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But, of course, the Big Bad Alpha can’t have that.
Ronan stares at me, his focus so intense I feel it carving into my facial features. The stormy irises I once thought were so cold now seem white-hot. Passion blazes beneath the cool color, turning them from twin interrogation lamps into glowing beacons.
“Y-you want to talk?”
He nods, but his expression stays calm. My fingertips spark as he clasps them in his, bringing my hand up to his mouth. Warm lips graze my knuckles. A burst of slick seeps into my panties.
His face twitches with masculine amusement. “Can you talk, little one?”
I probably ought to find that nickname insulting, but I love it. Because I’m a psycho thirsty-AF omega. Apparently.
“I think so,” I mumble. I’m really not sure. The amount of perfume I’ve already produced for them is just embarrassing. Thank God we appear to be eating dinner outside.
Ronan’s gaze sharpens, his focus absolute while it skates over my entire body. His chiseled mouth tightens, and his voice drops low. “I need to feed you before I can focus. Sit down.”
It isn’t a bark—or even a true command. But his insistence has an instant effect. My Omega hears him and wants to obey.
With relief, might I add.
Without dropping my hand, the alpha leads me to a seat at the center of the smoked glass table on the lanai. Someone has draped soft blankets over it a layered stack.
Was this one of Theo’s sisters tips? It’s amusing and oddly touching.
The food is the same way. Bowls of colorful pasta salad, fresh fruit, and mixed veggies sit in a neat row. I notice that the plates and cutlery aren’t plastic or paper—and suspect Ronan is responsible for the fancy, impractical place settings.
He watches like a hawk as I drop to the padded chair and serve myself a bit from each dish. When I move to lean back, his deep rumble interjects. “I have chicken, steak, and salmon. Which do you prefer?”
I shake my head. My stomach is still feeling wobbly. “I’m all right.”
His brows snap down. “You need to eat a proper meal. It will help you recover from your spike.” After one breath, he adds, “Please, little one.”
If any of the others tried to micromanage my plate, I would snort at them. But there’s something about the way Ronan’s eyes burn when he watches me—steady and fanatical at the same time.
Like he needs me to take care of myself. But also knows, resolutely, that he will ensure I do. Plus, the way he tries his best to mind his manners around me is sort of cute.
I select a piece of chicken.
Our eyes lock, and he nods, granting the approval I don’t know I’m seeking until he says, “Good girl.”
Should I be at all concerned about the way those two words make me swoon?
Ronan helps himself next, loading a plate completely before he settles right beside me, filling the air with his sweet smokiness. When he catches me leaning into the scent, he smirks, his eyes crinkling, and moves a bit closer.
Theo reaches the end of his patience, crashing down on the seat across from me and jabbering excitedly about the food while he fills two plates to the absolute brim.
Archer is more reserved, his demeanor relaxed as his packmate goes on and on. When the doctor finally settles at my other side, he shoots me a conspiratorial smile, translating, “Basically, we didn’t know what you liked, so we took a wild guess. Is this okay?”
It’s delicious, actually.
Archer brightens at my enthusiastic nod. As he turns to his own plate, his eyebrows furrow behind his sexy glasses. “We’ll need a list of all your favorite things.”
“Why?” I giggle.
Archer cocks his head at me. “To get them for you.”
I blink at him. Why would they get me anything? I’m the lying, pathetic puddle of hormones who ruined their entire day and almost started a riot of unbonded alpha football players. They should probably have me arrested or something.
Oblivious to my shock, Theo grins around a big bite of fruit. “You need some serious spoiling, peaches.”
