Page 28 of Knot for Me
“I’m a damn good chef, and you know it. Besides, if I don’t like my own food, how can I expect anyone else to?”
“True, true.” He takes a sip of his wine and juts his chin toward the sauce. “Can I taste it?”
“Hell no. You can wait.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Dick.”
“You keep insulting me. She must have really gotten under your skin.”
Sighing, he downs the rest of the wine in one big gulp. “I don’t know what we were thinking.”
I hum in agreement. I’m pretty sure I mentioned this whole thing was going to be a bad idea, but Lucas was adamant about saving our little damsel in distress, so here we are.
“I’m going to go take a shower.” He sets his glass down and walks away.
“Tell your hand I said hello.”
He flips me off over his shoulder, and I laugh, shaking my head and turning back to the lasagna. Reagan doubts my ability to make a good meal out of this. I have to make sure it’s absolutely perfect. Her grandma’s recipe is different, but I know I can make a damn fine lasagna. I glance at the water, seeing it bubbling, and add in the noodles.
She’s going to beg for more once she tastes it.
I frown at the thought. I shouldn’t be so worked up about winning her approval, but I can’t seem to help myself.
“A really fucking bad idea,” I mutter as I start the garlic bread.
ChapterNine
REAGAN
I take a shower, scrubbing my body with soap three times to try and wash away my scent. Soap won’t fix my problem though. The only way for my pheromones to stop letting everyone know how turned on I am is to get far, far away from these alphas. I hate to admit it, but that need deep down inside of me is hard to resist. When I saw the bulge in Marco’s pants, I wanted to jump on him, wrap my legs around his waist, and demand he fuck me right then and there.
Sometimes it’s hard being a horny bitch.
I turn off the water and grab a towel, drying myself and fluffing my hair with the soft, thick material. Rich bastards. Not only are they fine as hell, but their towels are to die for. I step out of the shower and I’m immediately hit with that faint but persistent scent coming from the closet. A growl rumbles in my chest, and I glare at the closed door.
Emily. Their omega. It’s odd to be pissed at a woman who was murdered, but her scent makes me want to burn the entire house down. My ridiculous omega instincts are screaming at me to rip her clothes off the hanger and stomp on them. I shake my head, grinding my teeth as I walk into the bedroom and pull on a fresh pair of underwear, yoga pants, and a loose, grey t-shirt I stole from my last conquest turned failed relationship.
Omegas aren’t supposed to date.Camila’s outraged voice screams in my head, a lot less impactful when she isn’t here to scowl and berate me. When she found out I was dating a beta, she was pissed. I reminded her I wasn’t mated but that only seemed to make matters worse. Apparently, that’s a no-no.
Virginity is sacred to the almighty Omega Council.
Just another reason to revolt.
I brush my hair in the bedroom, avoiding the bathroom as much as possible so I don’t have to smell Emily. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to clear that closet out. No amount of sage will chase away Emily’s scent, and knowing her clothes are in there is driving me batty. Maybe I should put the air purifier in there, though I doubt that would help me forget. It might erase the last traces of her scent, but I’d know it was there.
“Dinner is ready,” Cory shouts from downstairs.
Twisting my mouth to the side, I debate on being late so I can blow-dry my hair but decide food is the better option. My hair can dry on its own. My phone dings. I grab it and head out of my room. I’m in the middle of reading another text from my mom when I crash into a hard body.
“Fuck,” I say, stumbling.
Strong arms steady me and a musky, masculine scent envelops me. I lift my gaze from my phone to meet Lucas’ stormy blue eyes. Pressing my phone to my chest, I wince and try to step away. Only he doesn’t let me go. He holds me against him, breathing in deeply before squinting at me.
“You should watch where you’re going.”
I shove my phone into the side-pocket of my pants. “Maybe you should watch your attitude,” I quip before I think better of it. My eyes widen, and I bite my lip, bringing my eyebrows together and waiting for him to unleash some alpha rage on me. Waiting for the moment he stops pretending to be a half-way decent alpha. If this were a normal omega-alpha arrangement, he’d probably enjoy my bratty tendencies. His face contorts with annoyance, and he pushes me away.
“Careful, Reagan,” he warns in a deep, menacing voice.
