Page 39

TEMPTED BY THE ALPHA OUTLAW

For a second, I forget how to speak.

She’s the kind of gorgeous that sneaks up on you and hits hard—big, dark eyes that hold too much emotion, a full mouth that seems made to curve into a smile. Her skin is a warm, sunlit brown, like the earth after rain, catching the light in a way that makes her seem like she’s glowing from within.

But it’s her hair that really gets me—dark, glossy waves that tumble over her shoulders, the kind of hair a man can’t help but imagine tangling his fingers in, even when he knows better.

She’s brightness and warmth in a world that’s forgotten how to hold either.

…and I know she’s got a kind of light I’ve got no business chasing.

“Hi,” she says, smiling at me. “Colt, right?”

Fuck, watching those lips curve around my name sends a jolt straight to my cock. I shift in the doorway to the office, trying desperately to play it cool.

“That’s right,” I say. “And you are…?”

“Magnolia.” She hesitates. “Most people call me Maggie, but it’s whatever you?—”

“I like Magnolia,” I cut in. “It’s pretty.”

She blushes, rose-gold blooming across her cheeks. I wonder if she flushes that color all over.

I wipe the grime from my hands, stepping closer, craving another lungful of her scent. She leans in, just barely, arms wrapping around herself like that might keep this chemistry at bay.

“So,” I murmur. “What brings you here, Magnolia?”

She shifts, lips parting, breath hitching. Our wolves are already tangled up in some silent, primal conversation, instincts speaking where words won’t. She swallows, clears her throat.

I half expect her to beg me to fuck her right here and now.

I’d do it. Get myself kicked out on day one.

And I have the feeling it’d be worth it.

“Well, I heard you’re good with machines,” she says. “I mean…obviously, you’re the mechanic. Sorry?—”

“No need to be sorry,” I chuckle. “I am good with machines, for what it’s worth.”

She tears her eyes away from me and gestures beside her, where I notice an old red wagon for the first time, holding a broken-down projector. “The kids have been asking me to get this working again for story time, but I…uh, don’t have the skills for it. Thought maybe you could take a look?”

I glance at the projector, then back at her. “The kids…?”

“Oh,” she says, eyes wide. “Sorry…everyone around here knows me, I just assumed you’d already heard…I’m the teacher in the den. Thus, the kids. Not mine—other people’s.”

I let out a low chuckle. “Let me guess. I fix story time, and I’m the den’s hero?”

“If that’s what it takes to get you to help,” she teases.

I smirk. “Alright, hand it over.”

She bends down to pick it up, grunting slightly at the exertion. When she passes it to me, our fingers brush for a fraction of a second, but it’s long enough for my wolf to stir, growling low in my chest.

He wants her bad. So do I. But this place is far too wholesome for the things I would do to this girl.

I motion to the workbench. “This might take a while,” I say. “It’s in rough shape.”

Magnolia doesn’t move to leave, though. Instead, she pulls up a stool, settling in like she plans to stay. Her scent—vanilla and wildflowers, the same scent I caught outside the gate yesterday—distracts me in a way that’s downright dangerous.

“You planning on supervising?” I ask, raising a brow as I set the projector on the bench and start inspecting it.

She tilts her head, her smile playful. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just curious if you’re as good as everyone says.”

That pulls a laugh from me. “Everyone, huh? Been here all of five minutes, and already I’ve got a reputation?”

She laughs nervously. I get the impression she doesn’t flirt very often–which is strange, because it’s working real fucking well on me. “Word travels fast. Besides, the kids are counting on you. They love story time, and if this works…” Her voice softens, the playfulness fading. “It gives them a little bit of magic, you know? Something that reminds them there’s more to the world than just…this.”

Her words catch me off guard, hitting a part of me I usually keep buried. I glance at her, and for a moment, I’m struck by how earnest she is, how unguarded. It’s rare to see anyone like that anymore—someone who hasn’t been completely hardened by the world.

“Big dreams for a busted-up projector,” I say.

“Sometimes, big dreams are all we have,” she replies.

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I focus on the task at hand, prying open the projector and examining its guts. It’s worse off than I thought—wires frayed, parts rusted, half the mechanisms gummed up with dirt.

“This thing’s ancient,” I mutter, fiddling with a stubborn screw. “Might need some parts I don’t have.”

“I can help track them down.”

I chuckle. “You always this helpful?”

“Only when it matters,” she says with a small smile, and damn if that doesn’t feel like a punch to the gut. I look away, forcing my attention back to the projector.

“You’re distracting, you know that?” I tease.

Magnolia glances away, tucking a strand of dark, glossy hair behind her ear. “Sorry,” she says quickly, starting to rise like she’s overstayed her welcome. “I didn’t mean to?—”

“I didn’t say leave,” I cut in—because shit, I don’t want her to go, even if she really should. She freezes mid-step, looking back at me with those wide brown eyes, her innocence practically glowing off her.

Like she has no idea what she’s doing to me just by standing there.

I clear my throat, trying to play it cool. “I just meant…you’re a lot more hopeful than I’m used to.”

Her lips part slightly, soft and unsure, and I catch myself staring at them longer than I should. My wolf stirs low in my chest, urging me to close the distance between us, to take her, to ruin her sweetness until she doesn’t blush like that for anyone else but me.

“Is that a bad thing?” she asks.

I put the screwdriver down, taking a second to get myself under control. She’s too close. Too bright. Too goddamn good. “No,” I say after a beat. “But it might be dangerous.”