an absolutely ridiculous chaise lounge by the window that looks like it’s never been sat on.

The built-in bookshelves catch my attention—they’re filled with adventure magazines, travel books, and what appears to be a complete collection of wilderness survival guides. Clearly, someone takes their mountain man persona seriously. But it’s not just for show—some of the books are well worn, their spines cracked and pages dog-eared.

But it’s the scent that really gets me—chocolate, crisp snow, and something wild that reminds me of thunderstorms. Knox. It’s all over these obscenely soft sheets, and my head is spinning with it. I bury my face deeper into his pillow, inhaling deeply. God, who even is he? Batman in disguise? Some secret millionaire who gets his kicks leading hiking tours?

Last night plays on my mind—the kiss and mind-blowing orgasm in the gondola, him punching Marcus in the face, which I can never forget. The way Knox looked at me like I was something precious, something worth protecting. How much I’d wanted… still want him to fuck and knot me. The memory of his hands, fingers, and tongue on me makes my skin tingle, and I have to press my face into his pillow to muffle my groan.

I flop back, hugging his pillow close. His scent wraps around me. Part of me wants to curl up here forever, surrounded by his scent, preferably with him in the bed, too... And that thought right there? That’s exactly why I need to order those suppressants. I’m losing my damn mind. Next thing you know, I’ll be picking out curtains and naming our future children.

With a herculean effort, I force myself to untangle from his sheets. The bed is ridiculously high, and I slide down rather ungracefully, my red dress from last night falling around my ankles in a wrinkled mess. Right. No underwear. Fantastic. Nothing sayswalk of shamequite like going commando in last night’s party dress.

I try what I think is the exit door and instead find myself in a bathroom that’s bigger than my entire apartment. The mirror shows me exactly what I feared—raccoon eyes from smeared makeup and messy nest hair. I look like I’ve been thoroughly kissed, and... well, I have been.

Knox’s shower has multiple heads, and I’m already making my way in that direction, turning on the hot water.

Once in, I can’t resist using his shampoo, and yeah, maybe I spend a little too long enjoying how it makes me smell like him. The water feels amazing, and I may or may not pretend I’m in some sort of luxury spa retreat rather than hiding out in my... what is Knox, exactly? My potential boyfriend? My Alpha? One of my Alphas? God, I’m in so much trouble. Not only am I falling for Knox, but there’s Garrett, too, and... My stomach does a little flip just thinking about them both. Oh right, and my reaction around Dominic.

I’m so lost in thought, I nearly slip on the fancy stone tiles and have to catch myself on the wall.

After my shower, there’s no way I’m putting that dress back on—it smells like sex. I find a white, fluffy robe that has to be Knox’s, hanging on the back of the door. It’s huge on me, wrapping around me almost twice, but once I cinch it tight, I feel somewhat decent. The sleeves hang past my fingers, and I have to roll them up several times.

Gathering up my dress and shoes, I venture out into the hallway. The house is just as impressive as the bedroom. A plush red runner carpet leads to a sweeping mahogany staircase, complete with a crystal chandelier. Everything’s very bachelor pad chic—lots of clean lines and muted colors, minimal furniture, but what’s there screams money. There are more photographs on these walls, but these have people in them. A younger Knox with what must be his parents, all of them geared up for hiking. Another of him teaching what looks like a kids’ ski class, his smile bright and genuine.

I pause at one that shows him on top of a serious mountain peak, arms raised in triumph, the sunrise painting the snow pink behind him. He looks so alive, so free. Something in my chest aches looking at it.

Downstairs, I find myself face-to-face with a massive white Christmas tree, decorated with the kind of precision that speaks of professional help. My throat tightens at the sight. I haven’t put up all the decorations in years, not since... The memory overwhelms me without warning—my father throwing my mom into our tree, ornaments shattering, blood mixing with broken glass. Her trying to smile through split lips, telling me it was just an accident, just like always. The way she’d still insisted on cleaning up all the broken ornaments herself, as if somehow that would make everything okay...

“Morning, beautiful.”

---