There isn't enough Febreze in the world to salvage this seat.
Ralph is stroking my hair, murmuring words I can't make out in my ear. All while Zeke's rough hands are running gently over my leg, as I open my eyes.
"Good, sweetheart?" Ralph asks. "Do you still want to come inside?"
Oh. We've stopped moving. The car is rumbling, the gentle hum of an idling engine. I nuzzle against his neck, and a wave of smugness that can only be from my omega, washes through me at his gentle hum of approval.
"Yes. On both counts," I whisper huskily.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, Zeke moves to slide an arm under me, when Sebastian clears his throat.
"Easy, Zeke. Let one of us show her a bit of care," James murmurs from in front of us. Zeke huffs in annoyance, strokes my cheek, and climbs out of the car.
Ralph shifts under me, and reaches over my torso to smooth down my dress. "Do you want me to carry you inside, sweetheart?"
I shake my head. "I'm okay. But thanks."
He climbs out of the car, holding his door open for me as I climb down onto the gravel, and wraps a protective arm around me. Gravel crunches under our feet as we walk around the car in the cool evening air. The driver, Charlie, is staring fixedly ahead, both hands gripping the wheel like a life preserver, his eyes resolutely staring at a spot on the windscreen.
James wraps his jacket around my shoulders as he and Ralph guide me through a gate and down a paved pathway. James could be mistaken for a Viking warrior who won a bet with a tailor, although the way his fair, freckled face flushesalmost as easily as mine suggests he might not be as intimidating as his size might suggest. He's holding me close to him—like I'm something precious.
I hide my face in his side so they can't see the confused expression I can't quite mask—he gotnothingout of that, yet he's acting like I don't owe him anything. Why the heck is he being so… protective? But as I get a concentrated whiff of the fresh basil radiating from his warmth, I stop caring.
Oh. Maybe that's it. Maybe my scent's doing to him what his is doing to me. Maybe he thinks I'm his scent—
Nope. I'm not going there. This is for tonight only. Though, based on what just happened, they would be… wonderful for my heat. But the idea of anything more… what that might mean… I try not to let the shudder show.
My shoes clack against the bricks, the sound melding with the faint roar of traffic and the quiet chirping of cicadas. There is gentle chatter and laughter from the rest of their pack as we approach a single-story building. I lean into James' shoulder as he squeezes my arm. My head feels thick from his rich, grassy, basil scent.
He guides me through the doorway into the waiting pool of light inside.
Chapter 7
I usher her through the poolhouse doorway around the pairs of shoes by the entry, trying not to let my embarrassingly overexcited alpha grin over her head too much.
She's completely dwarfed by my blazer as it hangs loosely over my shoulders.
Dellie glances up at me. Despite the bright kitchen light, her pupils are blown wide, and her hair has tangled at the back from where she ground her head against the headrest as she came.
But as her eyes flick away from mine, her expression grows wooden and her shoulders tense up. She's glancing around, looking at the corners, the shelves covered in fake potted plants and books Ralph's family don't read any more, the power points. She's worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "There's no, uh, cameras, right?" she murmurs.
I shake my head as questions that I don't know her well enough to ask yet streak through my mind. My alpha is on alert, demanding to know what happened to this omega that this is the first place her mind goes when she enters an unfamiliar place. I can't hide the worried grimace that pulls my mouth tight. "No, of course not."
Allen is sitting on the scuffed brown leather couch next to Clarke, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his dark brown eyes locked on Dellie. His golden-brown forearms flex every time his fingersidly stroke Clarke's thigh. His hand stills and his brow creases when he hears what she asked.
Clarke is leaning forward, running his hands through his dark brown curls, his elbows on his knees, studying her like she's a puzzle that needs solving. He flinches at her question, concern swamping our bond. "Definitely not."
Something drops from her shoulders. She leans into me, breathing me in. Her eyes fall closed with a quiet sigh. Even though she's sober, she seems almost drunk on my scent.
"Why do you smell so good?" she murmurs into my chest. I wrap my arms around her and breathe in the heady, intoxicating freesia aroma from her hair. She shakes her head slightly. "I'm not used to being able to scent anyone like this…"
My head spins a little. The notes of fresh flowers are singing in the air.
Dellie glances around again, worrying her bottom lip. Then she presses gently into my side, just enough to make it a choice. I run a tentative finger along the side of her neck, tracing the path down towards her shoulders.
She opens her mouth, inhales like she wants to say something, then closes it again. Under my fingers, her muscles are tugging at themselves like they think they should be tensing.
"Is it all happening too fast?" I ask her, keeping my voice low.
