Just like every morning, her interruption comes too soon. Raven scrambles to drop our empty plates in the sink while I grab my gun and our jackets.
Outside, the weather has turned colder, the cloud cover lower than yesterday. It’s supposed to snow this afternoon, but it looks like it might start up sooner than that. Raven tugs her coat closed and zips it up to her chin. She’s gonna catch a cold going out in this. Especially since her publicist still insists on her wearing dresses whenever she’s not practicing. She says they need to play up heromega-ness. Whatever the fuck that means.
Ana rambles on about the history of Milan and howluckyRaven is to be able to experience the art and culture. Fuck, does the woman ever shut up? Apparently we’re headed to see some painting done by a dead dude.
Okay, it’s the famous Last Supper piece done by Leonardo da Vinci—but it’s still just an old ass mural. Why would Raven even care about that, and how the hell is her staring at a wall going to help improve the image of omegas in the Olympics.
I bet it’s not even that impressive. I’ve seen the Mona Lisa in person at the Louvre. It’s small.
Someone must have caught wind of where we were going, because the second we step out of the car at the gallery, the paparazzi are waiting.
“Over here, omega!” someone hollers. “Smile for the camera.”
Raven drops her head, her long hair covering her face. I instinctively wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her to my side, pushing through the crowd. I’ve worked in security for years now, so this isn’t anything new for me. My last client was a movie star who constantly got this kind of treatment. But I wasn’t expecting an Olympic athlete to garner this level of attention. I scan the crowd, looking for anything suspicious as I direct Raven toward the gallery.
Before we reach it, something comes flying toward us. I see it a second before it hits and curl myself around Raven to protect her. The balloon full of pink paint hits my shoulder and explodes over half my face. It’s followed by a rock that grazes my ear.
“You’re supposed to be here to compete, not sight-see! You’re useless. Go home! Let the real athletes have a chance!”
A crowd with picket signs has moved to block our path to the door. I change course, grabbing Raven’s hand and running down a side street. In her low heels, she slips on a patch of ice, and I barely manage to scoop her into my arms before she falls. With sure feet, I keep running. I can hear footsteps behind us, but no one else has turned the corner yet, so I duck into the first little shop I see.
It’s a tourist trap, but cuter than most. The front of the store is filled with locally made wood-carvings while the back has jars of jam, bars of soap, shot glasses with theItalian flag on them and other overpriced knick-knacks people might want to buy as souvenirs.
I quickly carry Raven to the back, away from the window. Her publicist and coach weren’t fast enough to keep up with us, but I don’t really care about them right now. My only concern is the omega in my arms.
“Are you okay?” I ask, looking her over. “You didn’t hurt yourself when you slipped, did you?”
She’s breathing hard, and there’re a few speckles of paint in her hair, but she seems unharmed. I’ve got one arm banded under her back and the other under her knees so I can’t give her a thorough examination, but I’m not ready to let her go.
“I’m fine.” She reaches up with a gloved hand and rubs her thumb across my cheek. “You’ve got…” She smiles impishly. “You look good in pink.”
A chuckle rumbles out of me. “Is that so?”
“Or maybe it’s just really hot that you took a bullet for me,” she whispers.
“It wasn’t a bullet.”
“I meant it as a figure of speech.” Her lips curve up, cheeks and nose red from the cold, eyes sparkling. She’s beautiful, and I can’t look away.
“I would take a bullet for you,” I whisper.
Her smile turns down, eyebrows creasing like she doesn’t like that thought. “I guess that’s your job, right?” She squirms, no longer looking at me. “You can put me down now.”
But I don’t want to stop holding her. She feels right in my arms. My grip tightens, and I drop my head, inhaling with my nose along her neck, right at her scent gland. It’s a subconscious action, a way to calm my alpha nature. I onlyrealize I’ve done it once I catch the lightest whiff of something sweet breaking past her blockers. Adrenaline will do that sometimes. It’s faint, barely there at all, but…fuuuuuck.
She smells like snickerdoodles. Warm, spicy cinnamon and sweet sugar. Absolutely delicious. My mouth waters, my teeth aching in a way they never have before. Even with her scent still half-muted, it’s the best damn thing I’ve ever smelled. I can practically taste cookies on my tongue.
Could she be…? No, I’m just overreacting.
Still, I can’t stop myself from nuzzling closer. When I do, she inhales and makes another one of those breathy sounds she made last night. Can she scent me, too? Probably not. I’m taking strong scent blockers, and my body is used to adrenaline spikes. Unlike hers.
I drag the tip of my nose along her jaw, her chin, all the way around to the scent gland on the other side. She shivers. I tilt my head, lips brushing the column of her long neck. Opening my mouth, I let my teeth scrape over the delicate skin.
“Y-you should probably set me down,” Raven murmurs.
Her soft voice breaks through my haze. Huh? I shake my head, pulling back to look at her flushed face. What the hell am I doing? She’s my client. I shouldn’t be holding her like this, and I definitely shouldn’t be teasing her neck with my teeth and dreaming about sinking them into her.
I set her down a little too fast, and she stumbles into a rack of leather belts. I catch her elbow just in time, but she still manages to knock a few things off the top shelf. As I pick up the fallen belts, I have the sudden vision of wrapping one around her wrists.
