Page 101 of Pack Rivals, Part One

"I wanted to spend time with you and I knew you wouldn't agree." Damn, that came out sounding really bad.

"So you tricked me?"

"Not tricked. I was liberal with the truth."

The corners of her mouth turn down. "I don't like liars. I was lied to before. By the people I loved and …" She swallows hard and looks away.

I rest my forefinger under her chin and guide her face back towards mine.

"You're right and I'm sorry. I fucked up. I ignored what you asked of me and lied to get what I wanted. My only defense is that I like you – god, Bea you must know that by now – and I wanted to spend more time with you." I hold her gaze, give her my most contrite and genuine look. "I fucked up. Can you forgive me?"

She blinks, five times in a row. "You're admitting it? Admitting that you messed up?"

"Yes, that's what grown ups do when they make mistakes and hurt the people they care about. It doesn't mean you have to accept my apology."

"He never apologized. Ever," she murmurs.

"Who didn't, baby?" I ask, my voice hard.

She shakes her head, not wanting to give me that piece of information. But it's that ex-boyfriend. Nate's been dying to visit the man. I'm starting to think we all should.

I don't like the way this beautiful woman questions herself. I don't like the way she's scared to open her heart to us. I'm certain it's all down to the dickhead ex-boyfriend.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, stroking my thumb along her chin. God, she's so soft. I want to touch every part of her. One part in particular. I bet it's infinitely soft. Soft and warm. Wet and tight.

"I forgive you," she says, leaning into my touch without realizing what she is doing.

"Really?" The corner of my mouth twitches. "That easily? You don't want to make me work for that apology?"

"How?" she asks.

"Up to you, sweetheart. You want me to kiss your feet?" We both glance down at the killer pair of heels she's wearing. I lean in to whisper right in her ear. "Or I can kiss anywhere else you'd like? Although, trust me, that wouldn't be a punishment for me. It would be a treat."

She laughs. "Even my ass?"

"Especially your ass," I growl.

"Oh lord," she mutters.

For a flicker of a moment, it looks as if she might finally cave and let me sweep her up into my arms and carry her to the nearest horizontal surface. But as quickly as that weakness seems to enter her eyes, it sinks away. She shakes her head, coming out of her trance.

"I think your punishment should be to take me home."

"Gladly," I say.

"No," she says firmly, her hand resting on my pec, sending my heart bouncing in my chest as if it wants to leap straight out of my ribcage and into her palm. "Home, home. To my place, where I intend to take a long bath and watch a movie."

"You don't want to stay at the party?" Most omegas I've been with love parties. They love the dressing up, the admiration and the attention.

She screws up her nose adorably and shakes her head a second time. "It's not really my thing. I'm more of a beer at the bar kind of girl."

"Are you sure it's that and not that you feel …" I search for the word, not wanting to blow my luck by upsetting her twice in one evening, "intimidated? I know these people can be assholes. But you belong here, Bea, just as much as the next person. You're smart and–"

"How do you know I'm smart?" she asks, with a look of cynicism.

"Because I've talked to you." She lifts an eyebrow not buying that answer. "And also Mrs. Finch said so, said you tidied up some numbers for her that have been bugging her for weeks."

"She said that?"

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