Page 97 of Knot Their Starlet

Beck grins at me, holding open the door to a sleek, dark blue convertible.

“I didn’t peg you as an Aston Martin guy.”

His grin falters for a split second before I rest my hand against his chest.

“I was just teasing.”

“Really?” He mimes wiping sweat off his brow. “Good, I was worried.”

“You shouldn’t be, it’s a nice car.” Really nice. I’m not much of a car girl, but I’ve been around enough people with nice cars to know this is only the kind of thing you can get when you’re really raking it in.

“It was my first real purchase. Kind of an impulse buy, if I’m being honest,” he says, shutting the door after I slide into the low seat. “I guess you could call it my quarter-life crisis.”

“Well, don’t frame it like that. If you do, people’re gonna assume you’re overcompensating,” I tease, my gaze drifting suggestively down his body.

I don’t know what it is, but there’s a swagger about him today that I hadn’t noticed before.

“Oh, I may be an omega, but trust me, Starlight. I’m not overcompensating for anything.”

The sun beats down from above, only intensifying the flush I feel on my cheeks. It’s surprisingly warm for this time of year. It’s LA, so par for the course, but still.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I shoot back.

He freezes for a split second before wordlessly popping open a compartment and pulling out a pair of sunglasses to slide on. Then, he whips his head in my direction dramatically, drawing them down his nose and wiggling his brows.

“Oh, really now?”

I burst out laughing. Not the kind of delicate feminine laughter I practice for the cameras, but an embarrassing, snort-like laugh that has me slapping a hand over my mouth to try to muffle the sound.

He stares at me with this open sort of wonder that leaves me feeling far too exposed. I just embarrassed the hell out of myself, and he’s looking at me like I’m the most gorgeous woman on Earth.

“Shut up.” I push against his shoulder, rolling my eyes playfully.

I glance at my reflection in the side mirror, smoothing some of my hair away from my face. It flows around my shoulders in expertly done barrel curls, courtesy of my Dyson Airwrap.

“The wind is going to mess up my hair,” I mumble. “The paps are going to think we just fucked.”

Beck flashes me a wink and reaches over the center console, resting his hand on my thigh.

It’s not particularly high up. If anything, it’s closer to my knee than anywhere else, but I still feel the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of my leggings.

“Let them,” he murmurs.

Wow.

Okay then.

My heart threatens to beat right out of my chest.

“Here, this is for you, too,” he says, reaching over me and popping the glove compartment open.

Inside is a zip-up hoodie that smells like him.

I have to fight the urge to bury my face in it and soak in his burnt caramel scent, but I’m pretty sure he catches me taking a subtle sniff.

Embarrassing. I need to get a better handle on myself.

“For me?”