Page 70 of Knot in Bloom
“Stay,” she whispers. “Just to sleep.”
The offer is tempting, but I know if I stay, we won’t stop at sleeping. And despite how much I want her, I want to savor this. To build something that lasts instead of rushing toward something that could burn out.
“Another time,” I promise, helping her under the covers. “When we have more time to explore this properly.”
I dress quietly while she watches from bed, looking thoroughly satisfied and beautifully disheveled.
“Call the realtor tomorrow,” she says as I lean down for one last kiss.
“I will.”
“And Caleb?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For tonight. For showing me the house. For...” She gestures vaguely at herself, cheeks flushing pink. “For taking care of me.”
“Always,” I promise, and mean it completely.
Outside in the cool night air, I can still taste her on my lips, can still hear the way she said my name when she came. The memory will keep me awake tonight, but it’s worth it.
Tomorrow I’ll call about the house. Tomorrow I’ll start building something permanent.
Tonight, I gave Sadie exactly what she needed, and that’s enough.
Chapter 19
Sadie
Thursday afternoon. Drowning in ribbon samples spread across my work table like a fabric rainbow.
Caleb’s been here since lunch. Helping me organize festival elements—bases, structural pieces, million tiny details that need sorting before we can even think about fresh flowers.
Eight days until the festival. Six days with my suppressants not working as well as I need.
Every breath. Saturated with his sandalwood and leather scent. Makes my skin feel too tight. Thoughts scattering like dandelion seeds.
We’ve been working in comfortable silence. But the air thrums with awareness. Nothing to do with festival planning.
“Hand me that bronze wire,” I say. Not looking up from the centerpiece base I’m adjusting.
His fingers brush mine when he passes it over. Brief contact. Jolt up my arm. Makes me gasp softly.
“You okay?” His voice carries that rough gentleness. Makes my core clench.
“Fine.” Comes out breathy. “Just... focused.”
But I’m not fine. Without my suppressants working well, every alpha scent hits like a physical touch. Every casual brush of his hand. Slick gathering between my thighs. My body’s hyperaware of his every movement. The flex of his forearms when he lifts heavy materials. The way his jeans hug his ass when he bends to retrieve supplies.
Each hour that passes. Gets worse.
By three o’clock. Jumping every time he moves. By four. Practically panting when he leans over me to examine my work. The smart thing would be to send him home. But I need his help with the festival. And selfishly. Don’t want him to leave.
“This arrangement’s too heavy on the left,” I say. He moves behind me to examine my work. His chest nearly brushes my back. His scent wraps around me like a possessive embrace.
Fresh slick dampens my panties.
“Here.” He settles his hands over mine. “Angle it toward the center. Create balance.”
