He nods, then closes off the stairway behind me.
By the time I’ve made it to the tables marked off for the party on the second floor, the sour, distressed edge to my scent is gone, and my skin no longer feels like it’s trying to sink into mybones. My buzz is also beginning to fade, but I don’t mind. My eyes flutter shut as I take long breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth.
A woman’s laughter cuts through the thrumming bass of the music. When I glance toward the noise, I find a trio of people leaning against the railing just outside of the sectioned off area, their hands all over each other. I quickly look away and head toward the back of the private area. It takes me a minute to find my bag where it’s stashed beside Billie’s in the far corner, nestled beside all of our coats, and then I drop into one of the plush booths.
There’s no sign of the friend of Rhett’s that planned this entire event, though a few perfumes still linger in the space. For a heartbeat, I swear I can smell the faint lemongrass that’s been messing with my body for nearly two weeks now. Rhett disappeared only a few minutes after we got here, pulled away by someone he clearly knew, without more than a quick glance back at his brother.
There’s a sullen little girl inside of me I’m refusing to acknowledge that’s miffed over him not taking notice. As if Iwantto be noticed by one of Dad’s players. It’s not just that my dad would have a conniption if I tried dating any of the people he coaches. Hockey players are, well,players. If they aren’t in a serious relationship—either married or packed up—then they’re seemingly attempting to break whatever unspoken leaderboard exists regarding how many casual hookups one person can manage in a single season.
I donotwant to be a casual hookup.
My body perfumes again in direct opposition to my thoughts, and I groan.
“JesusChrist.”
Crap. Now I’m even imagining his voice, all ragged and breathless like he was during that intermission interview lastweek when the Scorpions were up by two goals. My perfume pulses out from me even as I blindly reach for my bag. I need to get new lotion onnow. This upper section won’t stay empty for the entire night, and a distressed Omega’s scent hasnothingon the enthrallment of an Omega scenting out of pure need.
“Wait.”
A hand closes over my wrist. My eyes flash open, shock and fear overriding the need pulsing through my body. Rhett looms over me, one knee perched on the booth’s bench seat, his body blocking the rest of the club. I swallow back a scream but don’t quite manage to stop my flinch. A pulse of my scent pushes out from me, bitter with my sudden fear. His eyes widen, and his jaw drops in surprise, but his hold on my wrist is unrelenting.
“Orchids,” he whispers. He sounds almost shell-shocked. “Fuck,that’swhy I’ve been dreaming of goddamn orchids.”
“W-what?” My voice shakes.
He frowns, his eyes searching me. His thumb runs over my fluttering pulse as he eases closer.
“Perfume for me again,” he whispers.
With a frown, I carefully back away from him, letting the lotion drop out of the hand he still holds immobile.
“That’s rude to ask,” I manage to say. Even if most of my body is happy to comply.
A corner of his mouth flicks up.
“Yeah, I know. Do it anyway.” He twists a strand of my hair around his finger. I barely hear him whisper, “Please.”
The soft murmur—the way it rumbles through his chest—and his hot, hungry gaze are enough to have my body clenching around nothing. My perfume surrounds us in one quick, unadulterated wave. His eyes squeeze shut, and his Adam’s apple moves with a heavy swallow. I can’t help but get caught on the movement, my stomach clenching. As if in response,lemongrass pulses out from him, an answer and invitation I don’t understand.
All those fantasies that have been filling my dreams flood my mind. His lips, his skin, hishair. I need to feel all of them. Even more, I need to have his weight pressing me into this booth while he marks every single inch of me with that scent I can’t stop thinking about. The desire is so strong, it’s like getting hit with all the force of a freight train. My breath catches.
A freight train.
Timber’s words filter through the haze of my unexplainable desire.
You won’t need to wonder if you’ve matched with someone. It’ll hit you out of nowhere like a fucking freight train that’s gone off the rails.
I wet my lips, trying to figure out how to put any of it into words. Rhett manages before me.
“Scent matches,” he says. He gently pulls my wrist closer to him, running his nose along the pad of my thumb. His nostrils flare, and another pulse of lemongrass emanates from him. “You’re my scent match.”
Scent match.
All I can manage is a nod.
He leans forward, not hesitating for a heartbeat, and then his lips are on mine. They’re the oddest of paradoxes: hard and demanding and yet infinitely gentle. His hand cups my cheek, his fingers twisting into my hair, as his tongue traces the seam of my lips. His body is a wall of heat in front of me, edging closer as he settles on the bench beside me, his knee wedging between my own.
Every single instinct, every primal drive, roars up through me, and I’m helpless to resist. I melt against him as I let him deepen the kiss. He tastes like rum and soda and every childhood wish come to life. His tongue dances with mine. Iperfume all over again, my body so on fire I might literally combust from it. Nothing has felt like this, not even my toys.
