Summer The alphahole’s voice crashes through the barrier. I freeze.
My knuckles stretch white. He’s the one who invited me.
He could sound a little more welcoming. A little less intimidating. To hell with that. I am going to teach him that
he can’t mess with me. I’ve got this. I twist the door handle, and the double doors swing open. I st ep inside and
pause.
"Well? You going to ke ep me waiting all day, woman?"
Anger thrums at my temples. I raise my head, and those indigo eyes lock with mine. All of the breath leaves me.
The force of his dominance spears me with the precision of a heat-seeking missile, pinning me in place. The scent
of him... bergamot and leather and woodsmoke. It fills the space, crawls into my cells, and I am instantly wet.
He frowns; his glare swe eps me from toe to head. He licks his lips and a whine bubbles up my throat.
He tilts his head and his jawline cuts through the air.
The rough chafe of those whiskers between my thighs, across my sensitive, swollen, throbbing pussy... I gulp. The
image is sharp, larger than life, so real that I squeeze my thighs together.
"Close your mouth or you’ll catch a fly, and it’s not a sexy look, I promise you that."
I snap my teeth together. What a wanker! I’d forgotten he has this ability to turn me on and the next second dump
freezing cold water on all of my heated desires. I walk forward and the door snicks shut behind me. The sound
shivers up my spine and my knees knock together. I pause, hold onto the straps of my bag. Dig my fingers into the
leather.
"How dare you?" he growls.
"What?" I stiffen.
Not a second in his presence and he is issuing orders and declarations. It's as if no time has passed between us, no
incidents... Nothing exc ept the death of my father, and his subsequent actions trying to show... What? That he is
trying to put things right between us? As if that would ever be possible. "What are you talking about?"
He struts forward. I take a st ep back, but he’s already standing in front of me. He shoots out his hand, I cringe.
"Your hair." The muscles of his jaw flex. "You changed it."
"The color... Yeah."
"Why?"
"Why?" I shuffle my weight from foot to foot. "I needed a change, I guess." I jut out my chin. "It's what some of us
do when everything else spirals out of control. Unlike alphaholes, who decide to go about destroying other
people’s lives."
The skin across his cheeks stretches; he pales. The look in his eyes is bleak, so stricken, that I blink. It clears. The
cerulean and blue roars forth. Nah, I was mistaken. He couldn’t have revealed himself so clearly there. No way.
"Going auburn suits you."
"It does?"
"Makes you ordinary enough that you can blend in with the rest."
Ouch. My shoulders stiffen. I thrust out my chin. "Nice to see you’ve been polishing up your manners."
"Nice to see that you’ve acc epted my job offer."
"I haven’t."
He blinks. His features pale yet more.
Gotcha.
He drops his hands to his sides. "So why are you here?"
I reach for my bag, pull out the papers. My fingers tremble so hard that they flutter to the ground. The hell? I stare
at the rectangle of white on the ground between us.
So does he.
Neither of us says a word.
Then he clicks his tongue, "Max, get it."
I frown, watch him. He has his gaze trained on the paper. I wait a second, another. A bead of sweat rolls down his
temple.
"Sinclair?"
His jaw tics.
"Sin?"
A vein throbs at his temple.
"What’s wrong?"
"Max." He clears his throat, tracks his gaze across the floor toward me. "You like her, don’t you, boy?"
I scan the room again, see nothing... exc ept for the pet rug in the corner—which I’d spotted before—and next to it,
a leash. My heart begins to thud. "Sin, you’re beginning to scare me."
"I knew you liked her from the moment you saw her at the pub. How she leaned across the counter as if she owned
the place, sucked down that pink concoction—" "It’s called a Daiquiri—frozen, not stirred."
"What-bloody-ever."
I stiffen. For a second there, I was sure I’d sensed something different. "I signed it, so that’s it. It's over
between us." I pivot, walk toward the door.
"Stop."
I hasten my st eps.
"Bird."
My heart stutters. No, I will not give in to his stupid nicknames. He doesn’t mean anything when he calls me that.
It is how he manipulates my emotions, which, apparently, I have a shit ton of when it comes to him.
I reach the door, grab the handle.
"Max, go to her."
My spine stiffens.
"Go on, good boy, that’s it, brush up against her ankles, grab the hem of her skirt, rub her back—" "Stop." I pivot
to face him, "Who’s Max?"
"My imaginary dog."