Page 3 of Stuck with my Pack
“Damn, woman,” he says, his deep voice tinged with amusement as he sets the candlestick on the table. “Is this how you plan to welcome all your guests?”
An impossibly tall figure steps into a shaft of sunlight shining through the window, and my stomach flips. He’s the kind of good-looking that makes my brain stop working.
He’s tall—Alpha tall—with broad shoulders and a frame that seems too large for the cozy space.
His sun-streaked brown hair falls just over his forehead, and his green eyes, bright and sharp, lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my pulse stutter.
“Who are you?” I say while standing taller, trying to make my five feet and five inches of height seem a lot bigger. “What—what are you doing here?” I demand, trying to keep my voice steady. It doesn’t work.
“I could ask you the same thing.” His grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.
I’m too stunned to reply at first, my eyes darting from the candlestick in his hand to his piercing green eyes. I’m overwhelmed by the Alpha presence radiating off him—a magnetic and infuriating pull. My stomach tumbles again, warmth blooming in my chest despite the spike of adrenaline still coursing through me.
“Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” I manage again, my voice sharper than intended.
“Yourhouse?” He arches a brow, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Didn’t realize anyone actually lived here.”
“Well, I do now,” I snap, squaring my shoulders. “So you can explain yourself, or I can call the police.”
“Tyler Hawk,” he says, holding out the candlestick as if offering an olive branch. “Caretaker. Been looking after the place since your Aunt passed.”
My stomach twists at the mention of Aunt Claire, but I shove the emotion aside. I take the candlestick, gripping it with shaking fingers. He seems nice enough, but my brain tells me not to trust him.
Alpha, the logical part of my brain tells me in a panic.Careful.
My Omega instincts, however, have a very different plan for us.Want! They shout over the warnings of my logical mind.Want, want, want!
“You don’t look like a caretaker,” I mutter, my gaze flicking to his broad chest and how his shirt clings to his frame. My cheeks heat up when I realize I’ve been staring.
“And you don’t look like the new owner,” he counters, his smirk widening. “But here we are.”
“I don’t have to look like anything,” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest. “This is my inn now, and I don’t appreciate being ambushed.”
“Ambushed?” He laughs, the sound rich and easy. “Lady, you’re the one who came in swinging.”
I huff, turning my attention to the room’s state. The ceiling has a large water stain, the wallpaper is peeling, and the once-cozy furnishings look worn and tired. Tyler notices my scrutiny and shrugs.
“Plumbing’s been temperamental, and the roof needs work,” he says. “Your Aunt kept up with it as best she could, but there’s been a lot to handle since she passed.”
His words soften the edge of my irritation, though I’m reluctant to admit it.
“I’m sorry,” I say awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to…well, throw things.”
“No harm done,” he says, his smirk returning. “Though I might recommend something heavier next time.”
His gaze sweeps over me, lingering for a beat too long. I shift uncomfortably, hyper-aware of how his scent seeps into my skin, mingling with my own vanilla and lavender perfume. My Omega instincts betray me again, making me lean toward him even as my brain screams to keep my distance.
Shut things down, Sophie, I tell myself.
I roll my eyes, but a small smile tugs at my lips despite myself.
“I need to grab some tools from the shed,” he says, pushing off the doorframe. “Why don’t I show you around while I’m at it?”
I hesitate but nod. “Fine. But if you try anything funny, I’m going to have the candlestick with me.”
“Fair enough,” he says with a chuckle, leading the way downstairs.
Outside, the air is crisp and filled with the faint tang of salt from the nearby ocean. The once-beautiful grounds are a mess of weeds and overgrowth. Broken flowerbeds lie abandoned, rusted garden tools are scattered about, and the cobblestone path is barely visible beneath the moss creeping over it.
