Page 86 of Knotting With A Stranger

I sense rather than see his smile. “Probably not, but I’m making an effort. After eighteen months in a cell, you start to appreciate the little things. Freedom. Good coffee. The ability to take a shower without twenty other guys watching.”

“Must have been rough,” I say, surprised by my own sincerity. “Being framed by family, no less.”

His hands tighten imperceptibly. “Family’s complicated.”

“Tell me about it,” I sigh. “My sister Hannah thinks I’ve lost my mind, focusing on the bakery instead of finishing culinary school. Dad’s supportive but worried I’m working myself to death. And now this whole heat thing... it’s like the universe decided my life wasn’t complicated enough already.”

“The universe has a sick sense of humor,” James agrees. His hands move lower, working the tense muscles of my mid-back. “But sometimes, its curveballs turn out to be exactly what we needed, even if we don’t recognize it at first.”

“Very philosophical for a guy who probably hasNo Regretstattooed somewhere unmentionable,” I quip.

“Nope,” he murmurs with a grin.

“So, who do you live with now?” I ask, trying to keep my tone steady as his hands work magic on my tense muscles, changing the subject before I say something I’ll regret.

“Alone,” he says. “A street away from Archer, really.” He laughs, a warm sound that vibrates through his chest into my back. “We’d planned one day to just get a mansion for all three of us to live together. Maybe an Omega, too.”

I turn slightly to look at him over my shoulder, eyebrow raised.

“No, you didn’t,” I say teasingly. “That sounds like the setup for a very questionable reality show. Three Alphas and an Omega. Tuesday nights on cable.”

“You don’t know that,” he counters, his eyes dancing with mischief. “I’m definitely thinking that now. Wouldn’t that be convenient? All of us under one roof.”

“Yeah, right,” I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m not yours, really. And you’re all three not mine. Just three guys who are helping me out... even if I’m super embarrassed about it.” I pause, chewing my lip. “I don’t know what I am anymore,” I admit, the confession slipping out before I can stop it. “I had everything figured out, you know? And now...”

James continues massaging my shoulders, his touch somehow both soothing and electrifying. Then, suddenly, he stops. “Hold on,” he says, standing up. He walks to the shower stall across the room, the muscles in his back shifting with each movement. He returns with a bottle of shampoo.

“What’re you doing?”

“You’ll see,” he says, resuming his position behind me. He cups water in his hands and pours it over my hair, wetting it thoroughly. Then he squeezes a generous amount of shampoo into his palm and begins working it into my scalp.

I should protest. I should tell him this is weird and unnecessary and crossing about seventeen boundaries. Instead, I let my eyes flutter closed as his fingers work through my curls, massaging my scalp with firm, circular motions.

“You’ve done this before,” I murmur, half-accusation, half-question.

“I’ve had practice,” he admits. “My mother was sick for a long time before she died.”

The admission is so unexpected, so intimate, I’m momentarily speechless. I wouldn’t have pegged James as a dutiful son tending to his ailing mother. It adds another layer to the enigma he presents.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “About your mom.”

“It was a long time ago,” he says, but the gentle way his fingers move tells a different story. It feels... pure somehow. Beautiful. As though he’s caring for me in a way that goes beyond the primal dynamic that’s been driving our interactions.

“So, this means you forgive me?” he asks quietly, his fingers never stopping their gentle movements.

“Not sure yet,” I say honestly. “You were kind of an ass.”

“I was,” he acknowledges.

He guides me to dip my head back, rinsing the suds from my hair. When I emerge, blinking water from my eyes, I realize he’sturned off the jets. The water stills around us, suddenly crystal clear. I feel exposed in a way I hadn’t before, every curve and freckle visible beneath the surface.

“I want to see you,” he says softly. “You’re so beautiful, I can’t get enough. I don’t want anything hiding you.”

His words do something to me, awakening a confidence I didn’t know I possessed even as alarm bells ring in the back of my mind. This is dangerous territory. James is dangerous—all hard edges, dark past, and Alpha intensity. He’s not safe. None of this is.

The considerable bulge in his boxers strains against the fabric, and something switches inside me. My body responds instantly to the visual evidence of his desire, a slow heat building. I find myself preening at having caused such a reaction, even as the rational part of my brain screams caution.

“You know what will happen if you stay,” he says, not a question. “There’s no going back from this.”

---