Where he lives. Where Sergio and Pedro and Nacho live. Where I'd be surrounded by four alphas and their scents and their presence while my body counts down to a heat that's coming in less than two weeks.
My omega practically screamssign me up immediately.
"I can't," I whisper.
"Why not?"
Because I'm terrified if I go to that house, surrounded by their scents and their care, I might never want to leave.
"It would be complicated," I say finally.
He takes a step toward me.
Then another.
His scent gets stronger. Sandalwood and sawdust with something underneath. Something heated. Something alpha.
"Everything's already complicated, Jess." His voice is low. Intimate. Does things to my nerve endings. "You're alone in a flooding house at four in the morning. Your ex is stalking you. Your body's changing." Another step. He's so close now I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. So close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "Let us help you."
"I don't know how." The confession tumbles out. "I spent two years with someone who convinced me I couldn't do anything without him. And now I don't trust myself. Don't trust anyone."
His hand comes up.
Slowly. Giving me every opportunity to step back.
His fingers brush my jaw. Rough calluses catching on my skin. The touch sends electricity through my entire body, lighting up nerves I didn't know existed.
"Then trust me," he murmurs. His thumb strokes my cheekbone, and I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything except feel. "Just for tonight. Let me fix your pipes and prove that not everyone who wants to help you has an ulterior motive."
We're so close. Inches apart. His breath is warm on my face, smelling like coffee and mint. His eyes have gone dark, the pupils blown wide, swallowing up the summer blue.
His scent wraps around me, mixing with mine, and I can feel my omega rising to the surface. Wanting. Needing. Recognizing him on a level that terrifies me.
"Six years ago," he says, voice dropping even lower, "I kissed you on that porch."
My heart stops. Then starts again, triple time, trying to escape my chest.
"You ran. I've spent every day since then wondering what would have happened if you'd stayed." His thumb traces my lower lip, and I shiver. "Tell me to stop, and I'll stop. I'll patch your pipe and leave and never bring this up again. I'll be the perfect professional contractor who definitely doesn't think about you every single day."
I should say it. Should protect myself. Should run like I always do.
But I'm so tired of running. So tired of being scared. So tired of denying what I want because I'm afraid of what it means.
"Don't stop," I whisper.
He kisses me.
And oh God, it's nothing like the kiss six years ago.
This is six years of waiting poured into the space between us.
His mouth is hot and demanding. His hand slides from my jaw into my damp hair, angling my head so he can deepen the kiss, and I grab the front of his henley with both hands and hold on for dear life.
He tastes like coffee and mint and something primal. It makes my omega purr so loud I'm genuinely concerned he can hear it.
His other hand grips my hip, pulling me flush against him, and I feeleverything. The solid wall of his chest. The strength in his arms. The hard length of him pressed against my stomach through his jeans.
Heat explodes low in my belly. Not the medical heat Pedro warned me about. This is different. Better. Worse. The kind that makes me press my thighs together and make sounds I didn't know I could make.
