Page 96 of Knotting With A Stranger

The morning sun streams through the windows. With Hunter and James gone to retrieve the map from Travis, the cabin feels oddly quiet. Thor has fallen asleep by the back door where Hunter went, most likely waiting for their return, leaving Archer and me truly alone.

I lean against the wall in the entryway, watching as Archer kneels by the front door, tools spread around him as he replaces the lock damaged during Travis’s break-in. There’s something undeniably attractive about watching him work—the focused concentration on his muscles, the movements of his hands, the occasional grunt.

My heat hasn’t fully subsided yet. I feel it lingering with fire that flares whenever I’m near any of the Alphas. With Archer, it’s particularly potent—perhaps because we’ve had fewer moments alone together than I’ve had with the others.

He tightens the final screw, tests the lock, shuts the door, and sits back on his heels with a satisfied smile. “That should do it.Not quite as secure as Hunter would make it, but it’ll hold until we buy new locks.”

“You look good doing that,” I say before I can stop myself. “Being a handyman suits you.”

He turns to me, eyebrow quirked in amusement. “You okay there, gorgeous? You’re looking a little flushed.”

I push away from the wall, drawn to him by something I can’t quite control. “You should do that with no shirt on next time. For aesthetic purposes.”

He chuckles, setting his tools down on the side table. “Aesthetic purposes, huh?” His amber eyes darken slightly as he studies me. “You’re still feeling your heat, aren’t you?”

“A bit,” I admit, not bothering to deny what must be obvious to his Alpha senses. “It’s... lingering.”

With deliberate slowness that makes my heart race, Archer reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head. Like Hunter’s rugged bulk or James’s solid strength, Archer’s physique is just as big—all muscle and smooth planes.

“Better?” he whispers.

I fan myself dramatically. “Much. Though now it’s even warmer in here.”

He laughs, throwing his head back. “I’m affecting the cabin’s climate now? I’ll add that to my list of talents.”

“What else is on that list?” I ask, taking a step closer.

“Oh, lots of things,” he replies with a deliberately casual shrug that makes his muscles ripple enticingly. “Reading ancient texts, identifying first editions by smell alone, making women in bakeries wet...”

“Wow, you went there,” I protest automatically.

“Sure did.” He closes the distance between us with a few long strides.

His hand is on my shoulder and curling up my neck, holding me there, tilting my head back with his thumb to meet his gaze.

The touch covers me in goosebumps. “Archer,” I whisper, wanting everything from him but unsure how to ask for it.

“Yes, Lily?” His voice is teasing, but his eyes are serious, searching mine for permission.

“I want...” I trail off, suddenly shy, despite the urgency thrumming through me.

“What do you want?” he prompts gently. “Tell me.”

“You,” I say simply. “All of you.”

Something ripples behind his eyes—hunger, possessiveness, desire—before he carefully controls his expression. “You have me,” he states, still not touching me beyond my neck. “But I think we should be clear about what’s happening here. Is this the heat talking? Or is this you wanting me?”

The question catches me off guard. It’s thoughtful and considerate in a way that belies his playful exterior.

“Both,” I admit. “The heat makes everything... more. But it doesn’t create feelings that weren’t already there.” I glance up at him, holding his gaze. “I want you, Archer. Heat or no heat.”

That’s all the permission he needs. His mouth claims mine in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly blazes into something more urgent. His hands frame my face, holding me as if I’m something precious, even as his lips demand a response I’m eager to give.

I press against him, reveling in the warmth of his bare skin beneath my palms. He tastes like the coffee he had at breakfast and something uniquely Archer—old books, bergamot, and desire.

“You’re wearing far too many clothes,” he murmurs against my lips. “Especially considering I’ve sacrificed my shirt for aesthetic purposes.”

I laugh, tugging at the drawstring of his sweatpants. “I agree. Very unfair.”

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