Of course, he waits until it’s just him and me outside before he talks, bending down to invade my space some more. “You good?”
Simple question, but it’s loaded with suggestion too.
He’s very much an Alpha. His cockiness, which is as obvious as his almond scent, suggests he’s used to doing the bare minimum for a woman’s attention and getting it. He’s a ladies’ man that sleeps around. I’d put money on it.
Ignoring the sharp pains, I twist around so he can see I am not interested at all. Like at all, at all. I ignore the flash of challenge in his eyes.
“Yeah, tired. It was mad last night, but I appreciate you making sure I’m good. Then, with the Oscar thing, it was the icing on the cake.”
He follows me to the car without answering. He’s too close, making me feel uncomfortable, but there’s not much I can do.
Maintaining his closeness, his persona gets more friendly than flirty. “I’m Des Kelly.”
And I improvise on the fly, using the car door as a shield. I get a sense he was going to physically help me get into the car or shake my hand, but I don’t give him the chance.
“Thanks again, Des. Guess I’ll be seeing you.”
After I shut the door, he raps his knuckles on the window, and I have no choice but to lower it. “Here. Call me if you’ve got issues, but I’ll message you to set up a time for us to all get together again. It will take a bit to arrange, and this is just between you and me, right?”
“Really? That’d be so good. I’d really appreciate that, Mr. Kelly. Have a super day.” I turn to the driver, giving him directions on where to drop me.
I give Des an off-handed wave, not making eye contact with him and not checking to see if he’s watching the cab drive off. The driver doesn’t talk on our way to the post office, and the silence is exactly what I need to shift personas. All my injuries are starting to hurt, and I plan on being quick. Get in, collect the package waiting for me, then make it home and sleep the day away.
The first part of my plan happens seamlessly. I even make the time to send my contact a codedI’m doing good, chat soonpostcard, dropping it in a post box on my way across to a small fry shop. I sit with a plate of hot chips and give Joe a call on a secure number.
He answers on the first ring. “Kid, I was getting worried. Are you doing okay?”
I close my eyes, relaxing into the immediate comfort his voice brings.
We spend the next few minutes talking about what we’ve been up to. Joe gets a fairly accurate recount of the past few days. For obvious reasons, I leave out the most important information—the events of last night—which would only make him stress. He knows it’s how it has to be when I’m undercover. A big part of me would be crushed if anything happened to Joe, which is why I keep contact to a bare minimum, and then we talk about nothing consequential.
Once he hangs up, the smile on my face stays with me the entire walk home. Since I’m not firing on all cylinders, I’m overly paranoid and end up backtracking and weaving in and out of shops. As a last measure, I walk into the foyer of the block of units opposite where I’m staying, using their downstairs foyer to swap hoodies, put on a big pair of sunglasses, and hide my hair using a baseball cap. It probably looks ridiculous, but after the past few days, I literally have zero fucks left.
Feeling better, or perhaps, feeling more hopeful no one is tailing me, I wait a few extra minutes before making a dash across the road. My hand is on the sensor, my code unlocking the door in record time.
Instantly, I feel safer. I’m planning out a late breakfast in the lift on the way up, completely distracted by how to have my eggs—poached or scrambled—but as the lift doors open, breakfast is the last of my worries.
My apartment door is wide open, and a very familiar-looking Alpha is standing, arms crossed, in the entry.
Husband number two, the Genoa Alpha who smells like warm cinnamon and sugar.
I seriously need to find out their names. Or maybe not.
His eyes—goddamn, they’re such a pretty green—are currently glaring at me. Still breathtaking, though. “Where the fuck have you been? We were about to start a fecking bloodbath.”
Cocking my head to the side, I wonder if I misunderstood what he said. I guess my face does the talking.
“Your door was wide open, and your place was empty. Clearly, it’s fucking alarming, considering it’s not yet fucking ten in the goddamn morning, and you should be in bed, being beaten and stabbed like you were!”
All the emotion on my face falls away. It takes a Herculean effort not to walk over and flatten him. “My door was not open. And what I do is of no concern to you. Who are you, by the way?”
“Don’t play cute, Tally,” he growls.
I poke my tongue out, biting down on it suggestively, fluttering my eyelashes at him. “You think I’m cute? Awww.”
He takes a step towards me, looking like he’s going to lock me away forever. And the big, slightly gorgeous Alpha, whose cinnamon scent does wicked things to me, comes closer again. I wait until he’s near enough for me to either kiss or kill before I dart under his arm, twisting and contorting, ending up where he was. Except, before he can take another step, I slam the door in his face.
He’s obviously been inside for a while. The air is saturated with his mind-blowing scent, which makes it really hard to keep being so angry. The reason I’m pissed doesn't go away, but the actual emotion dissolves the longer I sniff the air.
