Page 38 of The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate
“I just wanted,” I say, and my voice comes out lower than I mean it to, “some color in my attire.”
Her eyes, clear and very green in this light, lift to mine. She is thoroughly amused.
“Is that so.”
“Mm hmm.”
“Just a phase you’re going through.”
“Personal growth,” I say, because I have lost my mind.
Her mouth curves. She holds the tie between two fingers for one more heartbeat—she appears thoughtful, as if considering whether to pull on it. Then, with a look that could be pity orcruelty but is unmistakably one of a woman enjoying herself, she lets go of it and pushes herself up to her feet.
She stretches both arms over her head. Her blouse rides up an inch. I try my best not to look and fail. I drag my eyes up to the canopy of the oak like a child being tested in school, looking for the answer.
Sienna rolls her head on her neck, addressing the sky. “I’m thinking of getting my two assistants some brighter clothes.”
I take a deep breath to calm myself.
“They look like funeral directors,” she continues in a conversational tone. “Matching black suits. No personality. It’s a little bleak, honestly. I might take them into town and pick out a few things. Cheerful colors. A nice—”
I am on my feet without thinking, my hand closing around her wrist. “No.”
She looks down at where my fingers are pressing her pulse point. Then, she looks up at me, blinking slowly, and tilts her head to one side.
“Why not?” she says pleasantly. “I am a single woman.”
Something in me snaps.
I turn her. One smooth motion and her back is against the trunk of the tree, my hand releasing her wrist so I can plant a palm flat against the bark beside her shoulder. My other hand comes up on her other side to cage her in.
My wolf is snarling. “I said no.”
She doesn’t so much as flinch. Her chin even lifts slightly. “I asked you why.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The leaf is still caught in her hair. Her lips are parted. I can smell her—jasmine, citrus, and her warm, clean skin. I realize there is no answer I can give her that is not the truth.
She watches me fail to find words. Her eyes drop, deliberately, to my mouth.
Then, she leans forward. Just slightly, but it’s enough that I can feel her breath on my lips. Enough that my entire nervous system short-circuits between one heartbeat and the next. Because she is only a breath away, close enough that all I would have to do is drop my head half an inch.
“Careful, Alpha Steele,” she whispers, a smirk in her voice. “I might start to think you’re jealous.”
The words are like a hand around my throat.
Before I can do a single thing, before I can decide whether to lean in or pull back or simply remember to breathe, she ducks neatly under my left arm, picks up her things, and walks away.
I stand there with my palms flat against the tree, my heart pounding in my ears, my mouth open on a word I did not get around to saying, staring at the space where she was a second ago. I can still feel the warmth of her along the front of my body. Her scent is still in the air.
My wolf is a low, continuous growl under my skin.
I close my eyes, press my forehead against the rough bark, and silently count backward from ten.
Finally, I shove off the trunk and drag both hands down my face. What is wrong with me? She’s not even doing anything, and I’m panting after her like a dog, unable to let her go.
Across the lawn, very faintly, I hear the sound of her heels in the stone courtyard.
My pants feel uncomfortably tight, and the ghost of her breath lingers on my skin. I can still feel how thin her wrist was, the weight of it pressed into my fingers. Blindly, I look downat my hand. Somewhere in the back of my head, a very patient voice is telling me that I have just made everything worse.
