Page 23 of Gold Rush
He raises a glass of complimentary champagne at me, his smile easy. “When do I get a fashion show?”
I scoff, striding over and plucking the glass from his hand, pointing it at him. “You…”
He leans up, his perfume washing over me. It’s light, butrich. I once went to upstate New York for a writing retreat and there had been a candy shop that made its own fresh fudge, filling the air with the smell of sugar and cocoa. It comes off him in waves, sweet and decadent —dangerous.
My eyes flutter as I try to control myself, and Seth only grins even wider.
“Me?” He reaches out, sliding his hand over mine. “Yes, June? What were you saying?” My name on his lips is sinful, soft and whispered, full of promise.
I stutter as his warm fingers ease the glass from me. “Um…”
He beams, taking his champagne back and downing it before nodding behind me at the fitting rooms. “Go try on what you like. Indulge me.” Flushing, I stand over him for a moment. His hand brushes my hip, his head tilting as he looks up. “Iwantto do this for you.”
“Okay,” the word escapes. I extract myself, stepping back so I’m not inhaling lungfuls of him as I bite my tongue. “We’re still getting lunch, right?”
Seth leans back on the couch, lounging like a king. “Yes, I got us a reservation around the corner. Don’t rush. They know me, and our table will be there when we get there.”
I cast him one more look as I back up, pressing my lips together and trying to hide the thrill that gives me. He took care of it. There’s no reason to hurry — and my eyes flicker around the store, at the other racks I’ve not even glanced at yet. Icouldbuy things here — a piece of two at least — with how well my book sales have been this quarter.
I’ve never indulged, but there’s something about Seth that makes mewantto.
I lose countof how much I try on and how often the associate comes into the back with new items. There’s a rack that’s been filled, emptied, and filled again near the mirror where I’ve been surveying myself. Beside it is a small pile of clothes I genuinely like, and that got nods of approval from Seth when I stepped out and showed him.
He’d bitten his fist when I’d walked out in a pair of jeans that hugged my hips, and a cranberry red v-neck sweater made of cashmere. I’d laughed all the way back to the fitting rooms.
Touching a brown dress on the rack, I stare at it, uncertain. The associate brought it to me and I scoffed becausewhenwould I need a dress this nice? It has a fitted bodice and puffed sleeves, which I’d never pick for myself. But the color is deep, almost mahogany, and I find myself pulling it off the hanger before I fully realize it, sliding it over my head and glancing at myself in the mirror.
Itfits, and it’s beautiful.
If the tour wasn’t on hold, I’d wear it in a heartbeat. The fabric drapes perfectly, skimming my hips, giving me asilhouette that screams quietly luxurious. Even without shoes on, it looks like it belongs on me.
My heart tugs as I smooth my fingers over the dress, knowing there’s no way I can get it home without ruining the fabric. The thought is sobering — all of this is so temporary. My first heat will hit, I’ll make it through it — and then what?
I’ll be able to book a hotel, or fly back home. This time will fade to a memory of the two weeks I spent in a townhouse in London with men who doted on me.
My eye is drawn to the bodice, hugging my chest and showing off my cleavage, just enough to be tantalizing and flattering. Pulling my hair to the side, I reach back, trying to get to the zipper so I can at leastseeit fully on, but my fingers fumble, unable to reach it. Therearepockets though, and I grin at myself in the mirror, sticking my hands into them experimentally.
It would look really nice with a gold necklace. I can’t lie to myself. Extracting my hands, I skim my collarbone, picturing it — the life I could have inthisdress, with the man outside.
It would be beautiful too. Life would be full of moments like this, full of dresses and dinners and smiles exchanged. It would befullof laughter — I justknowit would, because already my heart feels tethered to Seth, our souls recognizing each other.
I’ve always wanted more. More from my parents who have been so focused on others their entire lives — whether that’s believing in a god who ordains designations as better than others, or themselves, trying to make connections and friends they feel are worthwhile and powerful.
Seth’s attention feeds a part of my brain that can’t help but preen. I don’t know if I should be upset or not that I’m so easily swayed — maybe the other alpha, Theo, is right. Maybe I’m only a silly omega, a stranger getting swept into a lifestyle I’ll never be a part of.
I smooth the dress down self-consciously, hearing my mother’s voice in the back of my mind.
“Betas like us aren’t meant for the things the world gives alphas and omegas. You’ve never been small, Juniper, you’ve never been meant for anything more than what you are. You’ll do well to remember your place. No alpha is going to give you a second look when they have a prettier, petite omega out in the world, meant for them.”
It’s biology. It’s always been — but now, more than ever — I understand the difference.
But she was wrong.
Iaman omega — I could be meant for more. I could deserve it.
There’s a sharp inhale, and I whirl, the skirt flaring out as I stare straight atBennettas he lingers in the doorway, in a pair of navy trousers with a white button up. His hands clench next to his sides as I’m hit with the vibrant smell of freshly peeled oranges, the citrus scent overpowering and potent.
He stares at me, sucking in a breath as his shoulders square.
