After I help Mrs. Patterson find her wood stain and ring her up—enduring far too many meaningful looks—I find Bea in the stock room with her hands pressed to her burning cheeks.
"I hate this town," she mutters.
"She means well."
"She means to call every single busybody in Honeyridge Falls." Bea drops her hands, meeting my eyes. The embarrassment in her scent is almost sharp enough to cut through the sweetness. "God, is it that obvious?"
My heart kicks against my ribs. "That your scent's changing?" I lean against the doorframe, keeping my distance because every instinct I have is screaming at me to cross that room, to get closer. My hands are actually shaking. "Yeah, sweetheart. It's getting pretty obvious."
I don't tell her what I'm afraid it means. That it could be pre-heat. But I've never been around an omega going into heat before. What if I'm wrong?
"Great. Fantastic. Perfect."
"Hey." I cross to her, catching her hands in mine. "It's not a bad thing."
"It's embarrassing. Everyone can smell that I'm—" She cuts herself off, shaking her head.
"That you want us?" I tug her closer, until there's barely any space between us. "That you want all three of us. That your body's broadcasting it to anyone with a nose."
My instincts roar approval. My scent surges, going deeper, richer—pine and sawdust turning dark and possessive. She breathes it in and I watch her eyes go darker.
"That's nothing to be embarrassed about."
"Says the alpha who doesn't have to walk around smelling like a bakery."
"You really do, though. Like caramelized apples and brown sugar. Makes me want to lick you all over to see if you taste as good as you smell."
"River—"
"Not sorry." I brush my thumbs across her knuckles. "And for what it's worth? I like that everyone can smell how much you want us. Means they know you're taken."
"Possessive much,boss?" She's teasing again, that spark back in her eyes despite the flush in her cheeks.
There's that word again. A week ago I would've protested. But the way she says it now, breathy and teasing with us alone in here? It does something to me. Makes every possessive instinct I have snap to attention.
"Keep calling me that," I hear myself say, voice gone rough, "and we're not making it to that pack dinner tonight."
"Is that a threat or a promise?"
Her scent goes impossibly sweeter, and her eyes go darker—breathing shallow, pulse racing.
"You're doing it again," she whispers.
"Doing what?"
"Making it hard to think."
"Good." I step closer, crowding her against the desk, one hand bracing beside her hip. Not touching her yet, but so close I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "Because I haven't been able to think straight since you started working here. Since you walked in here smelling like pie and trouble and mine."
Her breath hitches. "River?—"
"And now you're calling me boss in that voice, looking at me with those eyes, and I can smell how much you want this." I lean in, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear. "How much you wantme."
"We're at work," she manages, but her hands are fisting in my flannel shirt, pulling me closer even as she protests.
"I don't care."
"Someone could walk in?—"
