Page 90 of Knot for Me
“Amelie,” Lucas says, voice a husky growl that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Yes, sir?” Amelie’s question is sugary sweet. Fake innocence if I ever heard it.
“I think you misunderstood my request,” he says calmly.
Finally, I grow a spine and look at him. His hooded gaze meets mine, and his lips kick up ever so slightly when I lick my lips.
“I won’t apologize,” Amelie says. “She looks fucking gorgeous, right?”
The three of them nod in agreement.
Bastards.
Amelie’s phone beeps, breaking the weird spell. “Hate to run, but Jeff needs help with his tie. I swear, I leave and the man forgets how to breathe.” Amelie squeezes my arm and heads to the front door.
The men have gone back to their conversation with Frank and a security guard I don’t recognize. I leave the safety of the stairs and make a beeline for the kitchen, hoping to tuck myself away with the rest of the unknown faces for the night, before the guests arrive. Katie is directing Marissa and Norris, her words firm but kind. She’s not a screamer, at least not in the kitchen, and her employees are eager to please. I watch them work like a well-oiled machine until Katie’s gaze snags on me.
“Ah, Ms. Reagan. You look”—she does the chef’s kiss sign—“magnificent.”
I blush slightly under her praise. “Thank you. Everything smells wonderful.”
“Bah. This is nothing but a little tapas that we’ll call hors d’oeuvres for the rich.”
I eye the potato skins with fresh cut chives and artfully melted cheese. “How can I help?”
“Come, try this.” She gestures me over and grabs a sample I’d been ogling.
The flavors burst across my tongue with the first bite, and I moan in approval, eyes widening with the subtle but punchy sour cream taste. I take another bite and pick up tiny fragments of bacon which are chopped so thin you can hardly see them. “This is fucking amazing,” I say around a mouthful, unable to hold back telling her until I finish chewing.
“Thank you. You can try one of each, then I need you to get the champagne flutes filled.” She points to the dining room table which is full of fancy crystal glasses.
“Deal.”
I’m in the middle of my third sample—a delicious meatball—when Marco comes in. His gaze sweeps over everything and he breaks out in a grin. His three-piece charcoal grey suit makes his green eyes pop.
Balls should be illegal.
“Katie, you’ve outdone yourself.”
“You flatter me, Marco,” Katie says, not stopping her work. She fills fancy paper cups with mini-sushi rolls, a piece of her hair hanging loose from her bun.
“I’ll say it again. Wow.” Marco stops walking and stares at me long enough to make me fidget; his gaze sweeps over me, nostrils flaring and alpha scent flooding the kitchen. I breathe through my mouth and take a step away from the counter, like the physical space will make it easier to be in the same room with him and the obvious desire. If the smell bothers the others, they don’t say anything. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks,” I say, blushing full on and taking another step back from his scent, which is determined to choke me.
He notices and points to my food. “Enjoying yourself?” he asks, going for a meatball but yanking his hand back when Katie swats him. “Seriously?”
“You can wait.”
“I thought I was the alpha,” he grumbles. With the distraction, some of his scent dissipates and I’m able to breathe without feeling like my lungs are going to explode.
Katie chuckles and shakes her head. “This is my domain. In here, you’re my bitch.”
“I’m hungry.” He gives her sad eyes, but she doesn’t fall for it.
“You have food in your fridge. This is the food for the ball.”
He jerks his thumb in my direction. “She’s eating.”
