Page 13 of Pack of Crooks
Hawk.
Bear.
Wolf, AKA, Killian.
God, these rich assholes smell so good. Biting my lip, my gaze strays around the space. The living room—which is at least three times as big as my apartment—offers a panoramic view of the city. There’s a double sided fireplace. Couches that lookmore like art installations than something you’d want to sit on. Curiosity pulls me in. I tread across the black marble floors, feel a twinge of guilt as my sneakers hit the pretty gray rug, but shake it off.
They can afford cleaners.
Smoothing my hands over the buttery soft fabric of the couch, I take a seat, needing to prove to myself that this type of opulence is obnoxious. “Oh fuck,” I murmur as I sink into the cushions. It’s so comfortable. The TV mounted above the fireplace is giant. Bigger than anything I’ve ever seen in a store.
Stop fucking around. You’re here to steal things, not relax.
Right. Forcing myself off the couch, I take in the kitchen. Custom cabinets. High end appliances. Light fixtures that probably cost as much as my rent, if not more. Money is everywhere, but I can’t steal a light fixture, so I move past the kitchen and head toward the bedrooms, running a finger along the white oak wall.
Leaving behind a soft trail of my strawberry scent.
I pass a library, an in-home gym, a movie room, a spare room, and an office. Frowning, I spin and head back to the stairs at the edge of the living room. The logical place to look first is the office, but rational thought isn’t driving me up the curved staircase, it’s all instincts. The first bedroom doesn’t smell like anyone.
Moving on, I press my palm against the second door, opening it and sighing as warm fudgy goodness surrounds me.Hawk. I slip into the room, eye the desk with a couple monitors, and dip into the walk-in closet. A discarded shirt lies on the floor. I snatch it up before I can think better of it, bringing it to my nose and breathing in, stifling a soft moan in the fabric.
This. This is what I need.
Rubbing the material over my face, I release a delirious sigh and make my way back to the door, spot a Rolex on the desk,snatch it, and head to the next room. Bear’s smells like honey and is freakishly organized. There are containers for things in containers in his bathroom. The bed is perfectly made. The clothes in his closet are sorted by color. Even the clothes in his laundry basket appear to be neatly set inside, half folded. The messiest thing about Bear’s room. I slip Hawk’s watch into the side pocket of my leggings and grab one of Bear’s shirts, make sure it’s properly coated in that yummy honey scent, and toss it over my shoulder, right on top of Hawk’s T-shirt.
All mine.
Taking care not to disturb anything, not even the dust in the room because Bear probably knows where each speck belongs, I move on to Killian’s room. Hawk’s was neat. Bear’s was. . . orderly, but Killian’s? It can’t be clean. There’s no way three grown men are all responsible. Surely he’s the one who. . . I step into the room and scowl.
Mother fucker. It’s clean too. Instead of a desk, he has an oversized chair sitting beside two bookcases full of books. His window is open and a soft breeze rolls through the room, stirring up his vanilla and chocolate scent. My mouth waters, and I swallow back a keen of yearning.
This pack smells like a warm home during a heavy snow storm. Something I’ve never known, but something I desperately want to know. Chewing on my lip, I breathe in again. Need pulses deep within me.
I’m horny. That’s it. No matter how much I want it to be more than just desire, there’s no such thing as destiny. At least, not for me. This is probably just another way for the universe to torture me.
Killian’s bed is unmade, so at least one of them has flaws. A bedside table holds a dish full of jewelry. I rifle through it, grabbing a white gold ring with diamonds inlaid in the band and a matching wrist band. Between the watch and the jewelry, I’llget a good chunk of money. An even bigger chunk if I head to Staten Island where none of the pawn shop owners know me.
I just need time to get out there.
The ring and the band join the watch in my pocket as I head to Killian’s closet. I snatch one of his T-shirts, inhale the vanilla and chocolatey goodness, and sigh. I can’t wait to put these shirts in my nest, to blanket myself in their scents.
Omega instincts subdued, I step out of the closet, ready to search for more to pawn, but my gaze moves to the bookcase. Maybe I’m judgmental, but I didn’t expect Killian to be the reader. With their scents surrounding me, I go to the shelves, eyeing the spines. My eyebrows jump.Monster smut?Rom-coms? Dark romance?Surely not.
I blink, leaning closer, the movement sending a tangle of their scents into the air around me. Humming in approval, I breathe in deep and grab a book.
“That one is my favorite.”
Screeching, I drop the book—a cardinal sin, I know, but you would drop it too if you were suddenly surrounded by the pack you had every intention of ripping off. I spin around.
No longer in their masks, three gods stand before me. Killian is as beautiful as I remember him. The dark sweep of hair, the marble like perfection of his jaw and cheekbones. Gray eyes that pierce through me, stealing my breath and my thoughts.
The guy next to him has a basic crew cut, the light brown strands on top longer than the sides. I was wrong earlier. He’s not bulky, he’sbulky. Big enough to fill the doorway and force the other two men inside the room, but soft too. Huggable. He would make a perfect big spoon. Bear’s features are striking as well. Sunkissed skin. Plush lips surrounded by a well-kept beard, enough hair to be full and strokable. It’s even shiny. He probably uses beard oil. There’s probably a special container for it in his bathroom.
My lips twitch. His emerald-green eyes narrow slightly. I bite my cheek and study Hawk. His brown hair is a bit longer, swept back, a few strands teasing his forehead. It’s effortlessly sexy. Rough and classy at the same time, kind of like those men in the cologne commercials. Hawk’s dark brown eyes complement his olive complexion. I thought Killian reminded me the most of an ancient Greek statue, but there’s something about Hawk’s features that’s a mix of masculine hardness and feminine softness that’s near perfection. A singular freckle on his left cheek is the only thing someone might call a flaw, but it’s cute to me.
Killian clears his throat and it’s only then I realize I’ve been staring and that they’ve allowed it.
Quick, act like this is normal. “Oh hey,” I say with a bright smile. “What are you all doing here?” Hawk and Bear exchange an amused look. My eyes flutter closed. Great. Their hotness has made me stupid.
