Page 30 of Knotting Hill
Silence at the table, but then Cassidy lets out a loud laugh. “No.”
“What are her don’ts?”
“Not telling you that. Figure this shit out for yourselves, boys,” she says, standing up. “I’ve gotta dash. Storm will be back in business the day after tomorrow. I look forward to your efforts and will drop a word now and again in her ear about how well you’re doing…or not.”
She laughs again, and with a waggle of her fingers, she’s gone.
“Well, this sucks. Now what?” Josh asks. “The only thing we know is that she drinks Vodka tonic, likes rom-coms and her response to a kiss will make your knees weak.”
“Not a lot to go on,” I growl again, riled up now and being reminded of Josh’s kiss with her is aggravating me.
“Come on, lads,” JP says enthusiastically. I think he is enjoying this way more than we are. “If we put our heads together, we can get it together. Josh, you know her mum. Find out what Storm’s favourite song is next time you speak to her. Can you do that?”
Josh nods slowly. “I suppose…”
“And you,” JP homes in on me. “Get your head out of your arse and book an event atelitefor two weeks’ time. We are going to give Storm Rivers the night of her life and show her we are her future mates.”
Buoyed by his well-known pep, I cheer up a bit and start to get excited. “Heart-shaped balloons and rose petals on the floor. That’s romantic, right?”
I receive two blank looks back.
My heart sinks again. “Right?”
Nineteen
Storm
After having a reallylazy last day at home, I return to civilisation five days after my early heat, feeling great and refreshed. All I did yesterday was sleep and actually rest while sleeping. I used the knotty vibrator a couple of times, just in case, but the need for a knot has abated, and I’m ready to face the world and work, again.
Deciding that I deserve a fancy coffee, I head out after getting dressed. I chose my ballet flats again and black pants with a fitted black shirt. It looks a bit chilly out, with a strong breeze, so I throw on a lightweight black coat before leaving for work.
On the lookout for dogs who want to trip me, betas who want to kiss me, and alphas who want to yell at me, I cautiously slip into the coffee shop, breathing in deeply with a smile.
Making my way to the counter, I weave through the tables and then freeze.
That scent.
It’s like hot cocoa with marshmallows but way more intense, and it hits my nose in a vigorous wave of deliciousness. It makesme want to change my order so I can taste this against my tongue and feel the sweetness slide down my throat.
I make the mistake of turning my head to see Russell St. Luc sitting at a table just to the right of me and a bit behind.
He stares at me, his expression filled with surprise, longing and something fierce and lustful.
I quickly snap my head back to face the front and march to the counter, ordering a black coffee so that I can taste the bitterness and not have to crave the sweet deliciousness that is now clawing at me.
Dammit.
Why did I come in here? I should’ve stayed clear. I should’ve known something like this would happen after last time. I thought all I had to fear was an overzealous dog, a beta who can kiss me so my knees go weak, and an apple pie alpha who yells at me.
I didn’t count on the stealth alpha of the pack. The one I haven’t even spoken to before, never mind kissed or dumped coffee on. Bad me for forgetting about him. I recall he was there at the coffee-throwing games, but he was still half-cut from the brief glance I gave him. I figured he wasn’t a credible threat. Not like his prime, the illustrious Jonathan-Pierce, who can smell blood in the water from a mile away.
So I hear.
“Thanks,” I murmur when the gorgeous barista hands it to me with a knicker-melting smile and grazes of his fingers over mine.
I raise an eyebrow and give him a sexy smile back, enjoying this bit of flirting. It’s taking my mind off the imminent problem of exiting the coffee shop past the St. Luc pack ninja.
“Anytime,” the barista says, his accent so fucking sexy, I want to climb his hot bod like a tree and see if that heady, dark coffee smell is coming from him or the machines behind him. “Storm,”he adds in a way that makes me choke on my saliva. He points to his name tag. “Franco.”
