Page 55 of Knot So Social

The nerves in my stomach explode into a flock of butterflies.

“Hi, I’m Jeremy,” I offer as I climb the stairs.

She stands still, blocking the doorway. “Willow.”

“Lovely to meet you. May I come inside?” First rule of contact: the client is always more nervous than you are.

“Yes.” Her voice pitches and my heart squeezes. She’s not sure about this at all.

“Thank you.” I go to walk past her but catch a whiff off her fragrance. I jolt, dropping both my duffel bags on her tiled floor. Pure, undiluted Jasmine. A shiver runs through me. The scent’s warm as if reflecting her body temperature, and full of need. But not quite the full-blown demand of an omega in heat.

Give it another hour or two, my instinct says.

Even if she’s not quite ready, my alpha soul quivers in response to her scent.

“You okay?” she asks, brows knitting together as she glances at the dropped bags.

Well, thank fuck I didn’t drop them on her feet.

“I’m wonderful,” I assure her. I want to pull her to my chest and breathe that scent for days, but thankfully all the drilling on self-control raises its militant head. “Where should I put my things?”

“The nest is down the hall to the right—”

A golden ball of energy shoots through the house, yapping and trailing yellow strands like a comet. The tall dog skids to a halt, overshooting us on the smooth tiles, before rearing back and bounding in circles around me. He’s the ultimate golden retriever, all long, silky hair and puppy enthusiasm.

“And you must be the reason a dog-lover’s required,” I murmur, offering my hand for him to sniff.

“This is Mr Shares,” Willow announces, beaming proudly. “He’s very friendly.”

“I can see that,” I say with a laugh. I hunker down on my heels and tousle his shaggy ears. “You look like a lot of fun, Mr Shares.”

The dog yips and rolls onto his back for belly pats. I give him a good scratch before remembering the omega needs to be my primary focus.

“You said something about a nest?” I ask, rising.

She points. “That way.”

I nod and stride along the hallway she indicated. Well, gallery, more than hallway, with works of art and room enough for a car to drive through. Trying not to stare too obviously, I sneak glances at the elegant house as I walk.

Chandeliers, soft cream carpets, white pillars, tan window furnishings. A few sparing touches of classy gold. In some ways it reminds me of the Heat Wave clinic. Do omegas instinctively like these elegant shades? I thought they loved color and fluffy things.

“Um . . .”

I stop and turn in front of a closed door.

Willow bites her lip, not meeting my eye. “This is my nest.”

Something about her words sounds less like an introduction and more like she’s clarifying. My heart squeezes.

“Is it okay with you if I go inside?” I ask gently. “If you don’t want me inside, I can park up on a lounge or—”

Her head jerks up, liquid emotion in her gaze. “No, I didn’t mean you couldn’t go in. I just . . . well, I hope you like it.”

The vulnerability in her voice tugs at me. “Willow, do you like your nest?”

She nods once, a hint of a smile playing on her velvet lips.

“Then I’m sure I’ll love it,” I offer. “Everything about this experience is for you to feel comfortable, okay?”