Page 11 of Knotty New Year

“The grid is down in a large part of the city, and they’ve closed the roads. I know you’ve got the baby there. You have enough food, I hope? I’m fairly sure your household staff won’t be able to make it in until after Christmas.”

Fuck.I hadn’t even considered that. Alone with that tempting omega until the snow melted. “I’m not helpless, Ed. I raised nine siblings. I can cook a few meals.”

The music cut off; Edward had gone to a different room. “What’s up, Pax? Something’s wrong.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll let you get back to your family.” After he’d thanked me for the gifts I’d sent his grandkids, I hung up and made another call. “Theodore, I need information. What is a thing called Knotmate.com?”

“The matchmaking service?” His voice broke like a teenager. “Sir, if you want me to make you a profile, I am happy to do so, but I’d much rather try to set up a few dates with select indivi—”

“No, I don’t want to fucking date. Tell me about the service.” I rubbed my forehead as he went on to gush about the matchmaking service for the elite that specialized in finding “close enough” matches for wealthy alphas who’d given up on finding their true mate.

The mother of all headaches was coming on. Probably due to lack of blood flow to my brain; I’d had a hard-on since I’d first smelled that luscious omega in my front hall.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to create an anonymous profile?” Theodore asked. “You could go on a few dates. Who knows, your true mate could be right around the corner!”

“You have no idea,” I grunted and hung up. I made a mental note to actually fire my PA once this storm was over. He seemed far too keen on discussing my mate status.

I sat there, wondering what the hell to do. I wanted a whiskey, but I knew better. If I couldn’t control my own bark stone-cold sober, after a glass or three of Balvenie, I’d probably last five minutes before I’d have my knot stretching her tight cunt and my teeth in her neck.

My cock gave a jerk in my pants, and I glared down at it. She wouldn’t want an old, dried-up bachelor, even if she did feel the true mate bond, which she’d shown no signs of noticing. That made me a little more bitter than I liked to admit.

Was it just me? She had come into her status later than most. Maybe she would have a delayed reaction to my presence, my pheromones. If I stayed away from her, she could go on her merry way as soon as the roads cleared. I’d give her the damn bonus. Fuck, I’d find her a job in an international branch of Paxson Pharma. She deserved that, deserved happiness, and a chance at the life she’d chosen before.

Not a tired old alpha who felt like the worst sort of degenerate every time those cherry-pink nipples poked through my little sister’s t-shirt.

I could fix the clothing issue. I’d get her a shirt to layer over the inappropriate tee. And some sweats. And a sweater vest. That was it. I would cover her so completely in clothing that I wouldn’t be able to see her curvy, irresistible, biteable body. That’s what I would do.

The baby monitor on my desk began playing a song that was vaguely familiar, about wanting to build a snowman, if completely out of tune. Then the woman’s voice stopped singing, and said, “Benjamin, you are such a good boy. I’m going to teach you to say some nice words, so when your mommy comes home, she doesn’t cut-cut your Unky Nik-Nik’s wiener off. Cut cut cut!”

Benjamin repeated, “Cut cut cut!”

For the first time all day, my cock went the slightest bit soft. “I’ll take it as a win,” I muttered and stood, heading to my bedroom to find clothing that would work to make that tasty omega into a snowman.

* * *

A half hour later, I knew exactly where to find Candace and Benjamin from the racket. I just wasn’t certain why they were still in that room, and not the nursery.

She was on the kitchen floor with him, her back to me, both of them beating on the copper bottoms of Chef Adaline’s French stockpots. She’d pulled her dark hair up into a messy knot on top of her head. Her skin was pink and flushed with exertion and laughter as she yelled out, “Drum solo!”

Benjamin had obviously figured out this game because he screamed, “Dum!” and whacked the pot over and over with one hand.

I stared as she scooted across the marble floor to sit behind him, wrapping her arms around him and letting him hold a spoon in each hand. “If you can figure out how to use both hands to play the drums, I can get you a gig in a band downtown. My friends’ drummer moved away. Honestly, you have more talent in your little finger than Rory did in both arms.” With her arms over his, she beat out arat-a-tatthat had Benjamin screaming for more.

“He won’t have the motor skills to play with both hands for at least another two years, possibly more,” I said when they stopped for a break. She twisted her head around, enough to acknowledge my presence, but didn’t look at me. Her sweet scent went slightly bitter, like burned crème brûlée. It bothered me more than it should. “Are you afraid of me?” I asked quietly.

Her shoulders rounded, like she was trying to curl into a ball. “Mr. Paxson, please don’t take this the wrong—”

“Pax,” I interrupted. “Or Nick. My siblings call me Nicky. My friends call me Pax.” I wanted her to call me that. Yell it, as she came apart under my hands, my tongue.

“Mr. Paxson,” she repeated, a little more starch in her tone. It pleased me to hear. “I think if you’re going to bark again, you should stay in your office. Benjamin’s bedtime is in an hour. I’ll stay in your sister’s room, and you don’t even need to see me.”

“Good,” I said, hating how she flinched. “I put clothing for you in her room, on the bed.”

“I can just wear th—”

“No.” I cut her off again, and she shivered slightly.Damnit.When had I become the kind of alpha who terrified young omegas?

About three hours ago, apparently.

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