I wrapped my arms around myself and focused on my breathing.
Finally, he stood, unplugging the phone and holding it out to me.
I froze again, and he stepped closer, crowding me, his expression stormy. His gaze was fixed on the collar around my neck. “I hate seeing that on you.”
I took a step back, but he followed. “Yes, well, it’s hard to be a convincing bride-to-be if I refuse things like this.”
His eyes raked my body, alight with intensity. “You’ve got their scent everywhere,” he said, his mouth turned down in a frown.
“Not everywhere,” I said, my thoughts going to Kaos’s claim between my legs. My cheeks heated as his pupils dilated.
His fresh, delectable scent of persimmon and lime was swirling between us, and part of me loved how it mixed with my own scent, making something completely new. Finch closed the distance between us. He lifted his arms, caging me in as he breathed in and out, his eyes perusing my body.
“Is that right?” he said, his voice a low purr.
I looked up at him, my face feeling like it was on fire.
I was here. Pressed up against him.
Completely at his mercy.
Did he even have any?
Did I want him to?
But he couldn’t just act like he suddenly had a claim on me after everything he’d done. He’d bonded me with the hubris of thinking he’d be able to resist this pull.
He thought he could fight thousands of years of evolution.
Finch seemed to think a lot of things, and he was wrong about most.
He leaned closer, rubbing his neck against me and causing his fresh scent to sparkle in the air as it marked my skin.
Heat flooded my cheeks, rushing to my core as I let out a little whimper. He growled in answer, his hands coming to rest on my hips, but I’d already let this go too far. I didn’t have the luxury of changing or showering before I’d have to face the Lucas pack again.
“Fuck,” I panted, pushing back against him. “Finch, stop. You can’t scent-mark me here.”
He didn’t let go, and I pushed harder, looking up at him. Something was off about him. I took in the wild look in his eyes, the way his scent was tinged with intensity.
“Finch,” I said frantically, tugging him to face me. “Are you near a rut?”
He didn’t seem to hear me, his eyes fixed on my lips as he dipped closer.
Shit.
I grabbed his shoulder, digging my thumbnail into the pressure point below his collarbone. He flinched, and I took the chance to dart under him, getting some distance between us.
He turned, his expression dark and the wildness still present.
I panted, trying not to think of how close his lips had come to mine. “Finch,” I said, throwing a pen at his shoulder. He blinked, some sense dawning on his flushed face. “Are you near a rut?” I asked again.
He straightened and looked away from me, brushing off his suit stiffly. “No. I don’t rut,” he said, and my mouthdropped open.
“You sure?” I opened my handbag and grabbed my scent blocker. “You just scent-marked me! What was that about?”
He crossed his arms, looking like I was forcing him to chew glass as I waited for him to speak. “My apologies,” he said finally. “It seems my instincts got the better of me.”
“Well, don’t do it again. I found it rather distasteful,” I said with a touch of bitterness. No, I definitely wasn’t ready to move on and leave the past in the past.
