Trembling and sweating, I lurch backward. My shoulder hits the door, which closes, providing a firm surface to support me. Sweat covers my skin, dripping down my face and plastering my shirt to my skin.
The basket slips from my hands to land on the carpet with a thud.
My vision blurs, or perhaps my alpha snatched control for a little bit and didn’t share, because all of a suddenly, I’m on thefloor, Johanna kneeling by my side though I don’t remember seeing her move.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “Do you need help? Should I call 911?”
“No.” I swallow, the lump still sticking in my throat. My fingers twitch as I start to reach for the supplemental suppressors in my jacket pocket, ready to take one or two no matter how dry my mouth. Anything to keep my inner alpha under control.
Except, he’s not pushing. Or grabbing. Or doing anything but drinking in her nearness and longing for her.
“Can I hold your hand?” Mine trembles as I turn toward her. “I think touch may ease my alpha.”
“I—hold hands? I guess so.” Even as she stumbles over her answer, her fingers twine with mine. Soft. Warm. Her thumb smooths the back of my hand in a tick-tock motion, like the beating of a heart.
Two hearts pulse in our chests. Her thumb matches neither in its back-and-forth, but sometimes it hits the beat throbbing at my throat and, other times the far fainter vibration at the base of her hand—as though trying to reconcile the two.
A shaky breath escapes her as her scent changes. The cranberry note sweetens, and the hint of cedar that had hung about her fades away. Only her scent and mine remain, mingling like our fingers.
“I’m too old for this.” She grimaces and shifts to sitting on the carpet next to me, rubbing her knees with her free hand.
My legs ache in sympathy. Kneeling is one more item on the long list of things I can’t do as much or for as long as I used to.
Johanna keeps hold of my hand, but the shift puts her directly opposite the picnic basket. She stares at it for a long moment, then turns to me with confusion writ clear on her brow.
“We met yesterday and the next meeting isn’t for another week or so.” Blinking, she leans forward, poking the basket gingerly, as though it might bite, then pulls back and frowns. “What is that, and why are you here today?”
“I brought you lunch.” I flip the basket open to show two sets of forks and spoons atop nested containers of food, plus a thermos in one corner and the silvery tops of two cans in another. “I won the coin toss and picked today. Nathan will bring you lunch Friday.”
“You tossed a coin over bringing me lunch?” Another round of blinks; this time her hand squeezes mine with each flutter of her lashes.
“Didn’t Corin tell you?”
“No. He didn’t.” She glares at the side wall, lips pursed, but fingers still gentle where she holds me.
Now that she’s drawn my attention, there’s the distant sound of male voices on the other side; maybe Nathan’s there now? Possibly. Probably.
“Perhaps Corin got sidetracked?” I ask in my best teasing manner—which doesn’t mean much, yet I get a much stronger reaction than expected.
Lovely color floods her face, deepest pink on her cheeks, but the flush sweeps down along her throat and under the smooth line of her shirt. Both my alpha and I enjoy it, so much.Toomuch.
My free hand itches to trace the color and see how low it goes. My alpha approves, but I resist. Just as well, because she turns her glare on me.
“Well, since you’re here, and you evidently know what’s going on, you can fill me in.”
It’s not a request. Irritation boils off her, giving her scent a spicy tang.
But she hasn’t let go.
“After you and Corin’s daughter left yesterday, the three of us talked. No farting, fighting, or fucking, just conversation”—I win a tiny twitch of her lips at the joke—“about you and the possibility of becoming a pack.”
As the last words drop from my mouth, a sinking sensation fills my gut. Corin thought she was interested in me, but I haven’t heard her say as much.
She doesn’t say anything for several breaths, but neither does she let go. Her thumb draws curlicues on the back of my hand; light, teasing movements that might be idle or a deliberate caress. No way to be sure without asking.
At length, she sighs and tilts her head back, watching me. Her scent loses most of the spiciness but retains a tangy, an edge that makes my nerves prickle.
“The four of us.”
