Page 18 of Knot Your Sugar

Irritating as he is, I can't deny there's something magnetic about his confidence. Still, James is the poster boy for the kind of cocky, know-it-all alpha I’ve spent my entire adult life actively avoiding. Talent with a piping bag aside, he's a walking red flag... who just happens to be skilled with his hands.

Which makes me wonder what else those hands can do...

Ugh, stop it, brain!

I busy myself arranging the display, but a few minutes later, I find myself scanning the crowd again, this time spotting Cole as he makes his rounds. Unlike the other two, there's nothing flashy about him. He moves with quiet confidence, solid as the mountains around Lakeview. When he helped me this morning, his hands were strong but gentle, his presence reassuring rather than overwhelming.

I wonder what it would be like to be wrapped in those big, strong arms... A totally inappropriate image flashes through my mind: me as Jane to his Tarzan, being swept through the junglepressed against his chest. Except Cole would look much better in a loincloth, with his broad shoulders, strong thighs and—

I shake my head, forcing myself out of the ridiculous fantasy. I have workedtoo damn hardto be independent, to build a life where I don't need, and certainly don'twant, to be entangled with an alpha. Mom’s life is a testament to the pitfalls of that particular path. I will not, repeat,will not, fall into that trap, no matter how nicely packaged these particular alphas seem to be.

I hand a palmier to a little boy whose mother is carefully counting out exact change, and try to wrestle my brain cells back into formation. There's nothing going on here. Nothingcango on. I have plans, damn it. Big, important, alpha-free plans.

Winning this competition could change everything for me. A promotion at Pierre's would bring better pay to help mom, while at the same time propel me closer to my dream of opening my own bakery.

Tomorrow morning, I’m doubling my dose of DuoBlocks. No arguments. I'm not entirely sure why my usually reliable medication is suddenly acting like a leaky sieve around these specific alphas after years of blissful peace, but I can’t afford these…feelings. These…distractions. Not when I’m this close to achieving a major professional milestone.

No ridiculously wealthy alpha judge is going to derail my five-year plan. Neither is an infuriatingly cocky (yet admittedly talented) competitor… nor a hunky firefighter with shoulders you could land a small plane on.

"Excuse me, miss? Are these the pastries that won today?" A woman in a bright floral dress and an even brighter smile interrupts my internal pep talk.

"Yes, they are!" I say, pasting on my most enthusiastic smile. "First place. Would you like to try one? Or two?"

The distraction is more than welcome.

Chapter ten

Elena

The first day of festival is winding down. Golden hour has faded to the soft blue of dusk, and the crowds have thinned as they head home for dinner. I'm visualizing the steaming hot shower waiting for me at home when a familiar voice yanks me back to reality.

"Congratulations on the win today… again."

I look up to find Dorian standing on the other side of my booth. The festival lanterns have just flickered on, casting him in amber light that accentuates the sharp line of his jaw and softens the gray of his eyes.

As he leans across the counter, his scent hits me like a slap to the face. It's amplified from last night, rich with unmistakable sandalwood and... something warm. Theoverwhelming intensity leaves me wobbly, forcing me to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright.

Perfect timing, Dorian. Showing up just as I was about to escape to my alpha-free den.

A wave of heat crawls up my neck as another intoxicating puff of his scent wafts over. I fight a mortifyingly primal urge to fling myself across the counter and bury my face in his neck, right where I imagine his scent gland would be pulsing with all that… alphaness.God, he smells delicious.

Wait. My DuoBlocks. Are they just… not working anymore? Is this what a complete system failure feels like? Because ifIcan smellhimwith this kind of seismic-level intensity… Does that mean he can also… smellme?

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as the Sahara.Oh, this is bad. I need to leave. Like, yesterday.

"Thanks," I manage, the word coming out curt and a little breathless. I snatch my jacket from the back of the stool, aiming for a casual exit. "Just locking up. Long day."

That's it, I need to play it cool. Just like that.

He tilts his head slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he continues. "You impressed all the judges, you know. Myself included. Your palmiers were exceptional."

"Right. Thank you," I say, studiously avoiding his gaze as I wrestle my arm into my jacket sleeve. The movement, unfortunately, stirs the air, bringing another wave of his scent directly into my personal space. My head actually swims. "Guess I'll, uh, see you around."

"Actually, before you go—" he taps a leather portfolio I hadn't noticed tucked under his arm, "I'm here on official business. Need to collect and record today's proceeds from each competitor."

Oh, right. The money.

"Right, of course." I duck down to retrieve the dented metal cash box from under the counter, grateful for the momentary reprieve from his direct gaze. I take the opportunity to discreetly tug at the collar of my chef's jacket, trying to catch a whiff of myself… not that omegas canactuallysmell their own scent, but anxiety doesn't listen to logic.

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