Page 108 of Knot So Fast
"Lachlan! What do you and your new apparent Omega have in store for this season?"
He pauses with his hand on the door handle, and I watch through the tinted window as he turns to face them. Even with sunglasses hiding his eyes, his smirk is unmistakable.
"You should expect a thrilling season of the unexpected," he says, his voice carrying that particular blend of confidence and challenge that makes him such a compelling champion. "Because I'm not the one you should be worried about." He pauses for dramatic effect, and I swear every reporter leans forward in anticipation. "My Sugar is the wild card."
He gives them a wink that's going to be gif'd and shared across every social media platform within minutes, then slides into the car beside me.
The door closes with expensive finality, shutting out the chaos.
The driver begins to move immediately, navigating through the crowd with professional skill. Lachlan reaches forward and signals for the privacy screen to be raised, and within seconds, we're isolated in our own little bubble of tinted glass and leather seats.
I sigh in relief, sinking back into the seat.
"Man, this is going to be overwhelming. All the time. I gotta make sure I eat more before these things."
He turns to look at me, and there's something apologetic in his expression.
"We should have made sure you ate this morning."
I smirk, remembering how I'd woken up to an empty suite.
"Y'all were gone trying to be mini Bruce Lee squad at the gym. I didn't want to bother you."
"You could have joined us," he says, and there's something in his voice that makes heat pool low in my belly.
I'm already slipping off my sunglasses, needing to be free of their weight. My fingers move to the buttons of my shirt, undoing the first three to let some air in. The press conference room had been stifling, and I blow air up at my face in relief.
When I look back at him, he's watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. His sunglasses are off too, and those blue-green eyes are dark with something that has nothing to do with hunger for food.
"We both know if we're working out together," I say, my voice dropping to something more intimate, "we're doing a different kind of workout."
He licks his lips, slow and deliberate.
"Well, cardio is cardio, right?"
I roll my eyes even as heat floods through me at the implication.
"I'd like to walk normally in front of these maddening crowds and not confirm I was flipped, tossed, and dunked by my Alphas on the first official day as a team."
His grin is pure sin as he hooks his arm around me, pulling me close with that Alpha strength that never fails to make my pulse race.
Then his mouth is on mine, and I'm moaning into the kiss before I can help myself. It's deep and possessive, his tongue claiming my mouth like he's trying to prove a point—to me, to himself, to the universe.
We're making out like teenagers in the back of this luxury car, and I can't bring myself to care about propriety or what the driver might think. Lachlan kisses like he races—with total focus and devastating precision.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard. He whispers against my lips, "Can we talk over lunch?"
There's something vulnerable in his voice, a note of uncertainty that seems at odds with the confident Alpha who just claimed me in front of the international press.
We share a look, and I realize he's seeking my validation, my agreement, my partnership in whatever comes next.
"Yeah," I say softly. "We can."
His smile is brilliant, transforming his face from handsome to devastating.
He presses his forehead against mine in a gesture that feels more intimate than the kiss, then gives me a quick peck before pulling away.
But he keeps holding my hand, his thumb tracing patterns on my palm that make me shiver.
