Page 47 of Knotting With A Stranger

She peers down at the yellowed parchment, her shoulder not quite touching mine. The scent of vanilla and something citrusy washes over me, mingling with an undercurrent of warmth that reminds me of freshly baked bread. It stirs something primal and hungry that has nothing to do with food.

“One of your antique purchases?” she asks, glancing up at me through thick lashes.

“Not quite. It’s an inheritance… Hunter’s technically. His grandfather left it to him and his cousin... separately so they’d finally make up.”

“That’s diabolical,” she says, but there’s admiration behind her words.

“That was the old man’s style,” I agree, shifting slightly so our arms brush. The contact is brief but electric, yet it lingers on my skin, the hunger to pull her back against me savage. “Always playing the long game.”

“So, there’s actual treasure here? On this property?” Her eyes dart around the room with fresh interest, lingering on the rows of books. “What is it? Gold? Jewels? First edition Hemingways?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Her enthusiastic smile leaves me grinning. It’s refreshing, this unguarded curiosity. “The map’s not exactly National Geographic quality.”

Our shoulders touch now, and neither of us moves away.

“Well, at least you know that’s a water well,” she mutters, pointing to the very symbol I’d been puzzling over seconds before.

I blink, looking closer. “A water well? You sure?”

“Pretty sure. See the little handle drawn on the side? Classic well shape. My dad restored an old one in our backyard—don’t ask me why, but he has a thing forfunctional artifacts, as he calls them.” She traces the shape with her fingertip, leaving a smudge on the glass. “Definitely a well.”

I stare at it, then at her. “Fuck, you’re right. There are three wells on the property, so that narrows it down.”

Her smile is quick and satisfied. “You’re welcome.”

The storm outside howls like a wounded wolf, rattling the windows in their frames. Lily flinches, her earlier confidence cracking just enough to reveal the fear beneath.

“Not a fan of storms?” I ask quietly.

She shrugs one shoulder. “Not a fan of being stranded in them. My sister’s probably filed a missing person’s report by now.”

“I might be able to help with that,” I say, remembering what I’d set up earlier. “Come here.”

It’s not a request, but not quite a command either. Something in-between that has her raising an eyebrow but following, nonetheless.

I lead her to the other end of the study, where a round oak table sits surrounded by leather chairs. On the table was an antique radio set, a 1940s two-way radio I restored last summer.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asks, touching the polished wooden case with careful fingers.

“If you think it’s a shortwave radio that can reach Whispering Grove from here, then yes,” I explain, pulling out a chair for her. “The antique store in your town—Yesteryear’s Treasures—has a matching set. Martin and I use them when the lines go down.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” The curse sounds charming in her mouth. For a moment, I think she might cry. Then she does something that genuinely surprises me—she leans in against me, brushing up close, and I get a lungful of that delicious Omega scent that promises to destroy me.

The feeling of her pressing against me sends heat pooling low in my belly.

“Thank you,” she murmurs against my chest. “My sister must be worried sick.”

We sit side by side at the table, our knees bumping beneath it. I adjust the dials with practiced precision, hyperaware of her watching my every move.

“So, you collect stuff like this, not just books?” she asks, scooting her chair closer to see better. Our legs press together from knee to thigh.

I nod, focusing on the radio to distract from the heat of her touch. “I also have a weakness for communication devices.”

“Are all collectors this hands-on with their hobbies, or is it just you?”

I glance at her. “Meaning?”

“Most collectors I know keep their precious finds behind glass. You’re actually using yours.” She gestures to the radio.

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