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If I wasn’t so busy staring like an idiot, I would have realized; all this sweat, plus her pre-heat pheromones?—
Urgh.
Haaaaa—ooooly shit.
I inhale her scent and a snarl cracks out of my mouth, splitting the silence of the gym in half. Meg whirls, yanking earbuds out of her ears.
The not-insane part of my brain—tiny and useless as it is—notices the old-fashioned corded headphones and makes a note that she needs new ones.
The over-the-ear, noise-canceling Bluetooth kind would look cute as hell on her.
And honestly—what the fuck, brain?
That’s all you’ve got? Buy her new shit?
We have a situation here.
Namely, me. About four seconds away from ripping her cropped Ospreys’ sweatshirt in half and knotting her into next July.
I speak through grinding molars. “You need to leave.”
Fuck, how many times have I told her that?
Leave. Go away. I don’t want you here.
Does she know I’m only doing this because I don’t think I can control myself? Does she hear the fear under the viciousness?
For a second, I feel like shit. Her face falls. Surprise evaporates, leaving the purest hurt in its wake. A tremble moves through her. She turns her head slightly, like I’ve slapped her.
It’s almost enough to make me backpedal. But then she lifts her chin and nails me with the fiercest glare I’ve ever seen.
Her eyes burn blue. Her feet plant in place. “You need to leave,” she snaps back, cocking her hip and tossing her head. “I was here first. I haven’t worked out today and you have. So if you can’t stand to be in the same room as me, then you can be the one to admit how pathetic you are and leave.”
The fucking audacity.
I growl, “This is my house, brat.”
Her hands go to her hips. “Yes. It is. But it’s also Ronan’s, and Theo’s, and Archer’s. By that logic, this gym is only one-quarter yours. So pick a corner and stay there, asshole.”
She waves her hands around her body. “This is my corner. We’ll call it Theo’s. Or maybe Archer’s since I’m only down here to do the exercises he recommended for my heat.”
I growl in frustration, resisting the urge to breathe through my nose again. Meg’s blonde brows lift, her stare pointedly unimpressed. She doesn’t care that I’m baring my teeth and fighting the urge to rut her. I don’t even think she’s noticed. It’s like I don’t register as a threat to her at all.
Why doesn’t that infuriate me?
Why does it—dear God—amuse me?
For the love of fuck. Do I think this sassy little brat is cute? Is her attitude… turning me on?
No. No, that has to be her scent. Because—shit—it is perfect. Perfect on a new level of perfection. So flawless, I don’t even have the proper word in my vocabulary.
Succulent. Bright freshness, rolled in brown sugar. Golden. Like her.
It rewires my central nervous system. Burns itself into the deepest fibers of my mind.
I make a mistake I’ve avoided thus far; I let myself imagine what it would be like to give in. If I licked that sweat off her neck… If I rolled in her sheets until they smelled like both of us… If I wallowed in her sweetness and didn’t feel afraid...
Mistake.
