Page 161 of Knot Like Other Girls

"Here," I say, offering her a piece of bread and cheese with hot honey drizzled on top once I've composed myself. "If you like that, you'll love this combination."

Her eyes meet mine as she takes it with an adorable, happy smile. "Thank you, Liam."

She bites into it delicately, and I find myself watching her mouth entirely too closely. The way her lips press together as she chews, the small flick of her tongue to catch a crumb from the corner—shit, I need to look away before I embarrass myself.

"Verdict?" I manage to ask, my voice rougher than I intend.

"Delicious," she declares. "I never thought I'd say this, but I think I could get used to eating in a nest surrounded by five alpha bodyguards."

Roman chuckles at that. "We prefer 'security specialists,' if you don't mind."

"Mercenaries," Cole corrects with that gravelly voice of his.

"I prefer 'highly trained badasses,'" Troy adds with a grin, popping a truffle fry into his mouth.

"Semantics," Savva says dismissively, refilling Bella's wine glass before she even asks.

I notice how she's started to flush slightly, a rosy tint spreading across her cheeks that's much deeper than it should be considering she hasn't had much wine. The scent of her oncoming heat is sweetening, too, thickening the air.

"What about you, Liam?" she asks suddenly, catching me off guard. "What's your preferred job title?"

I consider for a moment, taking a sip of the ridiculously expensive wine Savva's poured. "Enforcer," I finally answer with a half-smile. "Simple, direct. Does what it says on the tin."

"It suits you," she says softly, her eyes lingering on my tattoos. "Though I think there's more to you than just enforcement."

I feel exposed suddenly, like she's seeing past the walls I've spent years building. "That's for me to know and you to find out," I counter, trying to keep my tone light.

"I'm looking forward to it," she says, and the sincerity in her voice nearly knocks me sideways.

Fuck me. She's not playing fair.

"What about you?" Cole asks her unexpectedly. "What would you call yourself?"

It's such a simple question, but I see it hits her like she's never really considered who she is. Not apart from what others have labeled her—fiancée, omega, accessory.

"I'm not sure," she admits after a moment. "I always wanted to be an artist, but I haven't picked up a brush in years."

“Righ,” I murmur. “I remember you told us that. But what’s the real reason you stopped?”

She shrugs, the movement making her loose t-shirt slip slightly off one shoulder. "Braxley thought it was impractical. Not befitting the future Mrs. Worthington III."

"Braxley's a wanker," I state flatly.

That startles a laugh out of her, bright and genuine. "Yes, he is."

"We have art supplies," Roman offers unexpectedly. "In the storage closet. Nothing fancy, but enough to get started again if you wanted while we find better paints, brushes, and canvases."

"Really?" Her face lights up. It's like watching the sun break through clouds.

"Left over from a job where we had to go undercover at an art retreat," Troy explains. "Roman's cover was as an aspiring watercolor guy."

"Watercolorist," Savva corrects him flatly.

"Same difference," says Troy without missing a beat.

Roman grimaces at the memory. "That was terrible."

"I'd love to see them," Bella says, and I can't tell if she means Roman's paintings or the art supplies.

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