He crossed the room in three strides, his hands finding my shoulders, his gaze searching my face.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You left. You were flushed. I could smell—" He stopped, his jaw clenching. "How long do you have?"
Heat crept up my neck. Everyone in the box was pretending not to listen, but I could feel their attention.
"Can we talk about this in the car?" I whispered.
He didn't move. "How long,Princesse?"
I swallowed. "Two days. I think I have two days. It starts slow, builds for twelve hours, disappears and then comes back with a vengeance."
His nostrils flared. His pupils blew wide, swallowing the hazel of his eyes until they were almost black.
He could smell me. Even through the spray, even with all the people around us, he could smell my heat starting.
What did that mean?
Was he mine?
"I need to shower," he said, his voice rough. "But I can do it at home. We're going home now."
He didn't wait for an argument. His hand found mine, his fingers lacing through mine with a possessiveness that should have scared me.
I didn’t know why, but it didn't.
The drive back was torture.
Etienne drove in silence, his jaw tight, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The engine purred, the road smooth, but the air between us was anything but.
He smelled of sweat and earth and something darker, richer. He smelled like my alpha.
Mine.
No. Not mine. I cleared my throat and stared at the traffic out of the window. This was an arrangement. Nothing else. I just had to let my body know because it didn't careabout arrangements. Slick soaked through my underwear. I shifted in my seat, trying to find a position that didn't make me hyperaware of every ache, every pulse of need.
Etienne's hand tightened on the wheel.
"Don't," he said, his voice strained.
"Don't what?"
"Don't move like that. Your scent—" He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair. "Pres, you're killing me."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." His eyes cut to me, dark and hungry. "Just stay still. Please."
I pressed my hands into my lap and stared out the window, counting the minutes until we reached the townhouse.
The moment the car stopped, Etienne was out and around to my side, opening the door, offering his hand.
"Come."
It wasn't a request.
