Page 58 of Knot on the Market

"Call me if you find anything," he says simply. "I'll come over."

The quiet certainty in his voice does something devastating to my composure.

"I could bring more books," Julian offers, his voice intimate and soft. "Build a proper library for that chair."

"I'd like that," I admit, the words coming out more breathless than intended.

The way his expression warms at my response makes heat pool low in my belly.

As the meal progresses, I become painfully aware of every small interaction. When Dean reaches for the salt and his fingers brush mine, electricity shoots up my arm. When Callum asks me to pass the bread and our hands touch during the exchange, my scent flares involuntarily. When Julian leans closer to hear something I've said, his proximity makes my breath catch audibly.

My body is responding despite every effort to remain composed. Slick gathers between my thighs, warm and slippery, and I have to press my legs together to contain the evidence of my growing arousal. My scent is blooming sweeter, richer, advertising exactly how affected I am by their attention.

All three of them notice. I can see it in the way Dean's easy smile takes on a sharper edge, how Callum's shoulders tense slightly, the way Julian's dark gaze seems to track every breath I take.

"We should probably clean up," Dean says eventually, his voice rougher than it was at the start of dinner.

"I can help," I say quickly, starting to rise from my chair, but Julian's hand touches my wrist with gentle authority.

"Stay," he says quietly, his fingers warm against my skin. "Let us take care of this."

The simple command shouldn't affect me as much as it does, but something about his tone, gentle but firm makes my knees weak and my scent spike with something that definitely isn't just gratitude.

They clear the table with easy efficiency, Dean and Callum working in sync while Julian retrieves glasses from Maeve's cabinet.

"We should open that wine," Dean says, holding up the bottle I brought. "Seems like the perfect time."

Julian uncorks it smoothly while Callum produces what looks like leftover cake from Maeve's bakery, chocolate with thick frosting that makes my mouth water despite how full I still am from dinner.

"Maeve's famous chocolate cake," Dean explains, cutting generous slices. "She always keeps some hidden for special occasions."

Special occasions. The words make something flutter dangerously in my chest.

Julian pours wine into four glasses with careful attention. When he hands me mine, our fingers brush and I have to fight not to gasp at the contact.

"To new neighbors," Dean says, raising his glass with that easy smile that doesn't quite hide the heat in his eyes.

"To new beginnings," Julian adds quietly, his dark gaze holding mine.

"To good foundations," Callum rumbles, and the way he says it makes it clear we're not talking about construction anymore.

We clink glasses and I take a sip, the wine warming my throat and settling into my already overheated system like liquid courage I absolutely don't need right now.

Dean and Callum lean against the counter, close enough that I can see the way Dean's t-shirt clings to his chest, how Callum's forearms flex as he cuts cake. Julian slides onto the stool beside me at the island, close enough that his thigh almost brushes mine, close enough that his scent wraps around me like a physical caress.

"This is incredible," I manage, taking a bite of cake that's probably amazing but tastes like sawdust because all my attention is focused on the heat radiating from Julian's body.

"Maeve's secret weapon," Dean says, his voice rougher than before. I can see his nostrils flare slightly as he catches my scent.

The wine is making everything more intense, their scents stronger, my skin more sensitive, the ache between my thighs more persistent. When Julian shifts slightly and his leg finally does brush mine, I have to bite back a whimper.

The thought is so vivid, so overwhelming, that slick floods between my thighs and my scent spikes sweet and needy. All three of them go still.

Dean's breathing becomes audible. Callum's knuckles are white where he grips the counter. Julian's hand moves towardmy thigh before he catches himself, his fingers curling into a fist on the marble surface.

"Lila," Julian says, his voice strained. "Your scent?—"

"I know," I whisper, mortified. I can smell myself, how obvious my arousal is, how desperately my body wants theirs.

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