Page 3 of Perfect Alpha

But diving back into the manuscript is impossible.

Like a hopeless schoolgirl, the phone is back in my hands, making my face burn with shame. Knowing that I fall for his I-don’t-want-to-be-with-you-but-I-can’t-let-you-go routine everysingle time doesn’t make it any easier to resist.

Gritting my teeth in annoyance, I click download and impatiently wait for the picture to load.

His selfie steals my breath, and I barely notice the smoky mountain range or gorgeous horses in the background. Cade is staring into the camera with his signature half-smile that is both arrogant and vulnerable.

The sight of him still slays me.

Cade:Morning, New York. How are the views in the city? Bet you miss this one.

Of course, I don’t.

So, I can’t explain why I’m zooming in on the picture to bask in the hard planes of Cade’s muscular chest, which are visible through his tight white T-shirt. Or why I’m imagining biting his pec while he growls and caresses every curve of my body.

The man still makes my insides spontaneously combust.

And if I close my eyes, I can still feel him.

Nothing compares to the heat of his body, his breath on my neck while he mutters filthy promises, and his gaze hooking me before stripping me bare.

Cade’s body is immaculate, and the picture shows off faded jeans slung low on his hips, but only to his belt buckle. He’s wearing the one I gave him on the last anniversary we celebrated together, but that means nothing.

It means everything.

Undoubtedly, I’d be able to detect the familiar shape of him through his jeans if only he had positioned the camera slightly lower.

Why is his shirt even on? Who needs pants? It’s a crime Cade ever gets dressed, though being the one to exclusively unwrap him was a real treat.

For fuck’s sake.

My fingers drum obnoxiously on the desk while I debate a suitable response, finally deciding that ignoring him is more infuriating than saying I only miss the mountains.

I reluctantly try to return my attention to the manuscript that is suddenly far less interesting. It’s a mystery why I ever wanted to read it, and continuing is a losing battle. I keep stopping to study Cade’s picture, hating myself more each time.

Annoyance makes me decide to delete it, but the very thought causes a visceral reaction equivalent to signing up for a voluntary lobotomy.

I hate him so much.

And soon I’ll be stuck seeing him in person.

Chapter 2

Cade

"What’syourscheduleliketoday?”

My baby sister, Hannah, is making breakfast in the small kitchen our mom always called cozy while my almost-three-year-old nephew, Aidan, happily plays with his impressive collection of trucks on the floor.

A lot of car accidents and cupboard dings happen when he drives.

Being out too late last night means I’m exhausted and not yet firing on all cylinders. Rubbing the sleep from my gritty eyes, I let out a long sigh and collapse onto a stool at the scarred wooden breakfast bar that doubles as a countertop.

“Good morning, Hannah,” I reply, with practiced patience.

She turns to give me a tight smile, stress clear as day on her face. “Hi, Cade.”

The smell of bacon makes my mouth water, but I have a sinking suspicion that fleeting happiness won’t be strong enough to dispel what comes next.

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