Page 99 of Rejected By My Shifter Billionaire
The testing room felt smaller than it had looked in the blueprints. Neutral walls the color of expensive champagne, soft lighting that somehow made everything look like a luxury spa crossed with a medical facility. There was a raised platform in the center, surrounded by equipment I’d designed but never actually used on myself. Biometric scanners, scent collectors, compatibility monitors that hummed silently in the background.
I’d built this room. I knew every piece of technology in it.
So why did I suddenly feel like I was about to be dissected?
“For scent syncing to calibrate properly,” Nicolo continued, tapping something on the control panel beside us, “your skin needs to be exposed. Minimum upper chest and back.”
“Then you go shirtless.”
“I will,” he said.
And he did.
In one smooth movement, Nicolo pulled his shirt off and tossed it onto the single chair positioned outside the scanning area. His body was exactly what I’d tried not to remember for the past seven years. Broad shoulders that tapered to a lean waist, chest muscles that looked carved rather than built, and that smooth trail of dark hair that disappeared under the waistband of his pants like a roadmap to places I had no business thinking about.
There was a scar along his left shoulder blade. Another across his ribs. Alpha fights, probably. Challenges for dominance that he’d obviously won.
“You’re staring,” he said without looking at me.
“I’m calculating how fast I can leave without getting sued.”
“You can’t. You signed waivers.”
The scanner overhead blinked red, waiting for input.
He held out a hand. “Come here.”
“You are not scanning me like a bar code.”
“It’s not a scan. It’s a scent sync. I need your baseline profile to compare compatibility markers.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“You wrote the protocol.”
“Well, I was obviously out of my mind.”
“Then let me help you get back in it,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Shirt, Maryah. Now.”
There was something different in his tone. Not quite a command, but close enough that my body responded before my brain could file a protest. Alpha voice. The kind that made every human instinct I had sit up and pay attention.
I gritted my teeth and yanked my blouse off, hating how my skin prickled the moment his eyes dropped to my bare shoulders. My bra was plain black cotton, nothing special, but it suddenly felt like the most revealing thing I’d ever worn.
“Happy?” I snapped.
“You’re flushed,” he observed, making a note on his tablet.
“Because I’m annoyed.”
“Sure.”
The way he said it made me want to throw something at his stupidly perfect face. Instead, I stepped onto the platform and tried to pretend this wasn’t the most mortifying moment of my professional career.
“Step forward,” he instructed.
I did. Slowly.
The scanner hummed to life above us, casting everything in a soft blue glow. Nicolo moved closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, could smell his scent without any technological assistance required.
