Page 80 of The Gift
I leave her there choking on her laughter and champagne. My eyes locked on the man in question. All night I’ve been glued to his side like he demanded. We’ve been enjoying a complicated tango of discrete, heated touches and not so subtle smouldering looks. As much fun as we’ve had flirting, his face still remains tight with anger. And right now, he’s a little more pissed than he should be.
Slinking up next to him, I make a point of leaning in so close I can feel the warmth pulsing off him. If I sank down a couple of inches, I could ride his leg. If people weren’t watching I probably would.
I feign a stumble, right into his chest and his hands clench instantly around my hips. “Before you start bitching, you walked on that stage, along with the rest of your pack, and left me.”
“Don’t argue with me. Honestly, you’re lucky…”
“Hush.” I smirk, rocking back on my heels, making a point of rubbing my stomach. It’s lucky Reno administered another shot earlier during the day, or I have a feeling instead of the promo teasers looping on the tv monitors around the party room, the audience would be watching me present for the A-team.
Henley stiffens, his eyes go from heated to glacial as they settle at something over my shoulder, and without explanation, he guides me behind him, at the same time that Ashton steps up next to him. And without turning around, I’m assaulted by a tidal wave of alpha smells, so different and unappealing to the A-team. The new pheromones all mix together making my throat clog and my head spin, and not in a good way.
“I’m unsurprised your pack is involved in this gaudy hungry grab for cash. But it’s more a screen to hide your desperation at securing an omega.” Taylor Miller’s acidic voice dissolves the pleasantness of the evening in a few short words. His god-awful scent, like biting ants over my skin.
With him stands his cardboard cut-out pack, but more interesting is behind them several other packs that Henley had introduced me to earlier surround us. Nice packs, full of good people. Pack Fraser, Pack Bullard, Pack Michaels, and what I know of them, they seem good, but right now I’m surrounded by too many alphas, too much aggression, too many people that could easily see through my lies no matter where their loyalty sits.
My head swims under the sudden assault.
“Excuse me, gentleman,” I murmur, turning away from the drama unfolding and the alpha stench that threatens to choke me.
And without a backwards glance, I artfully, and elegantly, dodge people enjoying cocktails and canapés as I dash towards an exit, needing fresh air. Lots of it. My eyes zero on the door to the rooftop terrace like it’s a lifeline, and maybe it is because I really do feel like I’m drowning.
Donnie played us all tonight. His ruddy face blazing red with unbidden delight. First with the invitation list, which alone is deplorable, but secondly with his staged announcement. I think the A-team are dead on with their assumption something has recently changed for my boss, because while he’s always been an egotistical prick, he’s all that and more. He’s damn near salivating in his obsession with The Gift.
From the corner of my eye, I spy one of the hired staff rushing forward to open the door for me, mumbling something about someone saying this is exactly what I need. In my panic, very little makes sense until I’m outside, alone, with the stars glittering above me and an espresso martini in my hand.
It’s the intoxicating smell of coffee that has me dry retching into the shrubbery. My mind is full of it too. The nutty, smoky, sharp aromas of brewing coffee, so strong, it’s like I’m standing in the middle of an Italian coffee shop. And the smell slaps hard at memories that refuse to explain themselves. The fear I feel is real, the reason for that feeling is not.
I whine trying to stop the onslaught. My legs feel like wobbly jelly, and my head spins as I desperately grasp at regaining my control.
Fighting through the panic is hard, it’s not the first time I’ve done it. Hiding has always been a gamble. Some days the risks are too high, the payout not enough. Today is not one of those days, but it doesn’t mean I don’t freak out.
He finds me just as I stuff my initial outburst into a box, locking it away for another time. Losing it completely at Donnie’s party is not a great outcome for anyone.
“Goddamn it, I’m better than this,” I admit to both me and him. Saying it aloud helps.
“Bailey.” Reno’s presence, and his body, falls protectively over mine. His hand gently pulling my hair out of my steady attempt at expelling the fear coursing through me.
Of course, he has a tissue and a bottle of water on hand for me, and as soon as I stop heaving in the pot, he guides us away from the party inside. He coaxes me with tender touches into a dark corner and then he pulls me in close, pushing my face to his throat. Replacing the awful scent with his own sweeter one. Reno’s emotes of rich dark chocolate and slightly bitter scents mix with the other scents of his pack that he inadvertently carries. And it stills my omega responses much like a thick calming blanket would.
And tucked under his chin, I get comforted by the promise of safety and protection from both him and the rest of his pack. I remember the reason I’m doing all this. For me most definitely, but them most certainly.
He pins me to his chest with one large hand, with the other he holds his phone to his ear talking rapidly to someone, before he looks down at me, a tentative, worried smile on his face. His usually slick dark, styled hair, falling over his face.
I reach up to him at the exact time he leans down, and our kiss is all about security and assurance. Don’t get me wrong, the languid stroke of his tongue on mine sets my heart racing and makes all those other parts of me stir to life, and without a doubt if we were anywhere else, I’d be climbing this man like I did at the nightclub. But right here, Reno is telling me loud and clear that I can always depend on him and that’s enough.
And the intimate smile on his face as he slides his finger under my chin to gaze into my eyes is equally telling.
“Come on, let me get you out of here,” he says quietly, his voice as beautiful as he is. I love the way he speaks, it’s like music to my ears and calms the events of the shitstorm even more.
“I need you, like this,” I say, sinking into his hold, pushing my lips to his throat. I feel so sheltered and safe with him, and while the timing is shitty, my time with him is not. I slow the spin cycle in my head with a series of long and steady breaths, focusing on the promises this amazing man keeps making me.
“We’ve got you. Take as long as you need,” he says, trying to maintain a sense of stability for me to hold on to, but his eye flicks away, sometimes checking, assessing, making sure we are safe.
“This is what I need,” I lean up, pressing a small kiss over his pulse, his hand squeezing around my hips.
“What did the waiter say when he delivered that drink?” he whispers in between kissing my temple. His warm, decadent scent filling the space between us, helping me reset my emotions and shore up my defences.
“I was more focused on the alphas. Way too many, especially when they converged at once. Something was pressing me to leave like being there was wrong.” I try for light and easy, but my voice cracks. Reno buries his hand in my hair, drawing me closer.
