Page 34 of Hot Knot Summer
“You seem to know your way around a kitchen,” she observes.
“I’m a man of many talents,” I reply, unable to keep the suggestive edge from my voice. Her cheeks flush slightly, and satisfaction curls through me like smoke.
I place a steaming mug in front of her, heaped withmarshmallows, and lean against the counter opposite, cradling my own. The kitchen feels smaller somehow, the air between us charged.
“So…” she says after taking a sip, leaving a small chocolate mustache that I want to lick away. “Is cooking one of your hidden talents?”
“Not so hidden. I do most of the cooking at our place.” I take a deliberate drink, watching her over the rim of my mug. “Levi can barely boil water, and Atlas burns toast. Someone has to keep us from starving.”
“Wouldn’t have pegged you as the domestic type,” she says, and there’s a new curiosity in her gaze as it travels over me, lingering a beat too long on my arms, my chest.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I say softly. “Yet.”
Her pupils dilate slightly, the hazel of her eyes darkening. She licks the chocolate from her upper lip, and the simple gesture sends a jolt of heat straight through me.
“You’re very sure of yourself,” she murmurs, but there’s no conviction behind it. Just a token resistance.
“I’m sure of what I want,” I correct her. “There’s a difference.”
She glances away, but not before I catch the shiver that runs through her. “And what is it you want, exactly?”
The question is quiet, almost reluctant, as if she’s afraid of the answer. As she should be.
I set my mug down, the ceramic making a decisiveclick against the countertop. “Right now? I want to stop pretending that there isn’t something happening here.”
Her gaze snaps back to mine, startled by my directness. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” I hold her gaze, refusing to let her look away again. “I felt it the moment I saw you. You felt it, too.”
“You don’t know what I feel,” she says, a defensive edge creeping into her words.
“Your body gives you away, Emma.” I step closer, not touching her, but near enough that her scent intensifies—honey and books and woman. “Your pulse speeds up when I get close. Your pupils dilate. Your scent changes.”
Her hand tightens around her mug. “That’s just biology. Omega responding to Alpha. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Lie to yourself if you want, but don’t lie to me.” I lean in. “This isn’t just any Omega responding to any Alpha. This is you responding to me. To us.”
She’s breathing faster now, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that makes me want to press my hand there, feel her heartbeat racing under my palm.
“I barely know you,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move away.
“And yet you know exactly who I am,” I counter. “The same way I know you. The same way Atlas knew you the moment he sat next to you on the plane andpulled you from that fire. The same way Levi knew you when you shook his hand.”
A flush spreads across her cheeks, down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of the borrowed shirt. I wonder how far down it goes, how much of her skin turns that delicious pink when she’s aroused.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she says, but there’s no force behind it.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to devour me.”
I smile, slow and deliberate.
Her sharp intake of breath is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. For a moment, we’re frozen, her seated on the stool, me leaning against the counter, gazes locked.
Then I pull back slightly, giving her space to breathe, to think. Atlas always tells me I can come off a bit pushy…
“Don’t worry, I won’t touch you until you ask me to,” I say, straightening up and retrieving my mug. The certainty in my voice isn’t bravado. It’s bone-deep knowledge. She’s ours. She just doesn’t know it yet.
