She cuts me off with a sharp laugh, almost bitter. “No. No, you didn’t mean it. You never do. That’s the problem.”
It’s a slap in the face, but I don’t move, don’t pull away. Instead I stand there, watching her retreat, the burn of that kiss still lingering on my lips.
But she doesn’t turn around. Not yet. She’s still standing there, her back to me, her body rigid. My pulse is pounding in my ears, matching the throbbing between my legs, and every inch of me is screaming to close the space, to pull her into me, to make everything right.
To make everything the way it should be.
I want to reach out and press against her. I want to mark her as mine. I want to show her that I won’t let her break like this. That I won’t let her break ever again.
But I can’t. She’s walking away, retreating into herself, and my mind is a hurricane of confusion and frustration.
Everything between us—her, me, the pull, the years of distance and history, the secret scent match—feels like it’s about to crush me. I can’t let this happen, not like this. Not when she’s this close, with her taste on my lips and her scent and her energy tearing me apart from the inside out.
Every inch of me wants to bridge the gap. But I stay frozen, watching her, feeling the strain between us stretch thin, like a rope about to snap.
But this time, I don’t let it stop me.
I follow her outside when the jingle of the bell over the door snaps me out of my trance.
I can’t let her get away again.
My Alpha inside will never forgive me if I do.
CHAPTER 11
Lo
Of course this is happening. Of course it is.
I leave the bar, and just as I step out into the crisp winter air, I smell him. All pine and leather and the warmth of autumns past.
I didn’t expect him to follow me.
Something shifts between us again. Something I’m choosing to ignore, because it isn’t like I’m staying. This is just a layover. Somewhere to rest my head, gather my thoughts, and to get away from the nonsense that has a tendency to follow me wherever I go.
But I can feel it just the same. Feel him and that damned electrical current that seems to sizzle between the two of us. It makes the whole world crackle.
It makes my Omega want to kneel.
My skin burns in the cold.
And then he’s there, too close. At my back. Hovering over me. Towering, with that damned shadow of his that he seems to know how to wield against everyone and everything.
Damn him.
Damn Ford to hell for ever making me feel this way.
“Lo, we need to?—”
“I don’t need to talk,” I snap, and I can feel my pulse thundering in my ears.
God, I hate this. Hate that I can’t stop this… thisthingbetween us.
I want more. More than being knotted and knocked up and kept pregnant until I die.
But the pounding.
The pulsing.
