Page 10 of Power Shift

I don’t have time to gasp before I’m tumbling forward, my arms flailing helplessly. There’s no chance for me to catch myself. Preparing to smash my face on the floor, I cover it with my arms and hold my breath.

It’s not the floor I make contact with, though. It’s a person.

The nauseating scent of tomato sauce and parmesan cheese slips up my nose, stealing my focus from the smell I was chasing as I grunt at the impact, my elbows jabbing against something hard and sharp. Several things fall to the floor before I notice the sliminess on my skin. I wince at the burn in my forearms and slowly lower my hands, exposing the sight in front of me.

I didn’t think it could get any worse than tripping over nothing in the middle of a high-class, busy restaurant. That should have been the most mortifying thing to ever happen to me. Surely, only someone with a lifetime’s worth of terrible karma would not just trip but also face-plant into the most beautiful man they’ve ever seen and spill his food all over them both.

From the pasta crawling down the front of the gorgeous stranger’s button-up and smears of red sauce that have been sprayed up his throat, beneath the collar of his shirt, and down his sleeves . . . I’m very wrong.

Splatters of meaty sauce have flung onto his flexing jaw and down the strong, aristocratic swoop of his nose as the nostrils flare. My heart tumbles behind my rib cage when I notice it clumping in his black hair. The shiny curls at the back of his neck are accented with specks of cheese and whatever meat was in the sauce.

Mortified, I sprint into motion. With shaking hands, I start sweeping the pasta from his shirt.

“I’m so—I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. It’s . . . not as bad as it looks. I’ll clean you—clean your clothes. Just giveme a second,” I ramble, only half aware of the words escaping my mouth.

Oh, I’m panicking now. With every passing second, I grow more aware of the people staring at me. Their eyes have nothing on the flames burning through the skin of my face from the glare coming from the man I’m pawing at.

With every swipe of my hand across his chest, he grows stiffer, and I think he’s holding his breath. I jerk back, my scent scorched. Too many things hit me at once.

He’s an alpha, and I stink.

He’s an alpha, and I’ve just spilled his dinner all over him and the entrance of the restaurant. The fact I haven’t been tossed across the place by a protective, angry omega or his packmates is a miracle.

My throat is constricted so tight I can hardly get a breath in as I search for something to use to clean him that’s better than my red hands. I’m filthy, and with noodles hanging between my fingers and wrapped around my elbows, I’m doing more harm than good.

The first thing I see is a white tablecloth. I reach for it, yanking hard. The clatter of glass dishware hitting the ground and shattering only makes everything worse. Tears prickle my eyes, but I keep moving, bringing the fabric to the skin of his neck and swiping away the sauce. My stomach falls between my legs when a firm grip circles my wrist, stilling me.

The alpha’s touch sears me. I crane my head back and lift my eyes, two crystal blue ones waiting. One second ticks by, then another and another. The air thins, my throat relaxing enough for it to slip through. I inhale greedily, filling my lungs with vanilla and cinnamon.

Vanilla and cinnamon . . .

A whimper escapes as I wobble, finding myself leaning against the strong body of the delicious-smelling alpha withmy chin to his chest. The one I was searching the place for, just needing another whiff. Needing to know who smelled sofreakingamazing.

My scent spikes, an ache spearing between my legs. The large, strong fingers still clutching my wrist somehow intensify the pulse of arousal between my legs.

I’m wearing two pairs of panties today, but not because I was expecting this. I thought . . . I thought just in case I had this reaction to Greg’s pack, I’d be better safe than sorry.

This is not Greg’s pack. This is a stranger. His scent isn’t like any of the ones I’ve smelled on him before.

To make matters worse, this male isn’t showing any sign of liking the way I smell. For some reason, that makes the burn in my eyes intensify. A tear clings to my lashes as I squeeze them shut, wanting to let my emotions out but refusing.

Scent blocker or not, if I’m having this type of reaction to him, shouldn’t he be able to smell me even a little? Is that what this is, or is my scent justthatcharred? The dominance he’s projecting is almost smothering. It’s stronger than I’ve ever felt around another alpha before. There’s no reason an alpha that strong can’t smell a regular omega.

That both intensifies my interest and worries me.

“Back off.” The deep rasp of his voice is thick with demand, stroking the line of becoming a bark.

“What?” I whisper, positive I heard him wrong.

He uses his hold on my wrist to push me away from him before releasing it like the thought of touching me any longer is repulsive. The move sends shock waves of pain through my system to the point I stagger back a step.

“Stay away from me,” he spits.

My eyebrows knit together as I wrap an arm around my middle, not caring that I’m smearing pasta sauce all over my dress.

This stranger looks worse than I do. I’ve ruined his clothes and covered him in his dinner. It’s no wonder he doesn’t want anything to do with me.

“Ma’am, we have to ask that you leave now,” an unfamiliar voice says.

---