Page 3 of Knot Your Romeo
“You’re a terrible liar, Emmie. It’s adorable.”
“Is it?”
“It is, but I won’t push you until you’re ready to talk to me.”
“We’re talking,” I insist.
The wine he orders is expensive and delicious. It also goes to my head faster than the vodka did. Or maybe that’s just him—the way he leans forward when I talk, like every word matters. The way his fingers brush mine when he reaches for the bread basket. The way his dark gray eyes look into mine.
“What do you do?” I ask when the server clears our plates.
“I solve problems,” he says. “Usually for people who have more money than sense.”
“That’s wonderfully vague.”
“I could be more specific, but then I’d have to kill you.” His grin takes the edge off the joke, but something in his eyes suggests it might not be entirely a joke. The smart thing would be not asking for any more details about his job, his life, and certainly not his intentions. He’s older than me, whatever is happening here doesn’t need me knowing any of these things. So I don’t push for more information.
But I do find myself leaning closer, drawn by the warmth radiating from his skin and the way he smells. I know he’s an Alpha, but luckily for me, not a scent match. I’ve resigned myself to never finding one of those. But his smell is amazing. As well as honey, he has this delicious masculine, musky scent that sends shivers down my back. I’ve never smelled anything quite like it. Yet, I still know he’s not mine.
“How old are you, Emmie?” The question comes out of nowhere, quiet and serious.
“Twenty-one.” I lift my chin, daring him to make an issue of it.
“Christ.” He runs a hand through his hair, and for the first time tonight, he looks uncertain. “I should take you back to the hotel and leave you be.”
“Should,” I repeat. “But you won’t.” It’s a fact, and we both know it. Whatever this is between us—this pull, this electricity—it’s bigger than good sense, scent matches, appropriate age gaps or the fact that we’re essentially strangers.
“No,” he says finally. His eyes are on mine. “I won’t.”
At the hotel, he presses the panel on the elevator, straight to the top floor.
He opens the door for me, but I linger at the entrance like a teenager at her first party. It’s not like I don’t know why I’m here. We’re just two people, an Omega and an Alpha, about to do the most natural thing we do.
Fuck.It’s not like I’m a virgin. I made sure of that when I thought Mom was going to allow Blake to breed me. But I am a virgin with regards to a knot. I swallow as I look around the room.
His hotel room is three floors above mine and twice the size. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the harbor, but I turn away. I’m too focused on the way Beck moves around the space like he owns the entire city.
He takes the tie he loosened earlier from his pocket and places it on the table and picks up a bottle of bourbon.
I’m suddenly nervous.
“Come here,” he says, not turning around as he pours himself a drink. My feet move before my brain catches up, carrying me across the plush carpet until I’m standing close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Nervous?” he asks, finally turning to face me.
“Should I be?”
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my lower lip. “I’m going to take very good care of you tonight, baby girl. But if you want to leave, now’s the time to say so.”
The way his eyes darken as they trace over my body makes me feel like a precious piece of art.
Instead of answering, I rise up on my toes and press my lips to his. The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, but then his free hand slides into my hair and everything changes. He tastes like whiskey and dark promises, and when his tongue sweeps across mine, I make a sound that’s a half gasp, half whimper.
“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs against my mouth, and the endearment sends heat spiraling through my chest and my pussy gushes with slick. His eyes close as he inhales. “So sweet for me already.”
His hands find the zipper at the back of my dress, and I should probably feel self-conscious as the fabric pools at my feet. Instead, I feel powerful. Desired.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, backing me toward the bed. “So fucking beautiful, baby girl. Look at you.”
