Page 15 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

I wait until the man’s attention is elsewhere, his focus on a conversation with someone across the table. My hand moves quickly, brushing against his wrist as I fake reaching for the breadbasket. The watch slips off easily, and it’s in my pocket a second later.

No one notices. No one ever does.

It satisfies the craving, scratches the itch. At least for now.

“Morgan.”

The sound of my last name pulls me out of my thoughts, and I glance up to see Frankie glaring at me from across the table. Her eyes flick to my hand, then back to my face.

I meet her gaze evenly, raising an eyebrow. “What?” I ask, voice flat, leaning back in my chair like I’ve got nothing to hide.

“Nothing.” Her tone is sharp, clipped, carrying just enough bite to remind me she’s not here to play games. “Just watching you.”

I snort at her bluntness. “Well, don’t strain yourself,” I reply, keeping my voice casual, even as my smirk edges toward mockery. “I’m flattered, but I’m not interested.”

Grant huffs out a surprised laugh as Frankie’s jaw tightens. She’s not looking at me like she’s trying to figure me out—she’s looking at me like she already has, and she doesn’t like what she sees. It’s the kind of scrutiny I’m used to, but it still grates.

But before either of us can push it further, Magnolia’s laugh floats through the room, light and warm, dissolving the tension like sunlight breaking through clouds. My gaze shifts to her instantly, drawn in without permission, and the irritation I felt moments ago softens.

She’s holding the baby now, cradling the little one against her chest as she coos. Her voice is gentle, soothing, and the sight of her with the baby does something strange to me.

My wolf…he’s fucking feral at the sight of that.That omega belongs to me,he says.She’s mine to rut, to knot, to breed.

He has all kinds of sinful thoughts that don’t belong in a wholesome place like this.

6

COLT

As the meal winds down, the pack slips into their routine—clearing tables, laughter and conversation flowing around the room. I sit back, letting the commotion swirl past me, content to watch.

Magnolia catches my eye, handing her friend’s baby back with a lingering smile, tucking a curl behind her ear. She moves like she belongs in every corner of this place—unhurried, at home.

I try not to stare. Fail. Even gathering plates, balancing a precarious stack, she’s still chatting, her laugh soft and genuine. She doesn’t just fit here—she’s the thread holding it all together.

I push back my chair, slipping past a teenager hauling a tower of cups. Sticking close to the wall, I make my way toward the hall behind the kitchen, where the dining room noise fades. A quick exit.

Then—movement.

Before I can react, I almost collide with Magnolia.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, stumbling back as we nearly collide. Her arms are full, a precarious stack of plates wobbling dangerously, and for a moment, it feels like the whole pile is about to come crashing down.

Instinct kicks in before thought. My hands catch her wrists, steadying the load.

She sucks in a breath.

“Hold still,” I rasp, rougher than I mean to be. One hand shifts to the top of the stack, keeping the plates from tipping, while the other lingers on her forearm, her warmth bleeding into my skin.

I’ve never touched her before. It’s about to fucking ruin me.

She stills, dark eyes snapping up to mine, pulse fluttering under my fingers.

“Thanks,” she breathes, soft, unsteady. The flush on her cheeks—yeah, it’s not just from the near disaster.

Her hands shift, fingers brushing mine as she adjusts her grip. A spark zips through me, low and hot. I don’t let go. Not yet. The hallway shrinks around us, the world outside muffled by the pounding in my ears.

Even with a stack of plates between us, I can feel it. She can too.

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