Page 2 of Knot Your Romeo

"Is it that obvious?" I ask, immediately regretting how breathless I sound.

His smile is slow, almost predatory. He is definitely an Alpha. Not only because of his size. Broad shoulders and wide chest, and he must be six-four. Even in these heels, he’d tower over me.

"You've been checking your phone every thirty seconds and jumping at shadows. Either you're new in town or you're about to make a very bad drug deal."

I laugh despite myself. "Definitely the first one."

"Beck," he says, extending a hand that engulfs mine when I take it.

"Emmie."

"Pretty name for a pretty girl." His thumb brushes across my knuckles before he releases my hand, and something warm unfurls in my chest.

"What brings you to Boston, Emmie?"

The truth sits heavy on my tongue—I'm running away from my stepfather, who thinks he owns me, waiting for my mother to rescue us both—but I can't say that.

"New job," I say instead. "Starting fresh." It's not entirely a lie. Mom has a position waiting for her not too far from here, and by extension, a new life waiting for both of us.

"Brave," he says, signaling the bartender for another round. "Not everyone has the courage to start over." There's something in his tone that makes me think he's speaking from experience. "What about you? Business?"

"Something like that." He studies me over his whiskey. "You seem nervous."

"I'm not nervous." The protest comes out too quick.

His laugh is low, intimate. "Baby, I can practically smell the anxiety rolling off you. When was the last time you ate?"

The endearment should annoy me. Instead, it makes something flutter behind my ribs. The last time someone called me baby was my dad, just before he died. "I'm fine."

"That's not what I asked." His voice carries a note of authority that hits between my thighs and makes me straighten automatically. "Have you eaten today?"

Whenever my stepfather talked to me like this, I rebelled, but for this man, I was ready to fall onto my knees. "I had pretzels on the plane."

He shakes his head, already reaching for his phone. "That's not food." He's typing something, probably ordering room service or calling for a table. He is definitely an alpha, taking charge like it's the most natural thing in the world.

I should be irritated. I've spent years fighting against Blake's need to control everything I do, everywhere I go, everything I eat. But this feels different. Beck isn't trying to cage me—he's trying to take care of me. And I like it.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to—” His eyes meet mine, and there's something there that makes my breath catch. It looks a lot like heat and promise. And being an Alpha, I should run, but my feet are rooted to the spot. "—take care of you tonight, Emmie."

The way he says my name, all warm honey, and dark intent—and that’s how he smells, sweet but dangerous—and it makes mytoes curl. I should say no. I should finish my drink and go back to my room and wait for Mom's call like a responsible adult.

Instead, I say, "Okay."

2

Emmie

Dinner is at asmall Italian place six blocks from the hotel. Beck keeps his hand on the small of my back as we walk, guiding me around puddles and through crosswalks with the serene confidence of someone who owns whatever space he occupies. But it’s his touch that makes my body pop with goosebumps.

“Tell me about this new job,” he says once we're seated in a corner booth that feels more intimate than it should.

I twist my napkin between my fingers. “It’s...administrative. Nothing exciting.” I’ve been warned not to tell anyone anything, but then I was also warned not to leave the room.

“Administrative work can be very rewarding,” he says, but there’s amusement dancing in his eyes. “Lots of...filing.”

“So much filing,” I agree, and he laughs. The server comes and takes our order.

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