Page 9 of Building My Pack

"Not really, no," I answer honestly.

"Think about it," he jumps back in, unperturbed by my negative response. "What if it's something super strange like this one was used as a place where they designed clothes and there were mannequins everywhere?"

"Have a thing against mannequins, do you?" I tease.

"Actually, they do freak me out a little bit now that we're on the subject," he tosses back.

Tapping my chin, I pretend to think about another useful outside of the box purpose for the room, but he beats me to it. Seeing as I'm still standing by the door, he does that thing where he invades my personal bubble again, giving me no option other than to lean against the wall.

"Or it could've been for something a little dirtier," he says quietly, glancing down at my lips and back up again. I'm appalled at how shallow my breathing has become at his nearness. Every short silent gasp brings with it a lungful of ozone and rain. I don't care what anyone says, rainhasa scent and, on this man, it's magnificent.

He moves close enough that I can feel the tip of his nose skim my cheek as he takes a deep breath. A whine threatens to slip from my chest, but I'm able to contain it. Though, just barely.

"Something dirty like a painting studio or maybe a kid's bedroom," he whispers in my ear before pulling away with a grin. "With that blush, I'd say your mind took that a totally different direction."

Chuckling, he takes a step to the side and walks out the door, leaving me behind in a practical puddle of nerves. It takes a few before I'm able to pull myself together enough to follow him. He waits patiently with smug satisfaction written plainly in his expression, but he doesn't bring it up again as we make our way room to room.

By the time we make it to the last room on the second floor and he's gone through the motions of what a normal buyer would by asking property questions, between the scent of his nearness and his beat-around-the-bush approach of whatever the real reason he's doing here, I'm completely frazzled.

My guard drops, letting words slip out before I think about them. "What are you really doing here? You're not interested in buying this house, and even if you were, you're an agent. You don't need me."

Huffing a short laugh, he murmurs something under his breath about being wrong, but loud enough for me to hear adds, "What had you running away so fast Saturday? I was hoping to have a chat with my biggest competitor."

Propping an elbow on one hand across my chest, I play with my necklace nervously as I contemplate how to answer his question. Not like I can tell him the truth that I was worried I'd beg him and Kennedy to invite me back to their room for the night. So, I go with the next best thing, "I didn't book a room and didn't want to be driving back super late."

"Hmm," is all he replies while pretending to be interested in something outside the window.

"Thank you for the flowers, by the way," I tell him, unintentionally drawing his attention back to me. It just dawned on me that I haven't told him yet.

He smiles, "No need to thank me, Bryce. I meant what I said."

Slightly uncomfortable now that we’re onto the compliment on the card, I charge ahead, "Would you mind telling Kennedy I said thanks for his as well?"

A different kind of smile crosses his lips. "He sent you flowers, too?"

For a moment, panic seizes my throat as I wonder if the rumors weren't true after all and they're nothing more than business partners and not a self-proclaimed pack. Nothing ends a friendship or relationship faster than competing for the attention of the same person. Cat's out of the bag now, though, so I answer honestly, "Yes."

"Good for him," he says, still smiling. "I'll be sure to pass along your message. Would you like for me to call him now for you to tell him yourself? We can even invite him to dinner with us, if you'd like."

"No, that's ok—" I start then registering the rest of his sentence, "wait. Dinner? I didn't know we were going to dinner."

He lifts a shoulder in a small shrug. "I hadn't gotten around to asking, but knowing from experience what hellish hours we agents keep, I assumed you'd be just as starved as I am. You going to make me eat alone?"

After him showing up here and all of the flirting, I'd have to be an idiot to not see the challenge for what it is. I could tell him to take out his phone to call Kennedy for company, but that's not what I really want. These men think I'm a beta and aren't after me because they think I can offer them the solidarity of pack that an omega can. That small fact isalmostmore of a turn on than imagining the glorious specimen of man in front of me now without clothes.

Lifting my chin slightly, hoping to let him know that I'm onto him and I'm not afraid, I tell him, "Sure, I'll go to dinner with you."

Sinking a hand into his pocket, he pulls out his phone. "Should we give Kennedy a call?"

"No," I call out, my voice loud in the empty room. One of them I can handle. There's no way in h-e-double-hockey-sticks that I'd be able to deal with both of them tonight. We probably wouldn't even make it to dinner.

That sexy smirk pops back up on his face like he knows exactly what I'm thinking before dropping the phone back into his pocket. "Shall I help you lock up and follow you home then so we can drop your car off and ride together then?"

What in the world am I thinking getting myself in deep with an alpha? And not just anyalphabut Santiago Cooper of all people. I've got to be out of my ever-loving mind. Does that stop me from agreeing with him, or telling him I've made a mistake and that I'll actually be heading home solo for a bath and glass of wine? Of course not. Instead, I find myself glancing up into my rear view mirror on my drive home several times to verify that I'm not insane, and that he is, in fact, following me. I'm about to let one of the most well-known alphas in my line of work into my life and home. Oh, I've definitely lost my marbles.

Chapter 6

Bryce

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