Page 42 of Knotted By my Pack
My jaw ticks. She’s too pretty to be out here alone this early. Too tempting for a man still recovering from the last time I saw her.
I glance at the bouquet on the seat beside me. Dahlias, creamy white with faded edges, some blush peonies, eucalyptus.Gathered them myself at dawn, and turned them into a bouquet at Haven’s Nook.
They’re wilting now. Fitting, maybe. I waited too long to make my move.
She doesn’t see me as she unlocks the door to the bakery. I wait till she’s inside before I move.
The bell jingles when I push open the door and step in, the scent of sugar and spice hitting me like it always does. But there’s something else layered beneath it. Thicker. Deeper. Masculine.
“We’re not open yet,” she calls over her shoulder, then turns. Her breath catches. “Oh. Hey.”
Something inside me stretches too tight. “Hey,” I say quietly. Like she might bolt. “You opening today?”
“Maybe for a little,” she says, adjusting something behind the counter, brushing flour dust off a tray.
I hold out the flowers. “These are for you.”
She freezes, then reaches for them slowly, like I might change my mind. “Thanks,” she says, the tips of her ears going pink.
“I wanted to apologize,” I say, watching her eyes drop to the bouquet. “For the last time. You shouldn’t have seen me like that. Especially not with Julian.”
Her cheeks go from pink to red. It clicks then, the scent I couldn’t place when I walked in. Him. It’s faint, but it’s there. And it ignites something low and primal in me.
My gaze sharpens, narrowing on her as she walks to the back to get a vase like nothing’s wrong.
I follow her.
She’s at the sink, filling the vase with water, humming something under her breath.
“Did you fuck him?”
The vase clinks hard against the sink as her hand jerks. She turns slowly, her body still, but her eyes flash. “What?”
“Did you fuck Julian?” I ask again. Clear. Sharp.
She crosses her arms, defensive now, chin tilted up. “You don’t get to come into my shop and ask me that like you own a single part of me.”
“It’s a yes or no question.”
“Elias,” she warns. “You and Julian don’t like each other. I get it. But this? This is out of line.”
I step in. One stride, then two, until I’m close enough to watch her pulse jump under her jaw. “You smell like him.” I tilt her face toward me, fingers under her chin, watching her blink fast like she can hide behind her lashes. “Did he touch you?”
Gooseflesh dots her arms. She presses back against the counter, eyes defiant even as her body betrays her.
“You need to leave.”
“Answer me, Cora.” I drag my thumb across her lower lip, slow, savoring. Her breath hitches, and the scent changes again.
Her arousal is a goddamn drug. Sweet and hot and addictive. “Did that unwashed mutt lay a hand on you?”
“No,” she whispers. “He didn’t. My car still wouldn’t start, so he just drove me home yesterday.”
I don’t know what takes over me. I lift her by the waist and set her on the counter, pushing between her knees before she can protest.
Her skirt rides up, exposing soft thighs that clench when my fingers graze her skin.
“What are you doing?” she asks, breathless.
