Page 30 of Trust No Alpha
“Gloves? Hat?” He lifted both his hands in question.
Kris slowly removed his gloves to reveal strong, long-fingered hands. He dropped the gloves at his feet. When he removed his knit cap, Thorne had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from reacting to all the golden hair that tumbled down onto the man’s shoulders.
He wore a white sweater that fit tightly about his broad chest, and sleek, wool trousers that looked as if they were designed specially for his height and slender hips. Rich. Formal. The material stiff as if still new from the store.
Thorne took slow breaths. Kept his posture straight and tried not to show too much response to Kris’s appearance.
Kris was quite probably the most beautiful man Thorne had ever seen, Alpha or Omega. And what was that fragrance surrounding him? Some expensive, luxurious cologne? It smelled of honey and wildflowers, bees buzzing and sunsets purpling the sky. It was strong. As if Kris had bathed in it. Maybe to disguise his normal Alpha scent? But why?
Thorne picked up Kris’s gloves and set them beside his own along with the cap he plucked from Kris’s frozen grip.
He pointed to a chair facing the couch. “Have a seat.”
Kris looked down. Keeping his back straight, he moved and sat awkwardly on the edge of the cushion.
“Some people take cream in their tea. Do you?”
Slowly, Kris shook his head.
“Sugar?”
Kris nodded.
Thorne poured in an amount he himself liked, stirred and handed the cup to Kris.
Kris took it in both hands. The mug was hot but Kris seemed not to notice. Steam rose into his face, pinking the skin even more around his reddened cheeks.
Thorne went around the coffee table and sat on the couch, making himself busy by fixing his own tea. He took his mug in hand and leaned back, blowing on the liquid’s surface.
“First, before we begin. I must ask you. Are you injured or sick in any way?”
The pale eyebrows moved up the sleek, high forehead. “Begin what?”
This was the first time Kris spoke without stuttering from the cold.
“The story.”
“What?”
“Your story. Of why you’re here.”
Kris glanced down at his tea. He took a quick sip, pressing his lips together.
“I am not injured or sick. Just cold,” Kris said without looking up. “I needed shelter.”
“I understand.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll be out by morning.” Kris added.
Seeing Kris’s tension and sensing a more desperate air, Thorne kept his voice calm. “There’s no hurry. There’s no one else around. Just us. Of course I am wondering how far you thought you could get on foot. At night.”
“I didn’t know it would be so cold.”
Though he remained unbending, poised as if to flee, Kris’s voice was melodic. Sweet.
Thorne’s stomach clenched. Listening to him was like music. He hadn’t heard another voice echo off his house walls in so long. And Ian’s voice? It had been the first thing he’d forgotten as if the sound in his memory had gone out like a spent flame. Some years later, the face of Ian became blurred as well until there was nothing to recall but a vague shape. He would always remember their good times and love. But beyond that, so much was lost to time.
“Won’t your father wonder where you are?” Thorne asked.
