Everything was ready. The contract, the accommodations, the transportation, the approach. All that remained was making contact, presenting the offer, and waiting for her to make the choice I'd engineered her into making.
I picked up the portfolio again and held it against my chest. Soon she'd be here, in this building, close enough that I could ensure her safety every moment. Close enough that her applepie scent would linger in the hallways, so that I'd know exactly where she was and whether she was okay. Close enough that the protective instincts currently tearing at my control would have something concrete to focus on.
Then and only then, we would have six weeks to win her heart, or we’d lose her forever.
Chapter Five
Jasmine
I jolted awake to voices outside my tent... inaudible murmurs that slithered through the thin canvas walls. My heart hammered three rapid beats before I forced it to slow. I shivered as my breath fogged the air before me. The cold had crystallized in my bones overnight, fracturing sleep into jagged shards of consciousness.
My dreams had clawed at me. Though they felt more like memories that burned to touch, yet froze when I tried to push them away. I tried to stretch out, but my ankle screamed with each pulse of blood, and every frozen ridge of earth beneath me dug in like a knife-edge against my spine. I yanked my useless coat tighter and crawled toward the tent flap, my hands finding the familiar positions on the cold ground, my ankle dragging slightly behind me. The pain spiked when I put weight on it wrong, a sharp reminder that I needed to be more careful, that I couldn't afford an injury that would leave me unable to run if I needed to.
My fingers found the zipper, and I worked it down with stiff movements. The metal teeth separated with a sound that seemed too loud in the morning quiet. As I pushed the flap open, I expected to see the usual view of other tents, morning cook fires, and the slow shuffle of people starting their day.
Instead, I saw boots.
Black leather, polished to a shine that seemed impossible in a place like this, where everything was coated in a film of dust and grime. Expensive boots, the kind that cost more than I'd made in the last month. Heck, the last three months! They were planted firmly on the frozen ground directly in front of my tent, close enough that I could have reached out and touched them.
My breath caught in my throat.
I looked up slowly, my eyes traveling over dark slacks that held a perfect crease, a charcoal suit jacket that fit with the precision of custom tailoring, and finally to a face I recognized with a jolt of pure terror.
Him.
The Alpha from last night. The one with the black car, the oak scent, and the eyes that had pinned me in place like a butterfly on a board.
He was here. At my tent. In the encampment where I'd thought I was safe, where I'd thought I could hide.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice quiet and controlled, the same careful neutrality I'd seen in his expression last night.
I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. My hands were still gripping the tent flap, my body half in and half out, completely vulnerable.
He shifted slightly, and then he extended his hand toward me. Palm up, fingers relaxed, an offer rather than a demand. “Let me help you up.”
Every instinct screamed at me to retreat into the tent, to zip it closed and pretend I wasn't here, that he couldn't see me. But that was impossible. He'd already found me. Already knew exactly where I was.
I stared at his hand. It was steady, unshaking, with long fingers and a broad palm. No rings. Clean nails. It was the handof someone who didn't do physical labor, who paid other people to handle the difficult things.
I should refuse. Should crawl out on my own, maintaining what little independence I had left.
But my ankle was throbbing, and the cold had made my muscles stiff, and something about the way he stood there patiently, just waiting, made me reach out almost before I'd decided to.
My fingers touched his palm, and warmth flooded through me.
It wasn't just the heat of skin contact, though his hand was warm compared to my frozen fingers. This was something else, something that started where we touched and spread up my arm like liquid sunlight, filling my chest with a sensation I didn't have words for. It felt like standing too close to a fire after being cold for hours, like the first sip of hot tea, like safety and danger all tangled as one.
I gasped, a small sound I couldn't suppress, and his fingers closed gently around mine.
He pulled, and I rose, my body responding automatically even as my mind raced to catch up. My bad ankle protested when I put weight on it, and I stumbled slightly, but his grip steadied me. He didn't pull me closer, didn't use the opportunity to invade my space. Just held my hand until I had my balance, then released me.
I stood there, breathless and confused, and that's when the scent hit me fully.
Oak; deep, rich, and overwhelming, filling my nose and lungs with every breath. Alpha. Unmistakable and undeniable, the chemical signature that my Omega biology recognized and responded to against every rational thought in my head.
I backed away fast, nearly tripping over my own feet. My hands came up automatically, a useless defense, as my heart started hammering against my ribs.
“No,” I breathed. “No, I don't—I can't—”
