6
M y next stop was Wilson’s Bakery. Sunlight reflected off the storefront window, highlighting its freshly painted lettering, but the cheerful atmosphere felt forced, like a smile that didn’t quite reach the eyes.
“Leo, dear!” Rosie’s face lit up as I stepped through the door. “What brings you by?”
I perched on a worn wooden stool at the counter. My fingers absently traced the edge of a repurposed shoe display case, now filled with golden croissants. “I wanted to ask you about Jake. Did he seem... off to you lately?”
Rosie’s smile wavered. She wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron, leaving ghostly handprints. “Now that you mention it, he did seem nervous these past few weeks. Jumpy, like a cat near a rocking chair. Said he had a ‘big problem,’ but wouldn’t tell me more.”
My eyebrows rose. “Did he give you any hints?”
She shook her head, curls bouncing. “I offered to help, of course. Even tried bribing him with his favorite cherry Danish recipe.
“You know, the one Minnie Goldstein’s always had her eye on?” Rosie added, her mouth curving into a smug smile.
I chuckled, recalling Minnie’s intense love for that particular pastry.
“I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to kill me for it yet.” Rosie said with a laugh. I watched as her expression shifted from amusement to concern. “But Jake… he just clammed up tighter than my gran’s secret recipe box.”
Her fingers twisted the corner of her apron. “I had no choice but to let him go.”
“What happened?” The old wooden stool creaked as I leaned forward.
“Little things at first. Coming in late. Forgetting orders.” She walked to the window, her shoulders tense. “Then the cannoli incident...”
“Cannoli incident?”
“Three trays. Burnt black as coal.” She turned back, her eyes glistening. “Found him asleep in the kitchen. The timer had been going for twenty minutes. Could’ve burnt the place down.”
“That doesn’t sound like Jake at all.”
“No, it’s doesn’t… it’s not. And when I tried to talk to him about it...” She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “He just shut down. Wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t say a word.”
The bell above the door chimed as a customer entered. Rosie squared her shoulders, plastering on her signature smile. “Be right there.”
I mentally tucked away the tidbit of information about Jake. “Thanks, Rosie. If you hear from him, let me know, okay?”
“Of course, dear.” She patted my hand affectionately before turning to the customer.
I stepped out of the bakery, the bell’s gentle chime fading behind me. My heart skipped.
There, striding down the cobblestone street like he owned every inch of it, was Dominic Steele’s unmistakable silhouette. His broad shoulders cut a striking figure against the backdrop of quaint storefronts, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. When I did inhale, the scent of pine and sandalwood carried on the breeze, tickling my nose. Something about his purposeful walk, the set of his shoulders, sparked my curiosity. My feet moved of their own accord, propelling me after him before my brain could catch up.
I ducked behind a parked delivery truck, tracking his movements. Dominic Steele played a role in all this, even if I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what part. And after what Rosie just told me, I needed answers. Once I was certain he hadn’t spotted me, I crept forward, making sure to stay a few paces behind.
My footsteps faltered as he suddenly veered off the cobblestone path toward a secluded park tucked between two brick buildings. The wrought iron fence cast delicate shadows across dewy grass, and a pair of sparrows scattered from the stone fountain at his approach. He settled onto a weathered wooden bench, his posture relaxed but commanding.
“Lurking in the shadows now, are we?” he called out, not turning around.
Heat crept up my neck—he’d known I’d trailed after him this whole time. Sheepishly, I approached and sat beside him. “How did you know?”
He chuckled. “Your scent. I’d recognize it anywhere.” The brass links of his pocket watch caught the light as he shifted, those steel-gray eyes pinning me in place.
We sat in silence for a moment, the tension between us a living thing. I cleared my throat, trying to sound casual. “So, what brings you to the Historical District, Mr. Steele?”
His lips quirked, but his eyes remained unreadable. “I thought we might continue our... discussion from earlier.”
“You came all the way here for that?”
“I did. But imagine my surprise when I found your shop closed.” He turned, fixing me with a pointed look. “Didn’t expect you’d be too busy playacting as my shadow to keep your business open.”
My cheeks flushed red. “I wasn’t—That’s not—“ I sputtered, fumbling for words. “I was just taking a walk. Purely coincidental.”
“Of course,” he replied, his tone dripping with amusement. “And I suppose your walk just happened to follow my exact route?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. There was no way to explain this without sounding like a complete fool.
“Someone who might have a connection to the vandalism may be missing,” I finally said.
He turned to me, his expression serious. “What? Who?”
I filled him in on what I’d learned from Jake’s neighbor and Rosie. As I spoke, I watched his face carefully, looking for any sign of guilt or knowledge.
“Did you notify law enforcement?”
I shook my head. “I reached out to the Sheriff’s office, but since Jake’s over eighteen, he’s free to disappear if he wants to.”
I sighed. “It’s odd that Jake disappeared just as things began to heat up, isn’t it?”
I couldn’t help but notice the timing.
“Leo.” He shifted on the bench, turning his body toward me. “I know you don’t trust me, but I want to help. Let me use my resources to try and find Jake.”
I hesitated. Could I trust him? But if Jake was in trouble...
“Alright,” I said slowly. “But I want to be involved every step of the way.”
He nodded. “Of course. We’ll work together on this.”
“Fine,” I agreed, trying to ignore the thrill that ran through me at the thought of working closely with him.
Stupid omega instincts.
“Where do we start?” I asked.
“Let me buy you dinner,” he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made my knees weak. His smile crumbled what little remained of my defenses.
Every instinct screamed that this was a bad idea. But the way he looked at me, like I was something precious, something worth pursuing... “Alright.”
I trailed behind as he led me to his parked Aston Martin where it waited at the pharmacy’s curb. The car probably cost more than my shop made in five years. Dominic opened the passenger door, and I slid onto butter-soft leather. The interior smelled of expensive cologne and leather, distinctly alpha, distinctly Dominic Steele.
He tossed his jacket and tie into the back before sliding behind the wheel. “French okay?” he asked while pushing up his crisp white sleeves to expose sun-kissed skin.
“Ah, yes,” I said, fighting to pull my gaze away from the way his unbuttoned collar and rolled sleeves transformed him from polished CEO to devastating temptation.
As we pulled away from the curb, I caught Mrs. Henderson watching from her flower shop window. By morning, the whole district would be buzzing with gossip.
He drove with the same precise control he seemed to apply to everything, one hand resting casually on the gear shift. The muscles in his forearm flexed with each movement, drawing my attention. I forced myself to look out the window instead, watching as the familiar brick facades of the Historical District gave way to Downtown Millcrest’s gleaming towers.
He pulled up to Le Petit Jardin, the kind of place where the menu didn’t list prices. A valet materialized to take the keys, and Mr. Steele was at my door before I could reach for the handle.
“Ready?” he asked, offering his arm.
I smoothed my worn jeans self-consciously. “I’m not exactly dressed for this.”
His eyes raked over me, hot enough to burn. “You’re perfect.”
The ma?tre d’ rushed over the moment we stepped inside. “Ah, Monsieur Steele! Your usual table awaits.”
We weaved through the maze of white tablecloths and crystal stemware to a private alcove tucked behind a carved wooden screen. The leather upholstery of the curved booth whispered against my jeans as I slid in.
“A bottle of the ’82 Bordeaux, Pierre,” Mr. Steele said. “And some water for the table.”
“But of course, monsieur. Excellent choice, as always.” Pierre scurried off to fetch the wine.
Soft jazz drifted through hidden speakers. Crystal glasses caught the candlelight, throwing rainbow prisms across the crisp white tablecloth. The silverware gleamed under the warm glow of the wall sconce, each piece perfectly aligned like soldiers at attention. My fingertips traced the delicate embossing on a napkin. I felt distinctly out of place among the other diners in their designer clothes.
“Relax,” Mr. Steele murmured. “You belong here as much as anyone. Any allergies or food aversions I should know about?”
“Uh, no…” I replied. “Nothing really…”
A waiter appeared, and Mr. Steele ordered in perfect French. I tried not to find that attractive. I failed.
“Now,” he said once we were alone, “about that cufflink.”
He held out his hand, palm up.
“Mr. Steele…” I hesitated, my fingers toying with the cufflink in my pocket. The weight of it seemed to grow heavier with each passing second.
I had to trust someone.
Reluctantly, I pulled the cufflink from my pocket and placed it in his palm. Our fingers brushed, sending a jolt of electricity through me. The metal caught the light, winking like it held secrets of its own.
“You really need to start calling me Dominic.” His hand closed around the cufflink, and our eyes met. I felt a strange energy in the space separating us, like static electricity waiting to spark. “We are comrades now, after all.”
“Ah, okay…”
“Did you show this to the Sheriff?”
I bobbed my head. “According to him, there’s no way to prove it belongs to our suspect. Some random visitor might’ve dropped it just as easily.”
“I can try tracing where it came from,” he leaned back in his seat as he studied the cufflink resting on his palm. “It might give us a lead.”
I nodded, unable to look away from him. Despite my suspicions, despite the mystery surrounding him, I couldn’t deny the pull I felt towards this enigmatic alpha.
“Right.” I forced my mind back to the case. “You think you can trace it?”
“I have connections at most of the high-end retailers in the city. This design is distinctive—shouldn’t be hard to find out who bought it, if it was purchased in Millcrest.”
Our wine arrived, a rich red that probably cost more than my monthly income. The sommelier poured with practiced grace, and I took a sip to steady my nerves. Warmth bloomed on my tongue, followed by notes of cherry and something darker.
“Good?” He asked, watching me over the rim of his glass.
“Dangerous,” I replied, setting the glass down. “Like everything about you.”
His lips curved. “You think I’m dangerous?”
“Mr. Ste?—”
His brow lifted.
“Dominic.” I corrected. “I think you’re more than you appear to be.”
“And what do I appear to be?”
“A corporate alpha playing some kind of game.” I met his gaze. “The question is, what are the stakes?”
His expression darkened. I watched him place his wine glass on the table. “Higher than you might think.”
The waiter arrived with our appetizers—delicate plates arranged in artistic designs. The waiter introduced each dish in flawless French as he positioned them in a meticulous row.
“So,” Dominic said, once the waiter had disappeared. “Tell me about this Jake friend of yours. What made him special to the bakery?”
I twirled my wine glass, watching the liquid catch the light. “He was more than just an employee to Rosie. She took him in when no one else would give him a chance. Said he had a gift for pastries.”
“And now he’s missing.”
“Right after your mysterious visit.” I couldn’t help the accusation in my tone.
Dominic’s jaw tightened. “You still think I had something to do with the vandalism?”
“I think nothing about you is simple.” The wine was making me bold. “The suit, the car, this restaurant—you’re clearly successful. So why skulk around my shop at night in tennis shoes?”
“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to introduce myself to you.”
My cheeks grew hot. “Now I know you’re lying.”
His eyes darkened. “Do I strike you as someone who needs excuses?”
Before I could respond, a shadow fell across our table.
“Dominic! What a surprise.” A man in an expensive suit appeared, his alpha scent sharp with ambition. The scent of fresh cotton and smoky Amyris wood invaded my nostrils. I recognized him and his scent from Vertex—Marcus Cretch.
Dominic’s expression cooled several degrees. “Marcus. I’m in the middle of dinner.”
“I can see that.” Cretch’s gaze slid over me, dismissive. “But since you’ve been missing our executive meetings, I thought?—“
“You thought wrong.” Dominic’s voice could have frozen hell. “We’ll discuss business tomorrow. At the office.”
The dismissal was clear. Marcus Cretch retreated, but not before shooting me a look that made my skin crawl.
“Sorry about that,” Dominic said once he’d gone.
“Do you always handle your employees so... definitively?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Only when they interrupt something important.”
The wine was definitely going to my head now, making everything soft around the edges. Making Dominic’s intense focus feel like a physical touch.
“Important?” I echoed.
“Very.” His voice dropped to that dangerous register again.
The rest of dinner passed in a haze of excellent food and heated glances. Dominic asked about my shop, actually listening as I talked about the craft of cobbling. I found myself leaning forward, drawn into stories about his travels, the way his hands moved as he spoke.
By the time we finished dessert—a decadent chocolate thing with a name I couldn’t pronounce—my head was spinning pleasantly. The wine had softened all my sharp edges, making it harder to remember why I shouldn’t trust the man sitting across the table.
“Let me take you home,” Dominic said, helping me up. His hand on my lower back felt like a brand.
The drive back was quiet, charged with something electric. I watched his profile in the passing streetlights, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel. His alpha scent filled the car, making my head swim with more than just wine.
He parked in front of my shop, coming around to open my door. Such an old-world alpha gesture. It shouldn’t have made my knees weak.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said as we reached my door. The words came out softer than intended.
“Thank you for trusting me.” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Even if you’re still suspicious.”
“I am suspicious.” But I was already tilting my face up to his. “You’re hiding something.”
“Yes.” His breath ghosted across my lips. “But not what you think.”
I’m not sure who moved first. One moment we were standing apart, the next his mouth was on mine, hot and demanding. I gasped, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss. His tongue swept in, tasting of wine and desire.
My back hit the door as he pressed closer. His hands framed my face, surprisingly gentle for how desperately he kissed me. I clutched at his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath expensive fabric.
A whimper escaped me as he moved to my neck, his teeth grazing my pulse point. My hips jerked forward instinctively, seeking friction. Finding it. He was hard against me, and the knowledge sent heat pooling low in my belly.
“Dom,” I gasped, rocking against him shamelessly. The wine had stripped away my inhibitions, leaving only want.
He groaned, the sound vibrating against my throat. Then suddenly he was pulling away, putting space between us. The loss of his heat made me whine—the desperate mewl of an omega that I’d regret once sobriety hit.
“We can’t,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re drunk.”
“M’not,” I protested, reaching for him.
He caught my hands, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “I don’t take advantage of drunk omegas. No matter how tempting they are.”
“But—”
“Get some sleep, Leo.” He stepped back, though it seemed to cost him. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I watched him walk away, his broad shoulders disappearing into the darkness. The cool night air slowly cleared my head, bringing with it the weight of what had just happened.
I’d kissed Dominic Steele. More than kissed him.
And tomorrow, when the wine wore off, I’d have to face what that meant.