“I want you,” he says, voice rough and low. “There isn’t a single day since I met you that I haven’t wanted you. You’re all I fucking think about.”
More tears, humiliating and endless, join the first. Corbin’s hand half raises before he pulls it back.
I force the words out, “Then why—”
“Because I’m a broken old man,” he gruffs. “My past… it’s not pretty, Sweetheart. You deserve something better than me and my fractured pack.”
Everything in his expression says that he believes that. I don’t know what I believe yet, but I know my omega wants her mates.
“I decide what I deserve, Corbin.”
His eyes shut like the words actually hit him. When he nods, it’s small… almost pained.
“Please come in, Sweetheart,” he asks again. It's quiet and controlled, but with something shaking under it.
I nod and he helps me up and leads me into his cabin. Deputy pads along behind us. He opens the door and lets me step through first.
His cabin is a beautiful two-story home, built of logs on the outside and finished in polished hardwood within. The whole place smells like him. That warm leather scent seeps straight into my bones, and I can’t stop the sweet perfume that spills from me in response.
Corbin groans behind me.
I turn, startled, and find him white-knuckling the doorframe arch leading to his kitchen. His jaw flexes and his body is tense, like he’s barely holding himself back.
“Are—are you okay?” I ask.
His dark eyes lift to meet mine. He looks ragged, frayed at the edges, right on the line between restraint and unraveling.
He takes a long breath. “I’m fine, Sweetheart.”
But I’m not.
My heart is trying to punch its way out of my chest. My hands are shaking. The room feels hotter, thicker—charged. This couldn’t be a heat spike. Could it?
Still, I don’t say anything as I walk into his living room and sit on the couch. It’s a large space with vaulted ceilings, but still homey. It’s exactly the kind of place that fits him. And I need to have a real conversation with Sheriff Corbin without hormones or our baser selves taking the wheel… yet.
Something suddenly occurs to me.
“What’s your first name? Calling you Sheriff Corbin seems a little silly since we’re…” I trail off, heat curling low in my stomach.
Corbin sits across from me, and the edge of his mouth quirks up. “Everyone calls me Corbin. But… it’s Gideon.” He grimaces. “I never liked it, and it never fit me. So everyone just uses my last name.”
I scrunch up my nose before I can stop myself, and he out-and-out laughs. The sound washes over me like a warm hand stroking down my spine. I didn’t know he could soothe me like that.
“Any other questions?” he asks.
“So now you’re an open book?” I ask, and regret it immediately. He’s trying.
But he doesn’t look angry or defensive. He’s just…remorseful.
He reaches across the small space—slowly, giving me time to pull back—and takes one of my hands in his. His thumb brushes once across my knuckles before he stills. His gaze holds mine with intent, steady and unflinching.
“I’m sorry for not telling you,” he says, voice low. “Not just because of what happened. But because you’re right. It was presumptuous. It was demeaning. You’re an adult, and you deserved to make the decision with all the facts. I shouldn’t have made that choice for both of us.”
My fingers tighten around his, instinctive. Needy. Some part of me terrified he’ll pull away.
I’ve fantasized about Corbin so much it’s embarrassing. To have him here, looking at me like this, saying these words… it’s too much and not enough all at once.
Something must flicker across my face, because he shifts closer on the couch until our thighs touch.
