Page 37 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

That’s the story I keep rehearsing in my head as I lace up my boots and shrug on my sundress. But deep down, I know the truth.

It is about him.

Because I want him…more than I’ve ever wanted anything else.

The workshop is quiet when I approach, the faint hum of machinery and the scent of oil and metal greeting me as I push the door open. Colt is hunched over the workbench, his broad shoulders tense as he tinkers with something. The light from the overhead lamp casts warm shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint scruff darkening his cheeks. In the t-shirt he’s wearing, I can see the red and black tattoos painted across his arms, a tear in the shirt showing that they stretch onto his back as well.

My stomach flips.

The door creaks as it swings shut behind me, and Colt glances up. For a moment, he just stares, his gaze sweeping over me like he’s taking in every detail. His eyes linger on the damp braid draped over my shoulder, on the droplets of water still clinging to my skin. I watch his throat bob as he swallows, looking at me without even a lick of shame.

I think this must be what it feels like when someone undresses you with their eyes.

It’s nearly as satisfying as when I imagined him touching me the other night.

"You look..." His voice is low, rough. His eyes drag slowly back up to meet mine, and when he clears his throat, it’s strained. "Clean."

Heat blooms in my cheeks, spreading down my neck, and I have to resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest. It’s like those words alone are pulling me closer–and it occurs to me, not for the first time, that going on any trip alone with him would probably be a terrible idea. “The springs,” I say.

His lips quirk in a faint smile, and his eyes find a drop of water trailing down from my collarbone, vanishing beneath the edge of my shirt. His gaze darkens slightly, and when he finally forces himself to look back at the workbench, it’s like he’s dragging his attention away against his will. “They’re beautiful–the springs, I mean.”

The way he says it makes my breath catch, his tone heavy with meaning that has nothing to do with the springs. My skin prickles with awareness, the scent of him—chocolate, coffee, delicious desire—thickening the air. It mixes with the faint floral sweetness of my own, amplified by the heat still lingering from the water, and I know he notices it. His fingers tighten briefly around the tool he’s holding, fingers flexing.

“They are,” I manage, though the words come out shakier than I’d like. I swallow hard, the room suddenly feeling too small, too warm. “I heard you’re planning to head to the observatory.”

Colt glances at me again, his brow lifting slightly. “Word travels fast around here.”

I shrug, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Peaches mentioned it. Said you’re looking for parts for the projector.”

“Yeah,” he says, straightening up and wiping his hands on a rag. “Figured it’s worth checking out. Could find something useful.”

I take another step closer, my fingers brushing against the edge of the workbench. “Mind if I come with you?”

Colt leans against the workbench, crossing his arms over his chest as he considers me. The motion pulls his shirt tight across his shoulders, and I try not to let my eyes linger. “You sure about that?” he asks, his voice low. “It’s not exactly a quick trip. Could be a long day.”

“I’m sure,” I say. “I can handle it. I’m tougher than I look.”

His gaze stays on me, heavy and searching, like he’s weighing more than just my words. After a moment, he lets out a soft huff, almost a laugh, and his lips twitch into a faint smile. “You look just fine to me,” he says.

My heart stutters, my pulse quickening as his eyes hold mine. “Good,” I manage. “Then it’s settled.”

He watches me for another beat. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I guess it is.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly, and I feel like I’ve won some small victory—though I’m not entirely sure what the prize is. His gaze flicks back to the workbench, and he turns away.

“What time are you planning to leave?” I ask, trying to sound casual even as my heart continues to race.

“Early,” he says, his voice still low. “Before the sun’s up. Long drive, and I’d rather avoid running into any trouble on the road.”

“Right,” I say, nodding. “Makes sense.”

He glances over his shoulder at me, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Think you can handle an early start, Magnolia? Or are you more of a sleep-in kind of girl?”

The question is light, teasing, but it lands like a spark on dry kindling. I can’t help it—I smile back, tilting my head just slightly. “You seem awfully interested in my sleeping habits, Colt.”

That catches him off guard. His smirk falters for half a second before it returns. “Just trying to figure out if you’ll keep up. Wouldn’t want you dragging behind.”

“Dragging behind?” I echo, arching a brow. I step closer, fingers brushing the edge of the workbench. “You don’t think I can keep up?”

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