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It’s ginormous, easily the size of a small luxury hotel. It looks more like a manor or estate in a BBC drama than anything else. On the outside, the four-story building is constructed of bright red brick, with Grecian columns painted flat black surrounding the entrance.
What catches my attention the most isn’t the grandeur of the mansion, but the gardens that surround the exterior. There are rose bushes, hydrangeas, azaleas, tiger lilies, and the biggest lilac bushes I’ve ever seen. After years of being cooped up in a stuffy apartment with not even a fern to keep alive, I just want to curl up in the flowers and go back to sleep with the smell of lilac in my nose.
“Well, Packmansionsounds too pretentious,” Miles says with a shrug, but there is a mischievous glint in his eye. “It’s home, and that’s all that matters.”
I stop short in front of the door. “Wait a second. I don’t have a suitcase. Or anything, really. I don’t even have a toothbrush. It’s just… me.”
I’m starting to regret not allowing him to take me back to the apartment. The exhaustion clinging to my bones is wearing off, being replaced with a sharp unease.
“And just you is just fine for us,” Miles says, chipping away at the solid wall I’ve built around my heart with another round of kind words. Beating back the unease with an easy swat of his gentle hands.
“We will get you anything you need, and if there’s something at your apartment you have to have, one of us will go and get it. We can take a trip to pick up all of your things once you’re ready.”
I swallow back a heavy lump in my throat, trying not to burst into tears in the middle of his driveway. He’s being so sweet, and I can’t stand it, knowing that he could flip the script any second, or reject me just like everyone else once he knows my deepest secret. I wish he would just throw me out now, instead of giving me these morsels of kindness that will only be yanked away.
“It’s okay, Riley,” he repeats, taking my hand again, believing my reticence to be in regard to my lack of personal items. I let him tug me into the oversized house into a beautiful foyer with cream-colored paint and a massive crystal chandelier that turns the sunlight into rainbows that dance on the walls.
It’s like an enchanted castle.
“Not quite,” chuckles Miles, and I realize I said that last part aloud. “Not many enchanted castles have Wi-Fi and a year’s supply of Cocoa Puffs in the pantry.” I raise an eyebrow at him, and he clarifies. “The cereal boxes are Fox’s, not mine.”
Fox. That’s an unusual first name. It sounds a bit like—
We turn the corner into a grand living room, and any musings I have about the name Fox go up in smoke because it’sthatFox. Fox Anderson, the star of the Rogers City Ravens football team. Fox Anderson, who is one of the most beautiful people I’ve seen in the magazines, on television, on social media. Now right there. Live without a screen to separate me from him.
Fox Anderson, who I’ve based half my romance book heroes on, simply because of his charming good looks and aloof bad boy attitude on camera.
“I take it you know who Fox is,” says Miles, tugging me into the room and right up to Fox.
There’s no way this is happening.
Fox’s eyes crinkle. A brow lifts. “You must be Riley?”
He’s just as beautiful as I imagined he’d be up close. Big and tall, with thick muscles perfect for his football skills. His long, golden blond hair is tied up in a messy bun. Swirling tattoos run down his arms like rapids in a cascading river. And when I meet those silvery eyes with my own, he winks at me with the charm of a regency-age rake.
“It’s you,” I say faintly. He lets out a low laugh that makes me want to jump into his arms just so I can feel the vibration of that laugh against my own skin.
“It is me,” he says with a tip of his head. “If that’s a good thing. If not, then it is totally not me. Blame it all on Miles.”
“It’s a good thing,” I blurt, squeaking like a teenage fangirl, realizing he already knew my name which means Miles must’ve called to warn them we were coming while I was passed out in the car.
I catch Fox’s scent and inhale deeply, growing woozy at the delicious aroma. He smells like an herb garden, spicy and sweet, with hints of thyme and mint and basil. Crisp and thick all at once. Earthy.
At the steep rise and fall of my chest, his eyes darken, searching my dilated eyes until my toes curl. A small sound escapes my lips, and he rushes forward, hands clasping my hips possessively. I’m hauled against him as he scents my neck, a low growl starting deep in his chest before he nips at the crook of my shoulder. His teasing bite shoots down my limbs in a shock of electricity that stops low in my belly, simmering with excitement and heat.
I stiffen, unable to move as his hard muscle presses into me and his chest vibrates again.
“Oh, sugar,” he breathes out, pulling away enough that I can look up at him. “Whatisthat? Your scent is…” He presses his nose into my hair and inhales again, his grip on me tightening once more. “Fuck.”
“I… I…” I can’t think, I can’t breathe, overwhelmed by the waves of desire that pulse through me at his proximity. My panties no match for the slick starting to drench them.
“Take it easy, Fox,” I hear Miles warn gently.
“That’s enough,” says another man, coaxing me away from Fox as I whimper at the lost connection. “You’re acting like a literal fox, Fox. Give her some space, man.”
Before I pull away from the man who has his hand wrapped around my arm, I catch his scent, and the scintillating process begins again. I both loathe and love how it feels to be wrapped up in the scent of another Alpha. What it does to my body.
This man isn’t as tall as Miles or Fox but has a broad stance and a sense of confidence that makes him seem just as big as the others. He has dark hair and eyes, and a curious scar that hooks through his left eyebrow before fading into his hairline. I want to trace it with my finger, and maybe my lips. I need fresh air and solitude before I completely lose it. I swallow hard, trying to get control of myself, breathing in a short breath through my mouth.
