“Ace.”
She nods like that makes perfect sense. “Yeah. It feels like him.”
“Ace pretends he doesn’t mind when we crash in here to hang out or do stuff, but he minds.”
That gets a laugh out of her. And Christ, I love the sound of that in this house too much already.
She turns back to the shelves. “This might be my favorite room.”
I push off the frame. “You haven’t seen the deck at sunset.” Then I move her along before she decides Ace’s reading room would benefit from a rearrangement.
We head past the gym at the end of the hall, then out toward the back where the glass-paneled sauna and spa sit off the deck. She takes all of it in. By the time we reach the end of thedecking, there’s a small gate waiting there, and beyond it is the guest place right on the edge of the sand and alongside the main house.
I open it up and let her step inside first.
We built it properly, with all blues and whites, comfortable furniture, solid pieces. King bed with white linen, big pillows in the main bedroom, L-shaped couch facing a TV too big for the space, bathroom tucked off to the right. And a decent-sized kitchen in the back. The best part is the French doors, opening straight onto the sand so the ocean feels close enough to reach out and touch.
“My first apartment in LA was half this size and twice as depressing.”
I grin and set her bags down on the couch. “The locks are all inside. Deadbolt on the main door, chain on the French doors. Once you lock up, nobody’s getting in from outside.”
Her eyes lift to mine at that. That look right there says she caught what I was really giving her, a safe place to call her own for as long as she needs it.
“There’s a room inside the main house if you’d rather be closer to people, but we figured you might want your own space to breathe.”
She glances at the place, then back at me. “No. This…” She lets out a slow breath. “This is perfect.”
Excellent, because I don’t think I’d do well with her sleeping under the same roof tonight. Not with her scent already wedged under my skin and my body acting as if it’s got no manners.
“Settle in,” I tell her. “Unpack if you want. We can sort food later, take you shopping, whatever you need.”
I turn to go.
“Luca.”
I look back over my shoulder to where she stands in the living room.
“Thank you,” she says, and this time there’s nothing light in it, nothing deflecting. “Really. We met today and you’ve done all this for me, and I know you didn’t have to.”
My insides tighten, a sense of protection sweeping through me that signifies that she deserves so much more. Then I step back into the doorway. “You know what’s funny?”
Her brow lifts. “What?”
“You’re standing there thanking me for basic decency, and you still haven’t started to deal with the fact that your scent match is about four feet away from you.”
Her mouth falls open.
I almost laugh.
“Make yourself at home, Adelaide.”
I pull the door shut before she can recover enough to throw something at me. I keep strolling to the main house, and I grin before I get my face under control again.
Because I wasn’t joking.
Not even close.
I’ve been around Omegas my whole life. I know the difference between someone smelling good and your body clocking it, then moving on. This isn’t that. Her scent has been sitting in my chest since the beach, and every hour after that has only made it worse, or better—maybe both.
