“That’s why they called me this morning.” There’s a note of pity in his voice now, and I drop my gaze to the carpet, unable to meet his eyes. “They asked me to stop by and smooth things over with you.”
They sent Crest to…handle me?My eyes blur as I look around the suite. We might have spent most of our time in the bedroom, but we came out here to grab snacks and to watch the sunset, since this room has the best view. My heart gives a sickening thump as I realize the tuxedo jackets they’d slung over the sofa are gone. I’m pretty sure they weren’t in the bedroom either. But maybe they put them back on…to get French toast and lattes?
I don’t think that’s a thing, even in Hollywood.
Still, it’s hard to surrender the little hope I have left as I glance at my phone on the coffee table. My fingers twitch to grab it, but what am I going to do then? Call them up and demand they come back and face me? We haven’t even got around to sharing our full names yet, let alone exchanging numbers…
I rub my chest like I can cram the growing hurt back into my heart.
“Can we call them? Please?” It’s embarrassing to beg, but I can’t just walk out of here without trying to get an explanation from them. I mean, it doesn’t make sense. Not after the way they tended to me, so sweet and hungry at the same time. Like I was the most irresistible omega they’d ever met, Otley growling encouragement in my ear as he coached me through taking Ellis’ knot… It was embarrassing, hot, and perfect at the same time, and even as my haze started to wane, they were still telling me how much they wanted to bite and bond me. Unless those were just heat-of-the-moment words, and this whole thing was… hormone overload?
“You gotta see how it looks to them,” Crest goes on, rocking on his heels and giving me one of his oily smiles. “Cute omega from the farm sets her sights on two eligible alphas… You practically mowed down a waiter to get to them at the party. We all saw it. And hey, I’m not judging. They’re rich, attractive guys. You had to shoot your shot.”
I try to swallow, but my throat is prickling with tears. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’ttargetthem. I approached them, yes, but they were the ones who followed me outside.”Into the moonlight, where they got drunk on my scent, then followed me upstairs to my hotel room…
“Sure. Sure. I believe you.” He waves a hand, but when he glances at his watch, something curls up inside me like a dying flower. Because I can see the clock on the wall and it’s clear that breakfast was over hours ago. The truth hits me like a bolt to my aching chest. The guys didn’t go to get food; they snuck out of my room so this guy could come in andsmooth things over. “Look, the boys aren’t complaining. You all had your fun, but now that’s over and you need to move on.”
Not complaining?I might be withering inside, but a flash of white-hot fury burns through my blood. What the hell did they have to complain about exactly? Three days of non-stop knotting?
I want to scream at him, to tell him to stop twisting my heat into something ugly. All the moments of tenderness we shared have been playing on a loop in my head, but now they make me feel sick. Were they lying about us being scent matches? Was it just my hormones spiraling out of control? I mean, we were all riding high on a tsunami of pheromones, but the guys were so patient and careful with me. Was it just an act, and now it’s over, they were worried about me… what? Going shopping for bonding rings?
It's such a ridiculous notion, I almost laugh. And when did this whole attraction become so one-sided? I’d been eager, sure, but the guys had ripped off their own clothes like they were on fire. I’m talking bouncing buttons and airborne shoes, their lusty enthusiasm making me feel every inch the irresistible omega...
“You spoke to them?” I hate asking, but I need to know. “This morning?”
I can’t remember exactly when they snuck out of bed, but I can still feel their kisses lingering on my lips. Was that two hours ago or three? Was my scent still on their skin when they called Crest, asking him to take care of their mutual problem?
“The way I see it,” Crest goes on, “if you go without a fuss, we can just chalk it up to a bit of summer fun. But if you try to contact them, or push for any kind of compensation, you’re in for a rude shock.”
Wait.He thinks this is aboutmoney?
“Just… stop talking.” I take an unsteady step back towards the bedroom. “I want to pack my things and go home.”
“Look, how about I sweeten the deal?” Ignoring my broken murmur, he takes a wallet from his pocket and starts counting out crisp fifty-dollar bills. “We’ll make it an even three grand. Will that put the smile back on your pretty face?”
I stare at him with a mixture of shock and revulsion. “I don’t want your money,” I hiss, swallowing back the nausea in my throat. “I’m not going to take a damn cent from you.”
“Don’t be coy now, Ms. Percy.” He clicks his tongue as he steps towards me and tucks the folded money into the belt of my bathrobe. He’s so close I can see the red lines in his eyes and the shiny veneers on his teeth as he gives me his shark grin. “Just because you didn’t scoop the main prize doesn’t mean you have to go home empty-handed.”
CHAPTER ONE – LILY
Ten years later
Aged 28
“A lily a day keeps the Prozac away, am I right?”
I huff a laugh at my best friend over the bucket of freshly cut flowers I’m lugging into her coffee shop. “I don’t know about that,” I reply as I heave the delivery onto the counter and wipe my damp hands on the ass of my worn jeans. “You look at these flowers and admire their shiny petals and inhale their sweet perfume.Isee the hours of back-breaking labor and smell the mountains of manure I can never quite wash off.”
Kaysie blows a raspberry at me, her nose ring flashing like a tiny fairy light. She spent a year in Seattle right out of high school and came back with a blue fauxhawk, a sleeve of tattoos, and a very hot musician boyfriend. The boyfriend split – for reasons still unexplained – but Kaysie gets another piercing every year on the anniversary of his departure. “All I can see when I look at these luscious blooms is you sitting in your jammies singing them lullabies, you big softie.”
I snort, but I can’t really defend myself. When we were fifteen, an unexpected heatwave nearly took out our whole crop. Kaysie came over to help us baby the flowers through it, and collapsed into my bed with me, exhausted from lugging water buckets all day. When she woke up alone at midnight, she came to find me in the fields. And yes, I may have been in the middle of a Cheryl Crow serenade at the time.
“They gave me a standing ovation,” I quip as I navigate around a bookcase and slide into a chair where our weekly ritual is already set out before us. Every Monday morning, I drive into town and spend an hour at Kaysie’s store,Buds, Books & Brews. It’s the only place in our small town where you can read a book, recharge with a coffee, and depart with a bunch of the finest flowers in Idaho. Homegrown on the farm of yours truly, since Rosie retired six months ago and handed the business over to me.
“You heard from Rosie?” Kaysie asks, like she’s read my mind. “What state is she in again?”
“I think she’s in Arizona.” Rosie is on a road trip to sniff every state flower in the country. Last week she sent me a picture of the elusive fire poppies in the Santa Ynez Mountains outside Santa Barbara. It’s been a long time since I thought about California without a mixture of anger and regret, but the wildflowers were so beautiful, I tacked the picture to my refrigerator.
