Page 18 of Happy Valentine's Day, Omega
My breathing stops. I hold my breath with lips parted, straining my ears.
The faintest rustle of clothes and muted tread of footsteps.
One, two, three, four, and stop.
My skin tingles with awareness. He's standing directly in front of me.
"Hello, Omega Alvez." The Alpha's deep voice echoes off the tall ceiling.
"Alpha," I croak.
My heart rate increases.
"Don't be afraid."
His voice is smooth and rich like cream. The syllables flow together like a melody. A nagging sense of familiarity washes over me. I've heard that voice before.
"I'm not afraid." I refused to acknowledge the waver to my voice.
"You smell nervous."
"Of course I'm nervous," I snap. "I'm here in the middle of the night, meeting an Alpha. Alone. In the dark and blindfolded. What sort of Omega would I be if I wasn't nervous?"
"Are you worried I'll hurt you?"
"Yes," I blurt.
A growl of disapproval rumbles between us. A beat passes, and I sigh in resignation.
"No. No, I'm not."
"Good." His deep voice is oddly comforting. "Because I will never hurt you."
The words are spoken with conviction, and I inexplicably believe him.
Pausing for a moment, I nod. "Okay."
Another rumble comes from his chest, but this one sounds pleased. My inner Omega preens because she's made her Alpha happy.
He takes a step closer, and his body heat radiates in the space between us. He is right in front of me, and I get a powerful hit of his scent right from the source.
Bergamot.
Like Alpha Novikov.
But it's not Alpha Novikov, 'cause that guy hates my guts and is a jackass. He acts like I'm an annoyance he can't stand to be around. He's the last person who'd go to all this trouble to court me. No, it's another Alpha who smells similar.
It must be.
The scent is doing funny things to my insides. My core is turning molten and making me squirm on the chair.
He huffs in amusement, and I feel a flush on my cheeks.
Right. He can definitely smell when my body reacts to him. Another advantage he has over me. It's not like I can smell a boner.
I need to get control of the situation. I'm supposed to be getting answers, not being swept up by his alluring Alpha-y-ness.
"Why did you choose me?" I demand.
