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I forced myself not to imagine her in my small kitchen, wearing nothing but an apron over her pregnant belly, a sprinkling of flour on her slender arms, leaning over to lick a droplet of batter off a spoo—Fuck.
Casually, I folded my hands over the damned erection that was tenting my pants.
“We’ll stay right here,” Tori promised, then wove her way through the crowd and plopped down on the empty stool, giving me a thumbs up.
I sighed, then spoke into my earpiece. “Rufus? I have to grab Valentine’s purse. Do not let her go off with some asshole.”
“You know she’s twenty-one, Monk,” he said, using the nickname the others had given me. They liked to joke that I’d taken a vow of celibacy. They weren’t far off. But Rufus was the only one who openly mocked me about it. He was only a few years older than the girls, and in my opinion, more immature than any of them.
“Exactly. Too young for this place.”
“Chill out, Father Donovan.”
I stifled a growl. “Do you swear to keep eyes on them, on her, until I return?”
He let out an exaggerated sigh before he replied impatiently, “She’s here to get laid, old man. She’s going to go off with one of these guys.”
“Not on my watch,” I spat. Did this guy not understand? I turned on my heel and left the club before I helped him understand with a swift punch to the gut.
I should have been gone for less than five minutes, but some drunk idiot chose that moment to plow his Dodge truck into the back of our reinforced Hummer. I didn’t give a shit about the minimal damage to the Hummer, but the guy was messed up. I took an extra ten minutes to make sure the head wound bleeding was superficial—it was—and to call the police and an ambulance.
I texted Rufus the news, and instructed him to escort the girls back in the hotel limo if they were ready to go before I got done. When he didn’t reply immediately, I called.
He assured me they would be at the club for a while, since Valentine had gotten sick. “Puked all over some beta who bought her drinks. Classic Valentine,” he joked, yelling over the thumping music in the background. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of the princesses.”
“Fuck!” I kicked the Hummer’s tire with my boot. I’d known she was nervous, but not puking nervous. I needed to get to her.
But first, I had to stop and wash the blood off me, since the paramedic had taken one look and assumed I needed a trip to the hospital as well. I had an extra shirt in the car, but not any of my other stuff—including the prescription-strength scent blockers I was required to wear at all times around Valentine.
When I’d first taken the job, I’d been given the option to take de-scenting pills, but the side effects were a bitch. So I used a ton of spray daily, reapplying anytime it started to wear off or washed off. It made me stink like wet wool.
The air around me now, though, was distinctly cedar and eucalyptus-scented.
Shit. I smelled like the alpha I was now, which was against my contract. More importantly, it might scare my charge. But I wasn’t going back to Denver to get more.
The shitty, over-the-counter ones would have to do. I jogged to the 24-Hour Druggie, a combination marijuana dispensary and convenience store, and bought what I needed, then sprayed myself down. The whole time, my instincts were blaring an alarm.
But Rufus had promised to stay with her, with them. He had… Wait.
He hadn’t promised that. He’d said he would take good care of them, like they were goldfish he’d won at a carnival.
Fuck.
By the time I ran back into the club with Valentine’s purse in my hand, over forty-five minutes had elapsed.
And Rufus and the girls were gone.
Chapter 3
Valentine
“Valentine, are you done? Are you okay?” Tori was outside, blocking the ladies’ room door, making sure no one came in.
The smell had gotten to me, just as I’d mustered the courage to talk to the cute beta guy who’d been hitting on me. We’d talked for a while, and he’d asked for my number, then hinted that he’d like to go home with me.
For once, a guy had looked right over Tori and Nessa, and wanted me. And what did I do? Threw up Midori all over his white Henley. He’d spilled his whole beer on me as he tried to avoid the spew.
“I want to go home,” I mumbled to a waiting Nessa as I exited the restroom. I’d scrubbed the puke and liquor out of my hair in the sink, and off my arms and front. But my short dress was almost see-through now, and my nipples were doing their best to poke holes in the wet fabric. “I need my purse. I don’t have my scent blockers.”
