Page 73 of Pack Choice

“Wait outside, Ford,” I tell him firmly in my best no-nonsense tone (which is mighty hard when the alpha is frowning at me). He doesn’t move. I hold my ground anyway. “Ford! He won’t lock the door, will you, Colt?” I peer over my shoulder at Colt. “Colt!”

“I won’t lock the door,” he says sulkily, “but he has to promise to stay out.”

“Only if she wants me to – if she yells for me to –”

“I’m not going to be doing any yelling.” I give Ford a little nudge and he capitulates, taking several paces backwards and allowing me to shut the door again.

As soon as it clicks shut, Colt says, “You slept with him.” He takes a step closer to me, his nostrils flaring a second time as he draws in a breath. “I can smell it.” His hands ball into fists. “Goddamn it, Omega.”

I glare back at him. “It’s none of your business.”

“So what? You’re a thing now.”

I grimace. A thing? What the hell is a thing?

“What are you asking me here, Colt?”

“You’re sleeping with him. Are you his?”

“I’m nobody’s,” I say with a little more prickle than I intend. Because as much as I don’t want to admit it to anyone, I want to be someone’s. I want to belong to a pack. I want to belong to an entire pack of alphas. I want what Bea has. I want what Ava is going to have. Love and companionship. Alphas who will wash away all this goddamn sadness. But regardless of all that, I put on the usual facade. “And I never will be. I’m my own person.”

Perhaps he picks up on the hurt because his expression softens. “I didn’t mean it like … I just … fuck …” He scrubs his hand through his hair. “You have no idea how torturous that is? You smell …”

I roll my eyes. “I showered this morning. You can’t smell shit.”

He takes another step closer, his nostrils quivering now. “I can smell him inside you, sweetheart.”

I shiver all the way from my scalp down to my toes.

“Like I said, none of your business.” I peer up into his eyes. “And if I remember, I gave you your opportunity last night too, andyougave it a pass.”

The smart from that is still stinging, right beside Ford’s.

“I told you, I don’t share.”

I shrug and step around him, taking my seat in front of his desk and making it abundantly clear that this conversation is over.

He’s in a grump for the rest of the day, scowling sulkily at me at every opportunity and barking all his orders. Coupled with Ford’s sad puppy-dog eyes, I really can’t wait for the day to end and the weekend to arrive. I am going to be doing some serious baking – although first, of course, there’s my date with Pack Sensible – and before that, a phone conference Mr. Red Flag has in his office for which he wants me to take notes.

“This client likes to drop crucial bits of information casually into the conversation,” Colt tells me as he switches on the teleconference software in his office and points to a seat beside him at the small conference table. “You need to be switched on and making a note of everything that’s said.”

“Not a problem,” I tell him, dropping into the chair.

The screen is blank, a message reading ‘waiting for caller to join’ blinking on and off.

Colt eyes me sideways, his gaze trailing down my body. Then he huffs, rubbing at his nose.

“Will you cut that out,” I hiss. “I really do not smell that bad.”

“That’s the problem,” he mumbles. “You smell fucking amazing.”

The screen swims with color and several faces pop up across the screen leaving me with warm cheeks and wondering what he can mean.

Does he like my scent? Is it my scent mixed with Ford’s that he likes? Or … is it the fact he can smell Ford’s come inside me?

The idea that it’s the latter, the idea that he can smell something so intimate, the idea that he finds that alluring, well, it has all my darn naughty insides spinning at once. They really are kinky little deviants.

I bite my lip, straining to follow the conversation that is now taking place, the one I’m meant to be following and taking notes on.