Page 113 of Roulette Rodeo
"Don't call me stupid."
"Don't be stupid then."
"You're being childish."
"You're being a dick."
"That's inappropriate language for?—"
"For what? An omega? Your property? Someone you spent a hundred million dollars on?" The words come out sharp, acidic. "News flash, Ice King, I've said worse to worse men than you."
His jaw clenches, that muscle ticking in a way that probably terrifies boardrooms full of executives.
But I've faced down alphas high on cocaine with guns in their waistbands. One pretty boy with control issues doesn't even register on my threat radar.
"You're impossible," he grits out.
"You're insufferable."
"You're—"
We're practically nose to nose now, both breathing hard, fists clenched like we're about to throw down right here in the hallway. The tension crackles between us, electric and hostile and?—
Suddenly I'm airborne.
Large hands grip my waist, lifting me like I weigh nothing, and for a disorienting moment I think Rafe's about to throw me through a window. But the scent is wrong—amber and ink instead of vibrating with ice and disappointment—and then I'm being set down on what turns out to be the marble island in the kitchen.
Before I can even process what's happening, something is pressed against my lips.
"Bite," Talon's voice commands, amused and authoritative at once.
I bite automatically, and then my entire world shifts.
The flavor explodes across my tongue—cinnamon and nutmeg and brown sugar and something rich and creamy that might be pumpkin but could be sweet potato or maybe even butternut squash. The dough is light, airy, still warm, glazed with something that tastes like maple and heaven had a baby.
My eyes water. Actually water, tears gathering at the corners as I stare at the donut in my hand like it's the Holy Grail.
Another bite, and I moan. Actually moan, the sound completely involuntary as the flavors develop, revealing layers I missed the first time. There's cardamom in there, and ginger, and the tiniest hint of orange zest that brightens everything else.
A third bite and I'm making sounds that should be embarrassing—little squeals and hums of pleasure as I kick my feet in their ridiculous cowboy socks. The donut disappears in record time, and I'm licking glaze off my fingers when I realize three alphas are staring at me.
Talon's grinning like he just won a prize. Corwin's holding a cup of something that smells amazing. And Rafe... Rafe looks like I just short-circuited his brain.
"What?" I ask, still licking sugar from my thumb.
"Shiloh said instead of arguing with an omega—" Talon jerks his thumb at Rafe, "which you always seem to do—feed them first. That determines whether the dispute is your fault or they're just hangry."
I pause mid-lick to glare at Rafe.
"It's still his fault. He was in my way."
Corwin steps closer, holding out the cup.
"Want to try this pumpkin latte?"
The distraction is immediate and complete.
I grab the cup with both hands, bringing it to my nose first to inhale the steam. Pumpkin and espresso and warm milk and more of those fall spices that make everything feel like comfort. The first sip makes me groan in delight, eyes closing as the warmth spreads through my chest.
