Page 6 of Down Knot Out
My chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice. Of all the Alphas, Nathaniel is the most reserved with his emotions, the most practical and businesslike. These glimpses beneath the surface are rare and precious.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not trusting my voice with more.
He steps closer, one warm, callused hand coming up to cup my cheek. “Chloe.”
Tingles rush through me, the bond inside reaching for my Alpha.
As if we’ve done it a hundred times, he leans down as I tilt my face up, and our lips meet in a gentle kiss that soon deepens. His scent envelops me, the leather and clove familiar now but still intoxicating. I melt into his embrace, my handsfinding purchase on his shoulders as he pulls me closer.
Nathaniel kisses with precision, like everything else he does, each movement deliberate and calculated for maximum effect. He knows how much pressure to apply, when to tease with his tongue, and how to angle his head for the perfect fit.
When he pulls back, I’m breathless, my lips tingling and my cheeks flushed.
Nathaniel appears pleased with himself, a hint of Alpha pride in his expression as he takes in my reaction. “Are you available for a picnic lunch today?”
I blink, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. “I think so. Why?”
“I’d like to take you for a little hike.” His thumb traces my bottom lip, still sensitive from our kiss. “There’s something I want to show you.”
My nose wrinkles. “A hike? But I’m directionally impaired. I’ve gotten lost on this islandtwice.”
Nathaniel laughs, the sound rich and unexpected. He presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. “It’s a very easy hike. And I’ll be with you the whole time, so you won’t get lost.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, curiosity piqued despite my reservations.
His face lights up with excitement, which is unusual for the composed Alpha. “There’s a private beach on the property. It has real sand, not just rocks and dirt.”
“Real sand?” I repeat, my interest caught now. Most of the beaches around here are all rock, dirt, and driftwood. “Well, if that’s the case, how can I say no?”
A sound comes from Nathaniel’s throat, somewhere between a growl and a purr, and he pulls me back into his arms. His hands find the curve of my waist, strong and certain as he leans down.
“I should bring you outside more often,” he murmurs, his breath a warm caress on my ear. “You look beautiful in the morning light.”
Before I can respond, his lips capture mine again, more insistent this time, claiming rather than questioning.
The cool morning air contrasts with the heat of his body pressed to mine. His pheromones intensify, wrapping around me like a blanket as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, asking for entrance.
I open to him, melting against his broad chest asone of his hands slides up my back to cradle the nape of my neck, fingers tangling in the end of my braid. His teeth graze my bottom lip, the gentle nip sending a shiver down my spine.
I press closer, hands fisting in his polo shirt, wrinkling the fabric. The approving rumble in his chest tells me he doesn’t mind.
“If you two are done making out in the yard, breakfast is getting cold.” Blake’s amused voice shatters the moment.
Nathaniel pulls back, pupils dilated with desire. “To be continued.”
Blushing and thoughts fuzzy, I turn to find Blake leaning on the doorframe, his large frame filling the entrance. “Holden’s giving us the look. The one that says we’ve insulted his grandma by letting his pancakes grow cold.”
Nathaniel chuckles, his hand sliding from my neck to the small of my back as we walk toward the house. “We wouldn’t want that. Last time I let his cinnamon rolls cool, he didn’t bake my favorite cookies for a month.”
“A tragedy,” I tease.
Blake holds the door open for us, the scent of applewood and cider wafting from him as we pass. “Quinn’s about to start without us. She’s afraidthose chocolate chip pancakes are going to make a run for it.”
Sprinkles trots in behind us, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He shakes himself again, sending more fur flying, and pads over to an enormous dog bed in the corner of the dining room. He circles three times before flopping down with a contented sigh.
After the outside chill, the house seems warmer, and not just because of the temperature. A sense of life, of home, wraps around me as we move toward the dining area. Quinn’s excited voice carries from the dining table, along with the clink of plates and utensils.
Holden dishes food onto everyone’s plates, his expression a mix of exasperation and fondness. “About time. Wash your hands before sitting down.”
