Page 12 of The Honor of Being Hers
That evening, she found Tyler again, this time in the back garden.The sun had dipped low, and the light had turned golden, casting long shadows across the herb beds.The air was crisp but not cold, the scent of hay and pine and something almost like clove drifted faintly from the barn across the hill.The gravel path crunched softly under her feet as she approached.
He was trimming the rosemary bush when she stepped outside, his movements careful and precise.The sharp, clean scent of the herb filled the air as he worked, and she could see the gentle concentration on his face—the same focused calm he brought to everything.
“I’m using the hour,” she said.
He didn’t turn.“Yours to use.”
“Stay nearby?”
That made him glance up.“Of course.”
She didn’t say it, but she knew he understood.She’d chosen to let Ryan in.Just for one hour.Just with conditions.Just to see.
Later that evening, Tyler brought her tea again.Only this time, he didn’t just set it down and leave.Instead, he settled on the window seat nearby, close enough to be present but far enough to give her space.She noticed the way he watched her hands as she lifted the cup, not invasive, but attentive.Like he was cataloguing her comfort level, her stress markers, filing away information for future reference.
“How do you do that?”she asked after a moment.
“Do what?”
“Know what I need before I know it myself.”
Tyler was quiet for a long time, his fingers absently stroking the soft fabric of the cushion beside him.“I had a sister,” he said finally.“She was an Omega, too.She used to get overwhelmed easily: too much input, too many scents, too many people wanting things from her.”His voice grew softer.“I learned to read the signs.The way her breathing would change, how she’d hold her shoulders.Small things.”
“Used to?”
“She died in a car accident five years ago.”He looked out the window, his scent carrying a faint note of old grief.“I guess old habits die hard.”
The admission hung between them, explaining so much about his gentle attentiveness, his instinct to create calm around him.
7
Ryan was waiting in the conservatory when she arrived, precisely as they’d arranged.His tall frame was tense despite his casual stance.She could see the subtle signs of nerves in the careful set of his broad shoulders and slightly tense expression.
Sunlight filtered through tall glass panes and cascaded over exotic ferns and trailing ivy, casting intricate dappled shadows across the warm stone floor.The space felt like a sanctuary—part greenhouse, part sitting room, filled with the gentle sounds of water trickling from a small fountain and the soft rustle of leaves.He stood near one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands clasped loosely behind his back, his presence filling the room with that delicious scent that had haunted her dreams.
Today was different.Today, she could smell him properly—rich spice and the electric charge that always preceded storms, a combination that made her Omega biology respond with involuntary interest despite her conscious wariness.Her suppressants were holding, but the edge was softer now, allowing her to experience the full complexity of his scent.
Lauren stopped in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest like armor.The stone threshold was cool beneath her feet, grounding her as her heart hammered against her ribs.She forced herself to stay, to face this moment she’d been dreading and anticipating in equal measure.
He didn’t look at her right away, didn’t make any move toward her.Just said softly, without turning around, “I brought you the security report.The one about that tampering with your suppressants.”
She stepped inside slowly, every movement deliberate and wary.His scent seemed to curl around her with each breath, as she found herself unconsciously cataloging the notes, sandalwood, cardamom, leather and something indefinably masculine that made her mouth water.“Why?”
“Because you asked to stay safe here.Safety starts with knowledge; with an understanding of what we’re dealing with.”
She approached the low table where a manila folder waited, taking it without risking any physical contact with him.The manila was rough beneath her fingertips, the papers inside rustled softly as she carried them to the furthest end of the cushioned bench that ran along the windows.The velvet upholstery was soft against her legs as she settled down.He didn’t attempt to sit, maintaining the distance she needed.
A long silence stretched between them, filled only with the soft sounds of the conservatory and the whisper of pages as she scanned the security analysis.The technical details were sobering.Someone with significant medical knowledge and resources had deliberately sabotaged her medication with a compound designed to fail under stress.
Yet, she found it difficult to concentrate on the words when his scent kept drawing her attention.Every time she breathed, her body responded with little sparks of awareness that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with recognition.
“I didn’t expect you to look the same,” she said finally, her eyes fixed on a curl of ivy that had wound its way around a support beam near the ceiling.
“I’m not the same person you knew.”His voice carried years of regret and careful self-examination, but underneath it was something else—the rich rumble of an Alpha who was carefully controlling his responses to her proximity.
“I know.”Her voice was barely audible, though she had no doubt her scent was broadcasting her whole emotional turmoil to his sensitive Alpha nose.“That’s what makes this so much harder.”
Ryan exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound heavy with understanding.She could hear the slight change in his breathing, the way her scent was affecting him even as he fought to maintain his composure.“Say it.Whatever you need to say.”
