Page 72 of Feeling the Heat: Part One
Pack comes before any of my desires.
Camille picks up her wine glass, her hand shaking so violently that it sloshes over the edge and splashes onto her chest. Rivulets of crimson slide down the swell of her breasts—which my alpha won’t let me look away from—staining her pretty pale dress.
“Shit! Sorry!” She sets the glass down and pushes back from the table, grabbing the napkin from her lap to blot at the liquid.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Ambrose says, placing a hand on her arm to soothe her.
Her eyes flick to his, and he gives her a warm smile. One I’m intimately familiar with. The one that tells you that he’ll keep you safe and that there’s nothing to worry about.
Hot, ugly jealousy spikes inside me. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s giving someone else that look or that she’s so receptive to him.
Jackson smiles at Camille. “If you take your dress off, I can soak it for you. I’m good at getting stains out.” He pauses and makes a face. “Don’t ask why.”
She lets out a weak laugh at his weirdness. “I wasn’t planning to get undressed on the first date, but okay.”
I should say something nice, too. Joke about how I’m clumsy. Tell the story of how I accidentally squirted a ton of sriracha all over myself on one of my first dates with Ambrose.
But my mouth won’t unglue itself from the firm line it’s set in. I’m held hostage by my body, knowing what I should be doing, but paralyzed by my emotions.
Jackson stands and moves over to Camille’s side, holdingout a hand to her. “Come on, gorgeous,” he says, flashing her one of his patented charming smiles. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into something more comfortable.”
Camille nods and takes his hand, Jackson steadying her as she wobbles a bit when she’s on her feet. “Sorry,” she whispers, her face flushing when she notices me staring at her. “I only had a few sips, so I don’t know why I’m such a mess.”
“Not a mess.” Jackson squeezes her hip. “Red looks fantastic on you. And now I get to see what you look like in my clothes, which is going to make these alphas super jealous.”
She gives him a watery smile and lets him guide her out of the dining room as he continues to joke with her.
The moment they’re gone, I crumple forward, cradling my face in my hands with a pained groan.
“I’m sorry.”
I can’t look Ambrose in the eyes, even as he reaches out and wraps a hand around my forearm and gives me a gentle squeeze.
“River, what’s going on?” There’s no sharp edge or accusation in my mate’s tone, only concern. Which only makes me want to go hide and never come out even more.
Why is he being so nice to me when I’m clearly ruining his chance at happiness?
“It’s nothing.” My reply sounds distant and robotic. “I’m just tired.”
“If you’re not ready to meet Camille… if you’ve changed your mind, or don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”
I look up at him, alarmed. “No! I want this for you.” I sigh and try to focus on my desire to make sure he and Jackson get what they need, not my panic. “I’m sorry. It’s… I… It’s not her. She’s… lovely. I want this for you.”
Ambrose’s gentle concern shifts to frustration. “It’s notabout wanting something for me. You matter, River. You’re mine, and our bond is more important thananything.” He huffs out an exasperated sigh. “Stop being so self-sacrificing and tell me the truth about what’s going on in your head.”
“I…” I scrub a hand over my face, trying to gather myself and talk to him, knowing beneath all my turmoil that he’s right.
Before I’m able to come up with the right words, Jackson pokes his head into the dining room, his usual cheery smile absent. “Hey, uh, so Camille says she isn’t feeling great, and asked if she could have a raincheck on dessert. I’m going to give her a ride home.”
The disappointment on Ambrose’s face is like a knife in my gut. “Oh no, does she need some meds? I don’t want to send her home sick. Hold on, I’ll go grab a cold compress and check on her.”
Jackson shakes his head. “She’s embarrassed and doesn’t want anyone to make a fuss. I think it’s her stomach.” He grimaces. “Fuck, I hope it wasn’t my food. Dammit. Sorry for ruining this.”
A snort escapes me at his ludicrous interpretation of events. “It wasn’t your food. She’s making up an excuse to leave.“
Of course, right when I speak is the moment Camille returns. Her stricken expression makes her look like she’s been slapped, her pale cheeks flushing a bright, indignant red.
Go apologize to her. Beg her for forgiveness. Fix this!
