Dani doesn’t seem flustered or concerned; she waves me over to the chairs on the opposite side of a glass consulting desk while Valentine does his thing. Matteo sits on the seat next to me, his arm up over my shoulder.
Damn, this pack is very good at keeping up appearances and making me feel a part of it too.
“So, Layne, we have you booked for a full-treatment package, head-to-toe indulgence. Anything we need to be aware of?”
“Our fiancée has a bad allergy to fish and shellfish, so you will not place her at risk,” Matteo says, jumping in, the threat in his tone clear. “If you are unsure, don’t use the product. And since you now know that detail, we would view Layne being hurt or upset as concerning.”
Dani’s eyes flare slightly, and she leans away from his dump of aggression. I do what feels natural and sit on his lap, grounding him, in a sense, with my weight. Which is more difficult than it sounds, especially because he’s overly wooden, but I twist to look at him, not at all worried about what it looks like to Dani. It’s not her business; it’s ours.
I think there are people in the world you share an instant connection with. Jana and her pack were a reminder of that, and so is the man I’m sitting on. From the instant I was drawn to him in the alley, I’ve leaned in to the feeling. It’s why I agreedso quickly to the deal they offered. The more time I spend in his company, the more apparent it is too. I look at Matteo and see a man who ticks all these boxes in my mind. His designation is largely forgotten, and when his emotions and presence surge like this, I get thrown again by the fact he’s a Beta.
I wait calmly, watching the small muscles in his jaw soften before the glare in his eyes disappears too.
“We’re good, aren’t we?”
I feel his thumb circling on the top of my bare calf. Neither of us has to dissect the proof of touch between compatible designations and instant connections. And when I search his eyes, I notice there’s no surprise in his eyes that I can calm him; if anything, he looks a little cocky in a very Matteo way.
Staying on his lap, I turn back to Dani, and she has a folder out in front of her, elegant reading glasses perched on her nearly perfect nose.
“When Mr. De Luca booked, I checked our product range then and also took the liberty just now to triple-check. Unless the ingredients are not listed properly, I assure you, none of these contain guanine or any other marine by-product.”
I swing around to look at Matteo, and he nods at her, his hand creeping up higher, but that’s a different issue.
“Will you be waiting? The treatments will take a few hours.”
“We’re waiting. Leave the doors open,” Valentine says before he stares her down. Like, stares her down until she drops her eyes and apologizes.
I look at him, horrified at him being such a douche, and he has the audacity to wink.
I know exactly what he’s doing. I can practically hear him whispering in my ear, asking if this is what I meant when I questioned his Mafia-linity in the kitchen earlier.
I shouldn’t laugh—the Alpha just ripped her submission from her—but I struggle not to, which makes Valentine’s eyebrows lift in mock shock.
Dani leads me into the treatment room and, true to her word, I get waxed, buffed, and polished to within an inch of my life. A completely different pleasure hums through almost every cell in my body as I walk back to where Valentine and Matteo are waiting. My hair is done, my eyebrows so damn perfect, and I feel incredible.
I walk straight to Valentine, sliding my hand on to his waist. “Thank you.”
He clearly took what I said in the kitchen as some weird challenge because he grabs me by the throat, his hand squeezing, making it hard to swallow.
“Can I ask exactly what you are doing?” I rasp out past the pressure along my throat.
“Just feeling how beautifully you swallow.” Valentine watches my eyes as he presses harder, and he smirks…until I lean into it, and then he drops his hand like I burned him.
As he walks past me, he leans down and whispers filthy promises in my ear that come out as low, suggestive rumbles, but I understand, all the same.
Matteo steps in front of me and holds up a garment bag. “Dante will be pissed he didn’t get to see you walk out. He’s outside keeping an eye on things, but he probably won’t ever do that again when he realizes what he missed out on. We’re using the room to change,” he throws over his shoulder, not as a polite request or a question, mind you.
Closing the door behind us, he hangs the bag on the back of the door and unzips it, revealing a long-sleeve, floor-length burgundy dress I’d admired earlier. The material looks like flowing water.
“May I?” Matteo steps behind me, his hands coming around me from behind, but waiting before they touch the buttons of my white shirt.
“Of course.”
He flips my hair out of the way, leaning down to drag his nose along my throat and over my scent gland. I jump a mile, stunned by the sensitivity of the spot. I’ve had other people touch it, and it’s never felt the way he just made it.
It must have acted like a switch, because I scent up the room.
“I’m sorry.” I’m flustered, trying to figure out a way to stop my body from responding.
