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Beautiful cars.
Holy—
Is that a Bugatti? Lined up next to a Rolls, a Bentley, and a G-Wagon, of course.
I gulp and park my pathetic beater car in the circular drive beside the front door. It seems like they left the garage open for me, but I don’t want to be presumptuous. I’m still a guest. And this is not my house, no matter how homey it feels.
As I clamber out of my car and pop the trunk, I hear a noise. One of them is in the garage, rooting around. The wind shifts, carrying luscious vanilla over the breeze.
Declan.
Lord, that smell. I want to lick him like a big swirl of cool, creamy soft serve. My perfume rises right away, drifting up to mingle with his delicious pheromones.
And some hopeless part of me wants to laugh. Because together… well, we do sort of smell like peach cobbler with fresh-churned ice cream.
He scents me the same moment I catch him. Electric eyes snag on mine, the blue breathtakingly clear, even from across the huge driveway. I watch as he fists the gym bag in his left hand, the feathered pattern of his tattoo moving over his muscles. His jaw pops, working, while we stare each other down.
Submit.
SUBMIT.
My basest instincts scream at me. But there’s another, clearer voice. And she’s pissed.
Let him look, that voice scoffs. Show him what he’s missing.
As if I have so much to work with. But whatever, girl. I’ll give it my best shot.
I pop my hip and toss my hair over my shoulder as I turn back to the Fiat’s boot, hoisting my duffle bag full of blankets and backpack full of clothes out all on my own. I pause like my hoodie is an afterthought, sliding it off and tying it around my waist, flashing the racerback of my light blue sports bra to him as I walk away.
Between my carefully waved layers and the tight fit of my matching powder-blue leggings… it’s no main stage show, but it’s something, at least. I think.
Who the heck am I kidding, though? This man routinely sleeps with supermodels.
Still, I feel his eyes on my body, burning hot trails of hatred down the backs of my legs. I’m glad he can’t see my face because my heart quivers, stinging like it’s been sliced. For the millionth time, I wonder why he loathes me so much, and what I’m going to do about it.
Ronan said he would fix it for me, but my instincts skitter at the thought. Declan may be a jerk, but everything in me says he’s mine. And I should be the one to deal with him.
I only wish that same instinct had some sort of suggestion for how I’m supposed to do that.
For now, I knock on the front door, pretending I never saw the angry alpha glaring at me from the garage. Theo’s bounding footsteps give him away. A wide grin cracks over my face as he throws the door open and charges me.
I guess this is our thing now. The second he sees me, he swings me around like a rag doll, and I absolutely love it. Warm, herbaceous citrus fills my lungs, exciting and comforting me in equal measure.
“Peaches,” he drawls, plucking my things from me, somehow shouldering it all while he physically carries me inside. “You don’t carry bags. What do you think I’m here for?”
“To sit around and look pretty,” I toss back, sliding down his body until my tennis shoes reach the floor. “Duh.”
His grin grows wild, the green of his eyes sparkling. “And let’s not forget my talents as a human dildo.”
My cheeks flame while a fresh burst of perfume rises. Theo folds me into a soft, sweet bear hug. “Just teasing, precious. You know I fucking loved it. On my death bed, I’ll replay you using my knot to get off and die a happy man.”
I swear, I never know whether to laugh, blush, or melt around this alpha. I settle for yanking lightly on his beard, shaking my head. “Shameless.”
“Is that Meg?” Archer’s voice echoes from the second-floor looming above us. “Bring her up, Theo.”
My big guy squeezes my hip, still holding my bags over his shoulder with one hand while the other guides me up the floating plank staircase. I notice his bun looks slightly damp from a shower and remember he spent the better part of the day in conditioning.
“How was practice?” I ask, slinging my arm as far around his thick waist as it will reach. “Did you kick ass?”
