Page 41 of Pack Plus One

Drat.

Mason materializes behind them, black hair damp from a shower, a towel slung around his neck. “Also, you’re wearing one shoe.”

Heat floods my face. I look down at my mismatched feet—one bare, one strapped into a silver heel that suddenly seems ludicrously formal. I must look like a disaster. Hair tangled from sleep (and other activities), wearing nothing but a borrowedshirt and one shoe, clutching a wrinkled dress, reeking of sex and four different scents.

This is a new low. Even for me.

Caleb stirs at my feet, his dark chocolate thickening the air as he blinks up at me. When our eyes meet, memories flash unbidden—his teeth on my neck, his hands pinning my wrists, his voice rough as he?—

Nope. Not going there.

The weight of their collective attention is suffocating. Four pairs of eyes track my every movement. Four scents intertwine around me, making it hard to think straight.

“I need air,” I blurt, taking a stumbling step backward. “I-I need to go.”

Jude catches my wrist as I dart past, his grip gentle but firm enough that I can’t just dislodge his hold. His thumb brushes my racing pulse. “We’ll drive you.”

“No. I don’t live far from here. I’ll walk.” The word comes out too sharp. I soften it with a forced smile. “I need?—”

To not be trapped in a car with four men who saw me come apart last night. To process the fact that I slept with not one, not two, but FOUR packmates after knowing them for less than 48 hours. To deal with the terrifying reality that I enjoyed every second of it and might be developing feelings for all of them.

“—some space,” I finish lamely.

Caleb rises in one fluid motion, his bare chest blocking my escape route. “Then I’ll walk you.”

It’s not a request.

“You don’t have to?—”

“I insist.” His voice is rough with sleep, and something in my traitorous chest flutters at the sound.

“We all will,” Jude adds cheerfully, as if the prospect of escorting a disheveled one-night stand home is the highlight of his Sunday plans.

“No!” I say, too loudly. They all look startled, and I lower my voice. “I mean, that’s really not necessary. I can call a car.”

Mason steps forward, his expression unreadable. “At least stay for breakfast. Liam makes excellent pancakes.”

As if on cue, the scent of coffee and something cinnamon wafts up the stairs. My stomach growls traitorously.

“I really should?—”

“Please,” Liam says, his voice soft but with an undercurrent of something that makes my pulse quicken. “Just breakfast.”

I should say no. I should insist on leaving immediately. I should not, under any circumstances, prolong this mortifying morning after.

But Liam’s eyes are earnest, and Jude’s grin is infectious, and Mason’s quiet presence is oddly comforting, and Caleb...

Caleb looks at me like he might die if I walk out that door.

“Fine,” I surrender, dropping my gaze to the floor. “Just breakfast.”

“Excellent choice,” Jude beams, releasing my wrist only to sling an arm around my shoulders. “You might want to lose the formal footwear, though.”

I kick off my remaining heel with as much dignity as I can muster—which is approximately none—and allow myself to be herded downstairs.

The kitchen is warm and surprisingly homey for four bachelor alphas. Sunlight streams through large windows, illuminating a space that’s both modern and lived-in. A stack of pancakes sits on the island, alongside fresh fruit, syrup, and what appears to be homemade preserves.

“You did all this?” I ask, genuinely impressed.