Page 38

Della

I blink my eyes open as sunlight streams through my windows.

I’m alone and there’s a deep crease in the bed beside me, a sign where Vincent sat last night. When I touch it, the space is slightly warm, as if he left not that long ago.

Sitting up, I stretch out the kinks in my neck. On my way to the bathroom to wash up, my eyes snag on the dresser, and I make a detour to investigate Vincent’s comment from last night.

The top two drawers are half-empty. Just stuff from Everleigh.

I never looked at the drawers below that. I never had a reason to. They were empty.

I pull the third drawer open.

It is not empty.

Neither is the one after that, nor the next one down.

All are full of clothes.

Sweatpants, T-shirts, shorts, jeans, and sweaters. Lingerie that makes me blush when I picture Vincent at a lingerie store picking them out for me.

Curious, yet not expecting much, I cross to the closet, open the door, and stare. Dresses, skirts, and slacks fill all the rails. Shoes are lined up on the floor in a neat row.

All with the labels still attached.

All look like they are my size.

And all because of the alpha downstairs, who doesn’t know how to answer a direct question if it smacked him in the face.

“A small thing.” I smile as I shut the door. “Just had some time after a meeting.”

I flop onto my bed, my cheeks aching from my stupid smile. “The guy went on a freaking spending spree. For me .”

I itch to call Everleigh and ask why three alphas keep treating me like I’m a prized omega. But I shake my head at the thought and get up to prepare for the day.

I head downstairs in jeans and a turquoise sweater with my damp hair braided. My back felt fine while I dried it, so I skipped the ointment, hoping I won’t regret that decision later.

In the kitchen, a mug of steaming coffee sits on the kitchen island next to a closed file.

Vincent was here, and recently.

There’s no sign of him, though.

When a gust of wind cools my ankles, I follow it to the kitchen double doors, pushing them the rest of the way open and stepping out into a lush, rainforest-like garden.

I hadn’t realized this house came with its own enclosed garden, but it’s beautiful—nothing like the ultra-modern interiors.

I wander for a bit, weaving around tall trees and bushes, songbirds trilling overhead. My fingers glide over the soft leaves, and I inhale the earthy scent of pine and soil.

I’m turning back to the house when I see him.

Vincent. Back in office attire, he’s standing in front of… something. Damn those wide shoulders. As I lean to the side to see what he’s doing, I wince at the sharp crack of a twig snapping under my right foot.

He turns.

I duck, holding my breath as I hide, waiting for him to resume whatever he was doing so I can satisfy my curiosity.

Silence.

Slowly, I get to my feet and peer around me. Where did he go?

“You have a bad habit of sneaking, Miss Jackson.”

I yelp at a male voice that drifts over my shoulder, whipping around to glare at him. “What the fuck!”

He has his hands in his pockets, his gray eyes somber. “I suppose I should be grateful you weren’t crawling around my ankles like a cat for me to trip over.”

My spine stiffens. “That was one time, and I was nowhere near your ankles.”

He walks away as I twist around to discover what he might have been doing out here.

But there’s nothing.

Just a beautiful forest-like garden.

“Are you coming?” he calls out.

I jump again, cursing those dickhead alphas for this new stupid jumpiness. “What were you doing here?”

He keeps walking.

I scowl at his back. “You have a real issue with answering questions. Has anyone ever told you that before?” I shout after him.

He doesn’t even slow.

Grumbling under my breath, I follow him back to the kitchen, where I find him pulling eggs and bacon from the refrigerator.

“Thanks,” I say as I take a seat on a stool at the kitchen island.

He cracks eggs into a bowl. “For?”

“The clothes. That’s what I was looking for you to say. And to apologize for telling you to fuck off last night.”

“Did you mean it?” He lifts his head to look at me.

“Last night?” I consider my state of mind last night, and nod. “Yeah. Why?”

Suddenly, he’s close, eggs forgotten. I nearly tip myself off my stool, I’m that surprised. One large hand at the back of my neck and the other on my stool keeps me from cracking my head open on the kitchen floor.

He stares into my face, his expression so fierce that for a second, I’m afraid. “ Never apologize for telling someone invading your space to fuck off.”

Oh.

“Even you?”

“ Especially me. I never…”

I wait a second, then clear my throat. “You never what?”

“Want to scare you or…”

“Or?” My God, this man is infuriating.

“Hurt you. Not again.” It’s almost a whisper, but he’s breathing hard. So am I when I realize two inches separate his mouth from mine.

Randomly, I remember him asking if I had a boyfriend. “I don’t.”

He blinks at me, confused. “Don’t what?”

“Have a boyfriend. There was a guy. A while ago, but that was before I made my whole life about saving my sister.”

Something shifts between us. Something monumental.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Why did you ask?”

Another stretch of charged silence weaves around us.

“I needed to know you were free.”

“Why?”

He licks his lips, hesitating.

“I will smack you over the head with a frying pan if you’re vague about this,” I warn him, poking a finger at his chest for emphasis. “I know you were making me breakfast with it, but I’ll do it.”

Laughter briefly lights up his eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Or wanting you.”

I stop breathing.

He continues, “It would be wrong to do those things if you belong to someone else.”

Now I’m the one hesitating.

His eyes search mine. “Della?”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” I blurt out and order myself to calm the fuck down, project a calm I absolutely do not feel, and stop shouting in his face. “So, you don’t have to worry about stepping on any toes or anything.”

He nods, smiling slightly. “Good.”

“That’s it ?” My eyebrows fly up. “That’s all you're going to say? Or do?”

“Was there something you were expecting me to say?” His eyes dart to my mouth. “Or do?”

He’s asking if he can kiss me.

I stare at him, my heart racing, as I have another tongue-tied Della moment. Everleigh would be rushing me to the nearest hospital, convinced I had a head injury with the frequency it keeps happening.

He waits.

And… I’m not sure. I want to. I like him.

Probably more than I should like a guy who humiliated me with a terrifying math equation in class.

But a serious guy like Vincent doesn’t go around kissing girls, and the way he’s looking at me makes me think this will change things in a more monumental way than when he asked me if I was single.

He doesn’t just want a kiss.

He’s asking about commitment.

Belonging.

I see all those things in his eyes, even if I’m not sure I believe he means it.

My stomach grumbles. Mortifying me.

His eyes crinkle with a smile.

I cover my face, humiliated. “As if the couple going at each other like rabbits wasn’t embarrassing enough.”

“Sounds like they were having a good time.” His voice is soft with amusement, but when I pull my hands away from my face, I find no trace of a smile.

My eyes narrow. “How much time do you spend secretly laughing at me?”

“More than I should.”

I poke him again, just because. Then I hesitate, suddenly shy. “Ask me again. Not… not now. Later.”

After a searching look, he nods.

I’m not sure I’m ready for commitment, and a kiss from him would signal the start of something more permanent than I can agree to now.

But later.

“Okay, Miss Jackson.” As always, he says my name with a soft growl, and I press my thighs together.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” I mutter, staring at his ass when he walks around the kitchen island to make me breakfast.

“Because you like it and you don’t want me to know how much?” He turns suddenly, catches me staring, and his tiny smile tells me he doesn’t mind it one bit.

This man is too damn perceptive. It isn’t even funny.