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“We have soup from lunch,” Charlotte says, standing up. “I can bring some. Also, the bread is almost out of the oven.”
“Soup’s not going to be enough,” I say sharply to Charlotte, as Harper frowns. “She’s going to need more food than that.”
Harper’s mouth falls open. “You know it’s not your job to take care of me, right?”
My jaw ticks and I fight everything in me not to rage.
My inner Alpha roars, ready to explode.
“It’s fine, Harper. I’ll be back soon.” Charlotte leaves the room, and Harper and I are alone.
She’s beautiful when she’s angry.
I wonder if she knows I can smell it.
“Why are you such a dick?” she asks softly, as she sits on the loveseat opposite from me.
I almost choke. “Excuse me?”
“You’re just…perpetually angry,” she murmurs. “It’s like you can’t stand to be around me. Even the other night, in my room. You looked like it tortured you to be in there.”
I scoff.
Well, if that isn’t the truth.
“It did,” I agree, taking a sip of my drink. “But not in the way you think.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Do you want to elaborate on that?”
“No.”
She blinks, unamused.
“And you’re incorrect, by the way,” I add.
“About what?” She eyes the bottle of scotch that sits on the side table longingly, and I’m offering her my glass before I can second guess it.
Never mind the fact that it’s a stupid idea for her to drink right now.
I just want to give her anything she desires.
Our fingers brush as I pass her the glass, and my cock twitches in my trousers.
Her skin is overheated, her cheeks rosy, her face illuminated beautifully in the fireplace's glow.
I stare at her as she takes a sip, her mouth where mine was, and my brain short-circuits.
She says something, but all I can do is inhale her—honey, scotch, andHarper.
My palm twitches again, and it takes all my self-control to not pull her into my lap.
“Grey? About what?”
I clear my throat. “What was that?”
“You said I was incorrect,” she repeats, her eyebrows raised. “What was I incorrect about?”
Ah. Back to my embarrassing confession.
