Page 40 of Pack Frenzy
“Go ahead,” I say.
She starts hammering until the nail disappears into the wood.
She straightens, eyes shining—too bright to be pride, not quite relief—and it hits me harder than it should.
“Again?” she asks.
“I think there’s one board left.” I test several, finding one that needs new nails. “You never fixed a board before?”
“Nope. Dad always paid for people to do stuff. It was like he never wanted to bother showing me.”
She finishes the board while I hold it in place. I breathe once and hate myself for how much she tempts me to forget rules, forget reason, and just take.
“Good.” The sound drags, rough and intimate.
Her gaze snaps to mine, pupils widening like she heard the part I didn’t say. We’re close enough to kiss without moving, and there’s a half-second where the world makes that suggestion with a straight face.
Her eyes drop to my mouth. Stay there. I watch her throat work as she swallows.
Then she leans in—just an inch, just barely—before she catches herself.
“Cassian,” she says it like a question.
My hands tighten on the fence because one twitch and I’m done. The Alpha in me is screaming to close the distance, claim her mouth, make hermine. But the man? The man wants to hear her say yes first. Wants to know it’s not just biology pulling her in.
“Yeah.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not pretending I’m fragile.”
“You’re not,” I say. “You’re… careful. That’s different.”
She studies me like she’s picking a lock. Whatever she finds, it makes her smile sideways and mean it.
“Want your boots back?” she asks.
“Keep them until you get your shoes,” I say. “You can pay me back by not stepping on a nail.”
“Deal,” she says, and starts toward the house.
“Jess,” I hear myself say.
She stops, looking back, waiting.
I should shut up. Stick with gravity, negligence, bolts, and blades. Instead, my mouth opens and my throat picks up honesty like it’s tired of the taste of anything else.
“You felt—” I break, swear, adjust. “Shit. It felt good to have you in my bed under me. Too good. The kind of good that makes an Alpha forget his manners.”
Her breath catches. It’s tiny. It might just be the wind. It still hits like a shot, and she doesn’t look away. I grip the top rail until the wood complains.
Then her chin lifts—just a fraction, just enough to show spine.
“I’m glad it wasn’t just me.” Not shy. Not flustered. She holds my eyes like she’s daring me to say more, even though a blush colors her cheeks.
For a second, I forget every rule I’ve ever written for myself.
