Thankfully Atticus arrives on time, ending my spiral into madness before I do something drastic like start eating what I cooked, or the ice cream I have for dessert.
Like, oops, sorry, alpha. I ate what we were supposed to have for dinner. Take-out okay?
He glances up at me before he crosses the street, a smile spreading over his handsome face when he spots me at the window. The bunch of flowers he’s carrying is big enough to be mistaken for a small tree.
My smile mirrors his and I skip to the door. I still wait for him to ring the doorbell before I open it, and I find a scowl on his face and his phone in his hand.
“Coco. You should have waited for me to call first, make sure it’s me.”
The growl in his voice almost sends me to my knees. “Yes, alpha,” I whisper.
“Fuck.” He pockets his phone, licks his lips. “Don’t submit so easily or else, instead of dinner, I’ll eat you out on the table.”
Gasping, I step back as he steps forward, his eyes dark and narrowed. “Ace?—”
“Or take you right here, against the wall. The way you wind me up, girl… Nobody has ever affected me like that.”
This situation is spiraling out of control, and fast. I’m getting wet between my thighs and he’s standing there, wine in one hand, with the enormous bunch of flowers in the crook of his arm, and the other hand clenched into a fist.
I need to defuse this.
“Dinner is ready,” I breathe, backpedaling. “That’s the only thing you’re eating tonight.”
His jaw unclenches. “Zach said?—”
“Why would Zach tell you anything?”
He holds my gaze for another second, then he sighs and looks away. “He said you had a great evening. I’m sorry. You’re just so hot, it blows my mind.”
I swallow hard. He’s the personification of hotness, once more dressed in tailored formal clothes, black slacks and a fine green-gray shirt that matches his eyes. His gray hair and beard frame his face so perfectly, highlighting those high cheekbones and intense gaze.
A berserk Viking, I think, in a tailored suit.
Thor, but older.
And his hammer…
Now fighting an insane urge to giggle, I hurry into the kitchen to check on the food. I hear him closing the door and following me. He hesitates at the small kitchen door.
“The flowers…” he says.
I turn back around, pressing my ass to the cupboards and the counter. The bunch consists of pale pink and white roses. It almost looks like a bride’s bouquet, I think randomly and feel my face heating up.
Packs usually don’t perform weddings. That’s for betas and their ceremonies. Packs pledge their love and the main thing is the knotting, biting and marking of one another.
And Atticus sure looks like he wants to bite me.
Rawr.
“Do you have a vase?” he asks, snapping me out of my reverie. “I hope you like the flowers.”
“Love them,” I whisper as I receive them. An armful of flowers. I feel like a flower fairy, which has always been my number two preference of a job description, the first one, of course, being a queen. “I’ll find a vase. Go ahead and take a seat at the table.”
I never thought I’d have more than one bouquet in my home, but I think I have a big water jug somewhere that might fit all these flowers.
“How can I help with dinner?” He places the wine bottle on the counter. My tiny kitchen is full to bursting with his presence. “I brought chilled white wine.”
“Perfect,” I murmur, carrying my load of flowers to the living room. “I hope you like seafood pasta.”
