Page 38 of Knotting With A Stranger

“Our pleasure,” James says softly, and something in his tone leaves me shivering.

I practically run up the stairs, Thor following close behind. My back hits the locked door, and I slide down it, breathinghard. “Okay, calm down. Just until the storm passes. You can do this.”

But can I? With Hunter, who’s somehow turned this cabin into a haven, and maybe we’re related? I should have asked him, but in their presence, I forget my thoughts. Then there’s Archer, whose cooking and kindness defy everything I thought I knew about Alphas. And James... who can’t possibly be my James, but who makes my whole body hum with recognition?

Thor whines outside my door, a comforting sound. At least I have one ally in this madness.

“Stop it,” I tell myself firmly. “Stop staring. Stop flirting. Stop thinking about any of them as anything but Alphas, who are helping you out. Stop wondering if James is...” I press my hands to my heated cheeks. “Just stop.”

The storm howls louder, as if laughing at my predicament. And somewhere below, I hear their deep laughs—and my heart does a traitorous flip in my chest.

I am in so much trouble.

10

JAMES

Sleep is impossible. I stare at the cabin’s dark ceiling, my mind racing with thoughts of her. Of all the places, of all the storms... Lily. My Lily. It has to be her—how many Omega bakers named Lily could there be in Whispering Grove who run a shop with their sister? The coincidence is too perfect, too precise.

Her scent still lingers in my nose from earlier—vanilla and peppermint, warm like freshly baked bread. Exactly how I’d imagined she’d smell during those long nights exchanging messages, when I’d lie in my cell, dreaming about the woman behind the words. But the reality of her is so much more than I could have pictured.

Those curves hidden beneath her clothes—soft, inviting, the kind a man could lose himself in. She’s petite compared to me, barely reaching my shoulder, but there’s a fullness to her that makes my hands itch to explore. And that wild hair of dark curls—I wanted to bury my face in them, feel her, smell her.

Her eyes, though—golden-brown, almond-shaped—lingered on me when she thought I didn’t notice. They haunt me most of all. The way they widened when she first saw me before her guard went back up. I’d memorized every word she’d ever written to me, built an image of her in my mind, but nothing prepared me for the living, breathing woman.

She’s more beautiful than the fantasies that kept me sane in the darkest hours in that hell-hole, more tempting than the freedom I fought for. And make no mistake, Lily is mine. She just doesn’t know it yet. The storm that brought her to me wasn’t chance—it was fate. And I intend to claim what fate has delivered.

The mattress creaks as I shift, frustrated. I’d message her if I could, but our conversations ended abruptly over a week ago when they caught me with the burner phone in prison. That almost cost me another year inside—as if eighteen months weren’t enough for a crime I didn’t even commit.

Thank God for expensive lawyers. My family name might be mud now, but at least they saved me from doing more time after they busted me with the burner phone. The lawyers had gotten me out on technicalities and procedural errors.

I’d planned to find her the moment I got out, but two days of dealing with lawyers and catching up with Archer and Hunter in our hometown had stolen my time. Today was supposed to be the day—the day I crossed the mountains to Whispering Grove to finally pay her bakery a visit. I told Hunter and Archer I’d stop by the cabin since they were both there to do some hunting, seeing it sat right between both towns.

But then, right in the middle of my drive through the mountains, this fucking storm hit out of nowhere.

Now, it’s worked in my favor. The universe has a twisted sense of humor that way.

I see her face when I close my eyes—the delicate curve of her jaw, the way her hair falls in waves past her shoulders, how her face glows when she laughs. All those nights in the cell when I’d lie there constructing her from bits and pieces of our conversations. Her wit, her intelligence, the way she could make me laugh even on my darkest days—I’d known she’d be beautiful inside, but this...

The sheets tangle around my legs as I get up. Standing still is impossible. I need to move, need to think, need to figure out how to handle this. The hallway is dark and quiet as I step out, but my feet carry me to her door before I can stop them.

She’s in there. Lily. The woman who made me laugh when I wanted to put my fist through a wall, who understood loss and pain and healing in ways no one else did. The woman who sent me pictures of failed desserts at midnight with captions likePretty sure this is what murder victims’ last meals look like.

My hand hovers near the handle, not touching. The memory of her in the kitchen earlier makes my chest tight. Everything about her calls to something primal in me, something that wants to claim and protect and possess.

“Fuck,” I whisper, stepping back. I can’t push this. Can’t rush it. She’s already nervous about being trapped here with three Alphas—finding out one of them is the convicted criminal she used to text with? Except she has no idea about my past… not yet, anyway. So, I take this slowly so I don’t spook her. This needs to be handled carefully.

The storm rattles the windows, and cold flares in my bones despite the cabin’s warmth. The sauna downstairs calls to me—it’s always been my go-to when I need to clear my head before I landed in prison. The stairs creak softly as I descend, my mind still full of her.

The spa room is one of Hunter’s grandfather’s better ideas—a full facility with a steam room, a sauna, and a small pool. Theold man believed in luxury, even in a hunting cabin. I strip down, grab a towel, and step into the cedar-lined sauna. The heat hits immediately, and I pour water over the hot stones, watching steam hiss up into the darkness.

The heat seeps into my muscles, but it does nothing for the tension building inside me. I keep picturing her curled up in that armchair earlier, her lips parted when she tasted Archer’s stew, the softness of her laugh. My cock hardens, and I don’t fight my reaction.

I picture telling her the truth, seeing recognition dawn in those eyes. Picture her understanding, wanting me despite everything.

My hand slides lower, gripping my thick cock as I imagine her straddling my lap, her drenched pussy sliding over my dick. Fuck! She’d be pressed against me and the sounds she’d make. Her skin under my hands, her back arching, her voice gasping my name, her full breasts against my chest as I lean down to take one into my mouth.

I palm my cock harder, faster. In my mind, she’s everything I dreamed of during those lonely nights—soft and warm and perfect.

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