Page 52 of Knotting With A Stranger

“And why that fucker won’t part with his half of the map,” Archer barks. “We’ve been trying for weeks.”

“That’s why we’re going to use our map to track it down ourselves,” James chimes in, tracing a line on the parchment with his finger. “We have enough to work with.”

Hunter nods, determination etched into his features. I can see they’re men who don’t give up easily, who’re set on finding this so-called treasure. There’s something exciting about their resolve and single-minded pursuit.

The guys return their attention to the map, pointing out landmarks and theories, completely in their element. They lean in, arguing over interpretations and sharing ideas. But James keeps glancing my way when he thinks I’m not looking.

“I need some fresh air,” I announce, suddenly feeling the need to escape his stare, to put some distance between us.

“In a blizzard?” Hunter asks, concerned.

“Just... air. Different air.” Not one filled with Alpha scents that seem to be deepening. I’m not making sense, and I know it.

“You okay?” James asks, that sly grin returning. He knows exactly what effect he’s having.

“Perfectly fine,” I manage, forcing a casual smile.

I head out of the study, maintaining my composure until I’m safely in the hallway. Then I lean against the wall, breathing heavily, trying to sort through the riot of sensations coursing through my body.

What’s wrong with me? James lied to me about being in prison, yet I still react to him like a compass needle to magnetic north. And it’s not just him—Hunter’s strength and Archer’s intensity affect me just as strongly. It’s like my libido has kicked into overdrive.

And what did I almost do earlier? Nearly kiss Archer. As if I’ve completely lost my mind—or my self-preservation instinct.

My fingers drum against the wood-paneled wall as I try to steady myself. When I’m anxious or overwhelmed, I need to do something with my hands. Baking. Yes, baking will help.

I make my way to the kitchen and locate the pantry—a walk-in space stocked surprisingly well for a remote cabin. I grab flour, sugar, and baking soda, then scan the shelves for chocolate chips. Finding them, I pile the ingredients into my arms, already planning the cookie recipe in my head.

“Planning to feed an army?”

I whirl around, nearly dropping everything. Hunter fills the doorway of the pantry, his massive frame blocking the exit. In the confined space, his presence is overwhelming—all broad shoulders and woodsy scent that reminds me of pine trees after rain.

“I, uh—” I laugh nervously, shifting my precarious tower of baking supplies. “When I get nervous, I like to bake.”

One corner of his mouth lifts, revealing that devastating dimple. “Do we make you nervous?”

I bite my lip, considering how honest to be. He tracks my movement, darkening slightly. “A bit. I don’t really know you all, and I’ve never been this close to Alphas for so long… let alone three. I’m starting to understand what my mother once told me about the impact they have on Omegas.” I swallow hard. “It’s... a lot.”

His smirk deepens, his eyes darkening to the color of aged bourbon. “And the same could be said about the impact you’re having on us.” He steps closer, taking the bag of flour from my arms. “Let me help you with that.” His fingers brush mine deliberately, lingering longer than necessary.

The contact leaves me buzzing, and when I glance up, I can tell he felt it, too, by this sly grin.

We’re standing so close in the narrow pantry that the heat radiating from his body envelopes me. He smells like woodsmoke and something uniquely him—earthy and masculine and intoxicating.

“Thanks,” I murmur, grabbing vanilla extract and salt while he relieves me of the heavier items. I reach past him for the cinnamon on an upper shelf, and my arm brushes against his chest. Even through layers of clothing, the contact feels electric.

“Sorry,” I whisper, though I’m not sorry at all.

“Don’t be,” he replies. He doesn’t step back to give me space, forcing me to navigate around him, our bodies in constant near-contact in the confined area.

“Why do you have so much baking stuff, anyway?” I ask, scanning the impressive collection of cake pans and cookie sheets on the metal shelves. “Do you bake?”

“Sometimes I have friends pop over, and they like to bake.”

“Like girlfriends?” The question slips out before I can stop it, accompanied by a telltale blush.

Hunter smiles as he studies me. “They are girls and friends, yeah. And sometimes more.”

I remember the dress I spotted upstairs in one of the other bedrooms yesterday. “Well, I don’t expect Alphas like you three to be without girls hanging off you and Omegas ready to go.” I force a laugh and try to squeeze past him, but he shifts, effectively caging me against the metal shelving.

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