Page 131 of Pack Plus One

“This is why I do this,” I say softly, unable to contain the emotion in my voice. “This moment—seeing people enjoy something I’ve created. It’s... everything.”

The sincerity of my statement hangs in the air as the rain pounds harder against the windows. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and the lights flicker once before steadying.

“Getting worse out there,” Caleb observes, moving to stand near the window. His broad silhouette is outlined against the gray light, powerful and somehow protective.

“We could call a car,” Liam suggests, his tone gentle.

“Or,” Jude counters, already reaching for a second pastry, “we could enjoy being trapped in a bakery with a master baker. I vote for more food.”

As I watch them debate the merits of leaving versus staying, a different warmth begins spreading through me. It starts in my core and radiates outward, making my skin tingle and my cheeks flush. Their scents, which I’ve been aware of all morning, seem to suddenly intensify. My hands tremble slightly as I reach for another croissant. It falls to the floor as my clumsy fingers fail to grasp it. Frowning, I bend to retrieve it, but a wave of dizziness washes over me, and I have to steady myself against the counter.

Mason is at my side instantly, eyes concerned. “Leah?”

I press a hand to my flushed cheek, suddenly aware of what’s happening as my skin grows hypersensitive, my body temperature rising noticeably. “Oh,” I manage weakly. “That’s... hmm.”

“Heat flash,” Liam says quietly, his gentleness now carefully controlled as he moves to adjust the bakery’s thermostat. I see him take a measured breath, maintaining his composure even as his own scent responds to mine.

Jude, meanwhile, is already shrugging out of his hoodie—a well-worn navy thing that looks soft. “Here,” he offers, the teasing gone from his voice. “This might help.”

I clutch the garment gratefully, the fabric already saturated with his citrus scent. The instinct to press it to my face, to inhale deeply, is nearly overwhelming. “Thanks,” I murmur, embarrassed by my obvious reaction but too affected to hide it.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Caleb says immediately, his voice lower and rougher than usual, his own scent sharpening in response to mine. “It’s natural.”

Mason doesn’t hesitate. Right there in the middle of my bakery, his fingers go to his buttons. One by one, they slip free until he’s shrugging out of his shirt, the fabric still warm from his body. The others follow suit without a word. Caleb yanks his over his head, Jude peels off his, and Liam does the same.

I watch, pulse hammering, as they transform my small office nook into a sanctuary. The worn armchair becomes the centerpiece as Mason arranges Caleb’s shirt across the seat with precise folds. Jude drapes his shirt over the backrest while Liam’s sweater forms a soft barrier against the desk’s edge.

Mason steps back last, his bare chest distracting as he offers me his still-warm button-down. “For the arms,” he murmurs, nodding toward the chair’s rests.

I take the fabric with trembling fingers, pressing it to my face first to inhale deeply before draping it where he indicated. Themoment I sink into the chair, their mingled scents rise around me like a living thing. Caleb’s growl vibrates through the small room when I unconsciously nuzzle into his shirt cushion.

Liam braces one hand on the desk, his bare arms flexing as he leans closer. “Enough?” he asks, his voice gone rough.

I shake my head, fingers curling into Mason’s shirt beneath me as I tilt my head back. The exposed line of my throat says what I can’t—that their careful distance is the opposite of what I need. The office walls seem to shrink around us, the air thickening with pheromones and unsaid promises.

Caleb’s nostrils flare, understanding immediately. “May I?” he asks, his voice a low rumble as he kneels beside my nest.

When I nod again, he leans in slowly, deliberately, his nose tracing the curve where my neck meets my shoulder. The light contact sends electricity dancing across my skin. He inhales deeply, then exhales, his breath hot against my sensitive skin. Dark chocolate and espresso intensify around me, sinking into my pores, a temporary marking that soothes something primal in my chest.

When he pulls back, his eyes have darkened to near-black, pupils expanded with desire he’s keeping rigidly in check. The restraint itself is as arousing as his scent.

Jude approaches next, his usual playfulness tempered by unexpected reverence. “My turn, doll?” he asks softly, waiting for my nod before taking my hand.

He turns it to expose my inner wrist, his thumb brushing lightly over my pulse point. The touch is gentle but sends sparks racing up my arm. He presses his lips there in a kiss that’s almost chaste—except for the deliberate way he exhales against the sensitive skin, flooding the area with his citrus scent.

“Just so you remember who gave up their favorite hoodie,” he teases, but his eyes are darker than usual, his typical mischief banked to smoldering embers.

Liam sits beside me, taking both my hands in his. His touch is steady and warm as he holds my gaze, a silent question in his eyes. When I nod, he leans forward, his forehead resting briefly against mine in an unexpectedly intimate gesture. He doesn’t speak, but his old books and rain wraps around me, creating another layer of protection, another claim.

When he pulls back, his expression is soft but his eyes burn with a controlled intensity that makes my breath hitch.

Mason chooses a less traditional approach. He gestures to the space behind me in the wide chair. “May I?” he asks, his calm voice a stark contrast to the tension evident in his shoulders.

When I nod, Mason settles behind me with the efficiency of a man who’s calculated every possible angle. His chest presses against my back, legs bracketing mine, but his arms stay loose. Like he’s giving me an out if I need it. Which is ridiculous. I’m currently burrowed in a nest made of their clothes, for fuck’s sake.

He nuzzles the top of my head, his sandalwood scent wrapping around me. Outside, thunder cracks loud enough to rattle the display cases. Jude immediately launches into a story about the time lightning struck the brewery and fried all their digital thermometers.

“Lost three batches of IPA before we realized the readings were off,” he says, sprawled on the floor like a discarded jacket. “Liam cried actual tears.”

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