Page 1 of In Control

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Sophia

My breath hoversin my throat, my gaze captured by the figure spinning across the stage.

One dancer in particular. The lead. He’s formed of densely packed muscle, his thighs and his torso rippling with every move he makes. And yet those movements are graceful, considered, and beautiful. As he lifts and spins his partner, drawing her close to the stage floor one minute and high into the air the next, it is him I can’t drag my eyes from. It’s as if she weighs nothing, as if it costs him nothing to glide her through the moving spotlights.

When finally he exits the stage, leaving his partner for her solo dance, I lean back in my seat, the velvet brushing against my bare back, and catch my breath.

It’s then I sense it. An awareness. Someone is watching me.

The sensation is not unusual. I catch people’s eyes. I know that. In fact, I like it – most of the time anyway. It’s why I’m wearing this dress tonight – a deeply seductive purple made of silk that swims over my body and pools at my feet.

I’m curious, though, as always, to see whose eye I’ve caught this time. Is it a catch worth pursuing, or one to discard back into the sea?

It’s opening night, and one of my mother’s latest beaus has wangled us tickets. All the great and good of the city of Studworth are gracing the theatre tonight. Some I’d like to meet, others I most definitely want to avoid.

Subtly, I lift my gaze, and it’s as if it’s drawn there. Drawn there by a man sitting in one of the boxes high above me. A man I don’t recognise.

He sits at the front, chin resting in his hand, and he’s staring right at me. He makes no attempt to disguise it. He’s dressed in a dark suit, although, unlike many of the men here at the ballet tonight, his white shirt is open at the neck. He has no bow tie. Even through the layers of his jacket, I can tell he is as well built and as powerful as the man I’ve been watching dancing across the stage. Although he’s larger, making the seat he’s crouching on seem minuscule.

And then there are his eyes. Dark and swirling and mesmerising. Capturing my attention and refusing to release it.

My breath stalls in my throat again.

Alpha.

The man is an alpha. And an alpha staring at me with obvious interest.

I quirk my head to one side.

I catch people’s attention all the time. Men and women. Old and young.

Not alphas’ though. I may be something worth gazing at, but I’m one thing no alpha wants. A beta.

Perhaps he can’t tell over the distance. Perhaps he’s mistaken me for the one thing every alpha does want: an omega.

I stare back at him. Meeting those intensely dark eyes with my own.

He’ll look away now. He’ll lose interest.

An omega can’t meet an alpha eye-to-eye. Something in their ancient instincts stirs and they’re compelled to look away. I don’t own those ancient instincts though. I have no problem staring right back at this man, the corner of my mouth curving in a seductive smile.

Most men like that. A little flirtation has their blood stirring. This man will be different though.

I wait for him to turn away.

The music on stage erupts. Trumpets blare. The pitter patter of many feet vibrates the sprung-floor.

He keeps his eyes fixed on mine and the corner of my mouth drops. A shiver traces its way down my spine. His hair is dark too, and his brows and the stubble that runs across his square jaw.

His tongue darts between his lips and traces along his bottom lip.

Then, eyes still locked on me, he stands, watching me as he side-steps his seat.

There’s a command in the way he’s looking at me. I’m no omega. I can’t read it, but I can give it a damn good guess.

I stand too, and for a minute his eyes leave mine, skating across my bare shoulders, lingering at the cleavage of my dress, warming my blood.

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