Mae. Get a grip. You have known this man for approximately seven minutes.
He catches me staring again.
"What?" he repeats, but his voice is lower now. Softer. The smirk has shifted into a half-smile that carries a dangerous amount of warmth.
I do not answer.
He leans in close.
Close enough that his scent intensifies, the vanilla and musk thickening in the diminished space between us until I feel dizzy with it. Close enough that I have to tilt my chin up to maintain eye contact, my hazel eyes meeting his silver-gray ones at an angle that makes the world feel like it has shrunk to the width of his shoulders.
"Do not stare at me with those defiant eyes, Omega," he whispers.
The word Omega rolls off his tongue with his French accent, transforming a biological designation into an endearment that makes my pulse stutter.
"Unlike my playboy brother, I am the type to start wanting what glitters in my eyes."
I blush.
Not the gentle, maiden-in-a-novel blush. The full-body, skin-on-fire, brain-short-circuiting blush that starts at my collarbones and climbs all the way to my hairline. But I do not look away. I hold his gaze with the same defiance he just named, letting him see that whatever is happening between us is not one-sided.
"Well," I murmur, my voice steadier than I deserve, "not everything that glitters is gold, Alpha."
His eyes darken.
The silver flecks in his gray irises seem to ignite, the color deepening into a stormy intensity that drops from my eyes to my lips and back again with a deliberateness that steals the air from my lungs. The playful smirk evaporates, replaced by an expression that is raw and hungry and completely, terrifyingly sincere.
I bite my bottom lip.
Slowly.
Not consciously. Not strategically. It is an involuntary response to the tension that has coiled between us so tight that the air itself feels like it might snap. My teeth press into the soft skin of my lower lip, and I watch his composure fracture in real time.
He growls.
Low. Barely audible. A sound that originates deep in his chest and vibrates through the space between us with a frequency I feel in my bones. It is not aggressive. It is wanting. A primal, instinctive response to an Omega who just bit her lip while staring at him like she is considering destroying every boundary she has ever built.
The tension between us is so taut I can barely breathe. The curtain walls feel like they are closing in, shrinking the world until nothing exists outside this bed and this man and thegravitational pull that is dragging us toward each other with a force that biology has been designing for millennia.
I have never had this reaction to an Alpha.
Never. Not once. Not with the few Alphas who tried to court me in communal housing. Not with the arrogant ones at the shelters who thought offering an Omega dinner entitled them to her body. Not even with Cal or Etienne, whose scents stir interest and warmth but nothing close to this.
This is nuclear.
And knowing he is related to Rafe should throw me off. Should make me pause. Should trigger every rational warning system in my brain that is currently being overridden by the most powerful biological response I have ever experienced.
But I want to kiss him so badly it is dangerous.
Self-control, Mae.
"You are right," he agrees, his voice a murmur that barely disturbs the air.
He leans in further.
Close enough that I can feel the warmth of his lips before they touch mine. Close enough that his breath mingles with mine in the tiny space between our mouths. His nose brushes against mine, the contact featherlight and electric, sending a jolt through my nervous system that makes my fingers curl into the sheets beneath me.
"But I love testing my chances."
