Page 35 of Hot Knot Summer
She stares at me, lips parted slightly, a war of emotions playing across her expressive face. Desire, frustration, fear, intrigue.
“You’re very confident,” she says finally.
“I know what I want,” I repeat simply. “And I’m patient enough to wait for it.”
“What if I never ask?” she challenges, a spark of defiancein her eyes.
She won’t be easy to tame. Good. I don’t want easy.
“Then I’ll have to live with that,” I shrug, though we both know it’s a lie. “But you will.”
She stands abruptly, nearly knocking over her stool. “You’re infuriating.”
“So I’ve been told.” I smile, not bothered by her anger. It’s just another form of passion, after all.
She looks like she wants to say something else—something cutting, then clears her throat. “Look, you seem great, all three of you do, but I should probably make something clear. I’m not looking for an Alpha. Just so you know.”
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “You already have one?”
“Hell, no,” she blurts out. “Had one, then didn’t, and every one I’ve ever encountered has eventually broken my heart. Now, I think I have no heart left, and I can’t do it again. I just... can’t.”
The pain behind her voice is raw, real. It hits something in me, that part that understands what it means to be rejected, to be told you’re not good enough, not right. The clinical reports describing me asdefective.
“Who was it?” I demand. “These Alphas who hurt you.”
She blinks at the sudden shift in my tone. “It doesn’t matter. Ancient history.”
“It matters,” I insist, and I’m surprised by the ferocity I feel. I want names. I want to hunt down every Alpha who ever made her feel less than treasured and show them exactly what happens to those who misuse what’smine.
Wait.Mine? Where the hell did that come from?
I force myself to dial it back when I see her tense.
“But I get it. Not pushing.”
Before she can respond, there’s a loud clunk from down the hall, followed by an ominous gurgling sound. We both freeze, staring at each other.
“Please tell me that’s not—” she starts.
“The washing machine,” I finish, already moving.
We race down the hall to find suds creeping out under the laundry room door. I push it open to reveal a scene straight out of a sitcom—the middle washing machine convulsing as foam spills from under the lid and around the seal, forming a growing mountain of bubbles on the floor.
“Shit!” I lunge for the controls, hitting the emergency stop. “What the hell happened?”
Emma is right behind me, grabbing towels from the shelf. “I don’t know! Did we put in too much detergent?”
I wrench the lid open, releasing another wave of bubbles that splatter us both. Emma lets out a startled laugh, and despite the mess, I can’t help joining in. There’s something absurdly hilarious about standing ankle-deep in soap suds with a beautiful woman.
“So much for making a good impression,” she giggles, wiping foam from her face. There’s a streak of bubbles across her cheek, and without thinking, I reach out to brush it away.
My thumb grazes her soft skin, and the laughter dies in my throat. We’re standing close, too close, herface upturned to mine, eyes wide. The world narrows to just the two of us, time suspended in the small space between our bodies. Her lips part slightly, and for a wild moment, I think she might be leaning in.
I’m not sure who moves first, but suddenly, my hand is cupping the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her damp hair. My body crowds hers against the edge of the machine, not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat radiating from her. Her pulse races beneath my fingers, a frantic beating that matches my own.
“This is a mistake,” she whispers, but her eyes drop to my mouth, contradicting her words.
“Probably,” I agree. “Should I stop?”
