Page 44 of Knot on the Market

That's... actually reasonable. And keeps him away from the blue room. "Okay, yes. That would be helpful."

While he's upstairs, I move without thinking. His shirt is lying on the side table, warm and saturated with his scent. I snatch it up and quickly hide it behind my back just as his footsteps start coming back down.

"All set," Dean says, appearing in the doorway. "That landing's perfect."

"Thank you," I manage, the stolen shirt burning against my back.

Dean looks around with confusion. "Huh. I could've sworn I left my shirt right here..."

"Maybe it fell?" I suggest helplessly.

"Maybe," he says, still looking puzzled. "I guess I'll look for it later. I should probably head out anyway."

There's a moment of awkward silence while we both pretend that missing shirts are normal, then Dean finishes his tea and gathers his keys.

"Well," he says, heading toward the front door, "this was fun. We should do it again sometime."

"Definitely," I agree, following him and trying not to think about what "it" might encompass.

"Enjoy your new stuff," Dean says, pausing on the front porch. "And don't worry about the shirt. I've got plenty."

After Dean leaves, I pull his shirt from behind my back and press it against my face, breathing deeply. His concentrated scent makes my knees weak and sends another rush of slick between my thighs.

I stole Dean Maddox's shirt.

Not borrowed. Not accidentally misplaced. Stole. With full knowledge and absolutely no intention of giving it back.

So much for my sophisticated independence era.

I carry the shirt to the small blue room where my nest waits in the afternoon sunlight. I don't make a big production ofincorporating it—just tuck it along the edge, where its scent can mingle with the green apple that's already claimed this space.

Then I remember the mattress waiting on the landing upstairs.

It takes me twenty minutes to wrestle the compressed mattress into the blue room, and another ten to get the packaging off and watch it expand. The "nesting collection" wasn't lying about the comfort, it's perfect.

I arrange the sheets over it, then layer the blankets and pillows with more care than I want to admit. And Dean's shirt... Dean's shirt gets tucked against what will obviously be where my head rests, close enough that his scent will surround me while I sleep.

I settle into the nest—because that's what it is now, unmistakably and completely—with Dean's shirt pressed against my cheek. The mattress cradles me perfectly, everything smelling like green apple and white musk and that warm, protective scent of Dean.

I should be worried about what this means.

Instead, I find myself thinking about Tuesday afternoon, when new furniture will be delivered and I'll have another excuse to see Dean again.

When I'll have to pretend I haven't spent the weekend sleeping with his stolen shirt, breathing in his scent and imagining what it would feel like to have the alpha himself in this space.

The thought should terrify me.

Instead, it makes me burrow deeper into my nest, Dean's shirt pressed against my skin, and wonder if independence might be overrated after all.

Chapter 14

Dean

Iwake up one shirt poorer and significantly happier about it.

Lila James is a terrible thief. All guilty eyes and suspicious arm positioning when she lifted my shirt yesterday. But what she lacks in criminal finesse, she makes up for in motivation. An omega doesn't steal an alpha's clothes unless she wants his scent somewhere very specific.

Somewhere soft and private and hers.

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