MORGAN
The room is… a disaster. Too many shades of red clash with white and cream in what is clearly meant to be a romantic color palette.
“This isgarish,” I mutter.
“It’s kinda cute,” Jamie offers, totally sincere.
A heart-shaped box of chocolates sits on the coffee bar next to a bottle of rosé champagne and two glasses. Rose petals litter the bed. There’s a heart-shaped hot tub lined with red tile next to the window, and a mirror set into the ceiling above it.
The cancellation was clearly a honeymoon.
The beast pants, claws, whines.
I am quiet. I am still.
“You actually like this?” I ask Jamie.
“Yeah,” he says with a shrug.
I think he’d be more outwardly excited if I weren’t raining on the parade.
“It seems sweet,” he continues. “I hope whatever couple is alright.”
“Raise your standards,” I grumble. “I’d do far better foryou than this.”
Jamie’s eyes flick towards me from under his lashes, and his scent thickens in the room. At least there’s a balcony. I stuff my hands in my pockets, and let myself out.
My ears tense as I hear our luggage arrive, but if I go into the room, I’m going to bite somebody’s head off, so I let Jamie handle it.
Once it’s settled, he walks up behind me.
“I have good news and I have bad news,” he says. “The bad news is that they’re out of rollaway beds too. The good news is I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”
“No,” I snap. What kind of alpha would I be if I let an omega sleepon the floor?
Jamie laughs, as if I made a joke. “It’s not likeyou’regoing to sleep on the floor.”
I open my mouth to say something. But he’s right. Shit.
The beast grins. It’s practically slobbering.
“I’m capable of sharing,” I grit out. It’s the only option. If I can’t manage this, I don’t even deserve to be called an alpha.
“You really don’t have to—”
“Stop that,” I snap.
“What?”
“The martyr act.”
“It’s not an act.” Jamie’s voice is quiet. Wounded. Shit.
I sigh and brace my arms against the railing, head against my hands. The fresh air brings a reprieve from his scent.
“I… misspoke.”No apologies, no weakness, the CEO in me hisses. But this is Jamie, not a shark. “What I mean is… constantly… prostrating yourself is not the favor to other people that you think it is.”
“It’s not about favors,” Jamie murmurs.
