Page 40 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

“Well, well,” he drawls, setting the thermos down. “Look who’s sneaking out at the crack of dawn. You two heading off for a romantic getaway, or is this some kind of covert mission?”

“Open the gate, Grant,” I say, keeping my tone even as I try to ignore the way Magnolia stiffens behind me.

Grant’s grin widens. “Oh, I’ll open it. But you’ve got to tell me—who talked who into this? My money’s on Maggie here. Sweet little omega, convincing the big bad alpha to take her on an adventure.”

Magnolia’s arms tighten around me, and I can practically feel the heat of her glare. “It’s not like that,” she says, her voice firm despite the blush I know is blooming on her cheeks.

Grant chuckles, clearly enjoying himself as he reaches for the lever to open the gate. “Sure, sure,” he says, dragging the words out. “Not like that at all. Just a perfectly innocent trip to the middle of nowhere, no ulterior motives whatsoever.”

The gate creaks open, the wooden panels sliding apart to reveal the dirt road stretching beyond. Magnolia shifts slightly behind me, her chin brushing my shoulder as she glances at Grant.

“Are you done?” she asks, her voice clipped but with a hint of exasperated amusement.

“For now,” Grant replies, giving us a mock salute as he leans back against the stool. “You kids have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

I shoot him a look as I rev the engine, and he snickers, waving us off. “Oh, come on, Morgan. Lighten up. You’ve got good company.”

Magnolia lets out a soft huff, but she doesn’t say anything else, her grip on me steady as I guide the bike through the gate. Once we’re clear, I glance over my shoulder, catching her expression. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, and despite Grant’s teasing, she looks…excited. Alive.

The gate creaks shut behind us, the sound fading into the hum of the bike as we pick up speed. The open road stretches ahead, the horizon bathed in the soft glow of morning light. Magnolia leans into me, her arms tightening just enough to make my pulse quicken.

Grant’s words echo in my mind, his knowing smirk burned into my memory. He might have been teasing, but he wasn’t entirely wrong. This isn’t just a trip to the observatory.

Not for me, anyway.

* * *

The road stretches out aheadof us, empty and sunlit, winding through the hills like a ribbon. We’re right on the cusp of wildflower season, the scent of flowers about to bloom mingling with Magnolia’s sweetness—clementines and honey, soft and intoxicating. Her arms tighten around me as we pick up speed, and I let myself enjoy it—enjoy her—more than I should.

The wind rushes past us, tugging at my hair and clothes, but all I can focus on is her. The soft press of her body against mine, the warmth of her chest fitting perfectly against my back, her fingers flexing just slightly against my stomach. Every little movement sends a jolt of awareness through me, sparks catching on dry kindling, threatening to ignite into something I can’t control.

My wolf growls low, possessive.

She’s mine.

I grit my teeth, trying to push the thought away. She’s not mine. She can’t be. If anything, she’s a pretty distraction. I’m here for one reason, and one reason only—and Magnolia Jones isn’t it.

But damn if it doesn’t feel like she should be.

The sun climbs higher as we ride, casting long shadows across the road. Magnolia shifts behind me, leaning closer to avoid the wind, and I swear I can feel every inch of her against my back. The pressure of her thighs against mine, the faint brush of her breath near my neck—it’s like she’s everywhere all at once, filling every space I have, and it’s maddening in the best way.

“You okay back there?” I call over my shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she says, her voice breathy. She sounds just as tense as I feel, the thread between us taut and ready to snap.

Her scent is stronger now, warm and sweet, clementines begging to be devoured. It fills the space between us, thick and heady, curling into me and wrapping itself around every rational thought I’m clinging to. Her hands stay steady, but her grip tightens with every bump in the road.

It feels like she was made to curve around me.

The clench of her thighs against my hips.

The way her chest rises and falls, perfect breasts brushing against me with each breath.

It’s a slow kind of torture, the kind that builds and simmers, keeping you on edge without ever letting you fall. My focus should be on the road—it’s literally a matter of life and death—but my thoughts keep circling back to her. To the way she fits against me, like she’s meant to be here, and the way my wolf snarls every time I try to convince myself otherwise.

I glance at her reflection in the bike’s mirror, catching the flush on her cheeks, the way her lips are slightly parted as if caught between exhilaration and terror. Her hair, messy from the wind, frames her face like a halo, and her eyes hold that same spark I saw the other night—curiosity and boldness, a challenge I’m desperate to answer.

The tension between us hums just beneath the surface. Every mile we ride seems to ratchet up the electricity, until the air itself is crackling with unspoken promises. I should say something, should find a way to break the spell before it swallows me whole, but I don’t trust myself to speak without giving away too much.

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