Page 12 of A Cobbled Conspiracy
“Be careful, you hear me?” Dominic’s voice carried urgent intensity as the guard cuffed him. “Keep that little nose of yours out of places it shouldn't be.”
“I’ll be careful,” I promised.
He huffed, those silver eyes boring into mine with a heat that turned my legs to jelly. “Whatever happens, don’t you dare put yourself in danger. Blake and I have other properties, places he can take you where you’ll be safe.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I won’t run. Not from my home and not from you. I’m going to bring you home.”
“Time’s up,” the guard said, more firmly as he pushed against Dominic's unyielding frame. His boots squeaked against the linoleum, failing to gain traction against the alpha's solid mass.
“Fuck, Leo!” Dominic rasped. “Omegas are supposed to listen to their alphas.”
I stepped closer and grabbed his face with both hands, pulling him down to me. Our lips crashed together in a kiss that was desperate and claiming, utterly inappropriate for a prison visitation room. I poured everything I couldn’t say into that contact—my determination, my love, my promise that I would move heaven and earth to bring him home.
Dominic groaned against my mouth, his hands coming up to grip my waist despite the cameras, despite the rules, despite the cuffs keeping him from embracing me. For three heartbeats, nothing existed except us.
“Steele!” the guard barked sharply.
I pulled back, breathing hard, and met Dominic’s blazing steel-gray eyes. “I’ve never been the obedient sort,” I whispered fiercely.
I had to wrap my arms around myself to keep from reaching for him as the door closed between us. I could still feel the ghost of his teeth against my neck, still smell his scent clinging to my skin. It wasn’t enough—would never be enough until he was free.
Blake’s hand on my shoulder was gentle but firm. “Come on, Leo. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Adelaide looked up from the stack of documents laid out on her desk when I knocked on her partially open office door.
“I wasn’t expecting you today,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “Come in, dear.”
She pushed her chair back, the wooden legs scraping against the floor as she stood up. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m managing.” I stepped over the threshold. Her domain smelled like old paper, lemon oil, and a faint trace of bergamot. “Have you had the chance to pull those copies yet?”
“Oh! Yes, I have them right here.” She began rummaging through the piles of paperwork on her desk. “One minute… now, where did I?—”
I sank into the worn leather seat, the springs groaning softly beneath my weight. The corner of my mouth quirked upward as I watched Adelaide fluttering through her paperwork like an over anxious hummingbird. “How’s the investigation coming along?”
“The police haven’t made much progress, I’m afraid.” She stooped to fish around in a cardboard box overflowing with papers and folders. “Ah! Here it is!”
Adelaide's glasses sat askew on her nose as she stood. She adjusted them, passing me the stack of folders, her gaze turning contemplative. “It’s primarily construction permits, architectural plans, and correspondence related to the establishment of our preservation guidelines. Nothing really earth shattering, I’m afraid.”
She paused, studying my face. “A few of those are copies of reproductions we made for the upcoming Centennial Celebration.”
I smiled. “I still can’t believe that’s going to be this year.”
“It’s quite exciting, despite everything else going on.” Her voice warmed with genuine enthusiasm.
A soft knock on the office door interrupted us. “Aunt Adelaide? I hope I’m not interrupting.”
A man appeared in the doorway—tall, impeccably dressed, with icy-blond hair and the kind of polished appearance that screamed expensive taste.
Victor Fairfax. His familiar face flashed in my memory—those rare childhood glimpses when he'd return to Millcrest, designer luggage in hand, between terms at his prestigious boarding school.
His scent carried notes of leather and cedar, with an underlying sharpness that made my omega instincts wary.
“Victor! Perfect timing.” Adelaide brightened. “Leo, you remember my nephew Victor, right? Victor, this is Leo Sterling-Hart, the cobbler I was telling you about.”
“Officially, it’s Fairfax-Saunier.” Victor’s pale blue eyes focused on me with interest. “Sterling-Hart… I remember your family had quite a reputation for quality craftsmanship in footwear.”