Want. Mine. Yes.
I shut that down immediately, but not before I feel the first hint of slickness between my thighs.
Absolutely not.
He's my boss. I've known him for all of five seconds. I am NOT doing this.
"—been doing stocktake for the past week, but I'm only halfway through. Turns out running a store solo means inventory gets... creative."
I blink, realizing I missed half of what he said because I was too busy trying not to inhale like a creep. "Creative?"
"I found a box of Christmas lights labeled 'misc plumbing.'" He grins, and there's something self-deprecating about it that makes my stomach flip. "So yeah. I could really use your help sorting through the chaos this morning before we dive into themarketing stuff. That's really why I hired you—to help get this place's social media and branding sorted. But first, we need to know what we actually have to work with. Sound good?"
"Sounds perfect." And I mean it. Organizing, creating systems—this is exactly my kind of challenge. Plus it's what he hired me for. "Where do we start?"
He leads me to the back room, and I'm definitely not watching the way he moves. Not noticing how his flannel stretches across his back when he reaches up to flip on the overhead lights. Not thinking about what all that alpha strength would feel like pressed against me, pinning me?—
Professional thoughts only, Bea.
The back roomisn't big. Maybe twelve by twelve, stacked with boxes in complete chaos.
Which means when River and I work, we're constantly in each other's space.
Not on purpose. Just... limited room.
But every time he reaches past me for a box, I get another hit of that pine-sawdust-alpha scent. Every time our hands brush, my skin feels too hot. My body is a traitor—each accidental touch, and I feel myself getting slicker.
Alphas always know.
"You're really good at this," River says after the first hour, watching me create order from disaster.
I'm kneeling on the concrete floor organizing electrical supplies, hyper-aware that he's standing right behind me. "Business degree, remember?" My voice comes out breathier than intended.
"Right." He hands me another box, and his fingers brush mine. The contact sends heat straight to my core. "My mom's the same way. Omega. Runs our entire pack's finances."
"How many alphas?" I ask, trying to focus on stacking paint cans and not on how slick I'm getting.
"Three. Mom says she needed the extra help to keep them all in line." He grins. "They came from different packs originally, but once they found her, that was it. Your mom has two, right? I remember Ben mentioning it."
"Yeah. Dad and Papa. Mom keeps them from burning down the house on a weekly basis."
"Sounds about right." His laugh is warm. "Nice to meet someone else who gets it. Pack life—chaos and love in equal measure."
We share a grin, that moment of understanding—both of us knowing what it's like to grow up surrounded by that kind of devotion, that particular brand of organized chaos.
I stand, brushing dust off my knees, and reach for the clipboard on the shelf. At the same moment, River reaches for it too. Suddenly we're both standing there, his chest nearly pressed against my back, his arm extended past my shoulder. That scent surrounding me completely.
I freeze.
So does he.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. I can feel the heat of him, hear his breathing change. My omega is screaming at me to lean back, to press against all that strength, to tilt my head and bare my neck and beg?—
"Sorry," River says, voice rough. He steps back quickly, and I catch the change in his scent. Darker. Heavier.
Arousal.
He's affected too.
