Page 98 of Knot on the Market

"See you tonight," she murmurs against his lips.

"Tonight," he confirms, his voice rough with want.

The drive to the station passes in a blur of familiar streets and mounting anticipation. Not just for tonight, though the thought of returning to Lila's house, to her bed, to the incredible intimacy we discovered last night, makes my skin feel too tight. But for all the tomorrows that suddenly feel possible.

"Maddox!" Williams calls as I'm changing into my uniform. "You're practically glowing. Either you won the lottery or you got laid. Please tell me it's the lottery so I don't have to hear details."

"Sorry, Cap," I say with a grin I can't suppress. "No lottery winnings to report."

"Damn," he mutters, but there's affection in his voice. "Well, whatever's got you this happy, try to maintain some professional composure. We've got a station full of rookies who don't need to see their lieutenant floating around like a lovesick teenager."

"Yes, sir."

But I can't quite manage to wipe the smile off my face.

Chapter 30

Lila

The first-class cabin feels surreal after a month of small-town simplicity. All leather seats and hushed luxury that speaks to a world I'd almost forgotten existed. Through the airplane window, Los Angeles sprawls beneath us in its familiar grid of highways and palm trees, the Pacific glittering in the distance like scattered diamonds.

"Nervous?" Dean asks quietly, his hand finding mine across the narrow aisle. Even in the navy suit Julian helped him select, he looks like himself. Warm eyes, easy smile, the kind of solid presence that makes everything feel manageable.

"Getting there," I admit, watching the city grow larger as we descend. "It's been a while since I've done this."

"We've got you," Callum says from the seat behind me, his voice carrying that gruff certainty that's become my anchor. The charcoal suit transforms his usual flannel-and-jeans aesthetic into something that could grace magazine covers, but his hands are still calloused from honest work.

Julian sits beside him, reviewing his meticulously prepared notes with characteristic thoroughness. The black tuxedo fits him perfectly, making his dark hair and wire-rimmed glasseslook distinguished rather than bookish. When he glances up and catches me watching, his smile is soft with wonder.

"Thank you," I say suddenly, needing them to understand. "For coming with me. For being willing to step into this chaos."

"Wouldn't be anywhere else," Dean says simply, and the others nod in agreement.

The Beverly Hills hotel Rebecca selected is exactly what I expected. Marble columns and crystal chandeliers, understated luxury that costs more per night than most people spend on rent. Paparazzi cluster outside the entrance with telephoto lenses, probably hoping to catch early arrivals.

"Mrs. James and guests," the concierge says smoothly, apparently briefed on our unconventional arrangement. "The penthouse suite is ready."

The elevator ride passes in charged silence. We're all feeling it, the weight of being back in my old world, the awareness that tonight changes everything between us.

The suite is stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, and the living area is larger than my entire house in Honeyridge Falls. But it's the bedroom that makes my breath catch, one massive bed, clearly intended for all of us. A silent acknowledgment from Rebecca's team that they understand exactly what kind of pack we are.

"Damn," Dean breathes, moving to the windows. "This is how the other half lives?"

"This is how I used to live," I correct, watching him take in the view. "It's beautiful, but it never felt like home."

Julian emerges from the bathroom, looking slightly dazed. "There's a television above the bathtub. Who needs to watch TV while bathing?"

"Rich people with too much money and not enough sense," Callum says dryly, testing the mattress with a critical eye. "Bed's solid though. Good construction."

Their reactions—Dean's wonder, Julian's analytical fascination, Callum's practical assessment—hit me like a revelation.

I love them.

The thought stops me cold in this ridiculous penthouse that costs more per night than most people make in a year. Not the complicated, strategic affection I felt for Dustin's pack. Not grateful attachment from being cared for.

Love. Real, bone-deep, forever kind of love.

I love Dean's golden heart and how he stress-cooks when nervous, the way he looks at me like I hung the moon. I love Julian's brilliant mind and how he counts things to make sense of the world, sees patterns others miss. I love Callum's gruff exterior hiding the gentlest hands, how he fixes broken things and makes them beautiful again.

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