Page 28 of Knotting With A Stranger

Heat floods my body at his tone, at the way his presence seems to fill every corner of the room. Before I can respond, a door I hadn’t noticed swings open, revealing a gleaming kitchen beyond—and a face that makes my heart stop.

He freezes in the doorway, amber eyes widening in recognition. It’s him—the gorgeous stranger from my bakery the other day, the one whose ridiculous flirting and devastating smile had me fumbling about. Even in casual clothes, he radiates the same magnetic aura that drew me in before.

What is he doing here?

His golden-brown hair is slightly tousled now, a few strands falling across his forehead in a way that makes him look impossibly more handsome than the polished version I first met. He’s in dark wash jeans that fit him perfectly and a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong forearms and that intriguing compass rose tattoo on his right wrist. The shirt is untucked, top buttons undone just enough to seem effortlessly sexy rather than deliberate.

For a moment, we just stare at each other. I’m acutely aware of how I must look—half-drowned, hair a mess, probably mascara everywhere. Yet the way he’s looking at me makes my knees weak. His tall frame, easily over six feet, towers over mewith an athletic frame that tells me he works out regularly. There’s something almost predatory in his graceful movements as he shifts his weight, like a big cat deciding whether to pounce.

His gaze roams over me, and that smirk blooms into a full, heart-stopping smile that deepens at the corners of his eyes. “Well,” he drawls. “If I’d known a little blizzard was all it took to get you to show up at my door, I’d have done a rain dance weeks ago.”

“You two know each other?” Hunter’s ice-blue eyes lock onto me, then shift to the newcomer.

“Not formally.” The stranger’s voice is exactly how I remember it—smooth with an edge of amusement. “Though she bakes the best cinnamon rolls I’ve ever tasted.”

“You remembered.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

“Hard to forget.” His gaze dances over me, and heat soars through me. “Though I’m pleasantly surprised to see you so soon again, especially at my friend’s place.” He glances up at Hunter. “Met her at a bakery in Whispering Grove last week.” The way his amber gaze lingers on me speaks volumes. His casual stance masks something dangerous and compelling I remembered from our first meeting—an obsessive attraction to him that felt anything but healthy.

“Small world,” Hunter adds. “I found Lily about two miles back, her car half off the guardrail.” His tone turns grim, that deep timbre sending involuntary shivers down my spine. “Another hour out there in this freezing storm…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but the weight of what he’s not saying hits me like a physical blow.

I wrap my arms around myself, the reality of how close I’d come to freezing to death finally sinking in.

“I brought her here until the snow passes, since we were close to the cabin.”

“Archer Sterling.” The flirt from the cafe steps toward me, his expression shifting to a playful one that doesn’t quite mask the predatory intensity beneath.

“Archer,” I try to steady my voice, testing his name on my tongue.

My body betrays me, instinctively drawn to their Alpha presence. The tingle between my thighs deepens. This is a dangerous situation for an Omega like me. Alone with two Alphas in a cabin.

“Well, you know what they say—when the GPS says take a scenic route during a storm, always listen to it.” My throat dries as I try to hide my reaction to them, though my attempt at humor falls flat.

The heat in Archer’s gaze makes it clear he’s not thinking about GPS or pastries.

“Storm’s settling in for a few days from the look of it. Seems you’re stuck with us,” Hunter adds.

“Right,” Archer corrects with a wolfish grin. “Though the moment someone sends up a flare in this weather, you’ll be suited up faster than Lily can frost a dozen cupcakes. Remember that ice storm last winter? You were halfway up the mountain before dispatch even called.”

My gaze darts between them, not quite following. Archer must catch my confusion and nods toward the wall where I’d seen the photos hanging in simple, wooden frames of Hunter.

“Our resident hero here can’t help playing superman on the mountain. Search and rescue is less of a job and more of an obsession.”

The pictures click into place—Hunter in tactical gear and harnesses, rappelling down cliffs, his team around him.

“Someone has to save the tourists who think hiking in flip-flops is a good idea,” Hunter deadpans.

“Says the man who once jumped out of a helicopter because the radio was spotty,” Archer counters.

“That was one time!”

“Three times. I’ve got photos.”

I find myself standing in front of the fireplace, unable to get close enough to the heat. Thor is back, taking a spot next to me while the guys are behind the couches.

“So, what you’re saying is I managed to get myself rescued by the guy who makes other rescue teams look lazy?”

“You got it!” he winks, and my heart somersaults. Does he even realize what he’s doing to me? “Better than a man who turned an entire room in his home into a rare book sanctuary.”

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