Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

H arper

My shoulders tighten and my heart starts racing all over again.

“Harper,” he says. And, oh my, his voice. Was it always that deep? That commanding? That damn sexy?

My stupid brain helpfully relives several of the highly dirty things he’d said to me during those fateful days and nights we’d spent together.

Things like …

Kneel for me, Omega.

And …

Swallow it all down like a good girl.

And …

Slick all over my face, baby.

Oh shit!

My friend’s eyes flick to the alpha behind me and grow impossibly wide. I compose myself, plaster a suitable smile on my face – friendly and in no way flirtatious – and then I spin around.

Yep, Daxton. Definitely Daxton. Looking exactly as he did ten years ago. Although, somehow hotter. How is that possible? He definitely has all his hair, and from what I can see his teeth, and he seems to have gained even more mass – all of it consisting of the muscle variety.

“Daxton,” I say. “Hi! Long time no see.” I force the smile to remain on my face and my eyes to remain above his neck.

I will not check out his body. I will not check out his body.

I check out his body.

He’s even more ripped than the last time I saw him.

He hesitates for one moment, then resting his hand on my elbow, he leans in and kisses my cheek, swamping me in his scent.

His grip is strong, his lips soft and his scent mouthwatering. Electricity skitters through my body, still there as he pulls away.

“Long time no see,” he echoes, dark eyes as intense as ever. I’d forgotten that about him. Just how intense simply being in his presence could be. I swear my knees almost buckle.

We stare at each other until my friend taps me on the shoulder. “Who’s this?” she asks.

“This,” I tell her, eyes still not leaving the alpha in front of me, “is Daxton Renolds.”

“Daxton Renolds? I thought this guy was an ex!” She laughs. “Not the elusive step-brother.”

I will my cheeks not to heat but the treacherous things do anyway.

“Actually it’s Daxton Stanton now,” he says.

“Ahhh, yes,” I say. “I heard about the pack thing. Congratulations. But tell me, why Stanton?”

“Wyatt wanted us to honor his father – use his name.”

“Ahhh,” I say, my heart swelling.

“Pack Stanton?” my friend says. “I’ve heard about you guys. I thought you were new to town. I didn’t realize you were Rockview natives.”

“I am originally,” he says. “Owen’s from California. Wyatt from New York.”

“Wait,” I say, shaking my head. “What do you mean ‘new to town’?”

“We’ve moved here. Permanently,” Daxton says.

“To Rockview?” I say, aghast. Another useful nugget of information my mom could have shared.

“Yep, Rockview.”

“Why?” I blurt out, suddenly feeling flustered. I came home hoping to escape my ex. I wasn’t planning on bumping into three more exes. Three exes, by the sounds of it, I’ll be bumping into regularly from now on. Three exes I bumped nasties with all over this house.

Jeez.

“Why?” Molly says, bumping her shoulder against mine. “They’re a pack. Where else does a pack come to find an omega?”

I gape at Daxton and he breaks off the eye contact and gazes down, just as my mom joins the conversation.

He frowns.

“What happened to your blouse?” he asks.

“Accident,” I say.

“I’m gathering she finds American coffee undrinkable now she’s used to Parisian,” my mom chimes in helpfully. “Apparently American coffee is so bad, she was forced to spit it out in the car.”

Daxton’s eyes travel back up to my face and I decide I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“When did you move back?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Six months ago. I got a job here at the St Michael hospital.”

“A very good job,” my mom says, smiling at my step-brother with affection. That’s new. “Youngest ER consultant in St Michael Hospital history.”

Daxton nods, accepting this as a fact. “It was too good an opportunity to miss so Owen and Wyatt transferred here too. Wasn’t hard – Wyatt’s building a pretty decent reputation as a heart surgeon and Owen … is Owen.”

“All three of them are super talented,” my mom says with pride.

“We thought it was about time we made the pack thing official,” Daxton continues, “so we bought a house, and here we are.”

Here they are. Holy shit.

“All doctors,” my mom repeats. “Can you believe it? Quite the catch and yet …”

“And yet?”

Daxton’s shoulders stiffen. “We haven’t been successful yet in finding an omega.”

“You haven’t?” I say, not sure if this news is good or bad. I no longer have feelings for Daxton. Or Owen. Or Wyatt. No feelings at all. That was a long, long, time ago. Having said that, things would be … easier if they were already tied up and settled down with some lovely omega girl – or boy if their tastes have changed.

Daxton shakes his head.

Molly tuts. “The omegas in this city can play hard to get. There’s a lot of competition.”

“Yeah,” Daxton says.

“Competition?” my mom says. “They’re doctors. All three of them. What more could an omega want?”

“I wish I knew,” Daxton says a little bitterly, not meeting my eye this time.

“And are Wyatt and Owen–” I begin.

“Here? Yeah,” he peers over his shoulder, “somewhere. They’re very much looking forward to seeing you again, Harp.”

“Oh gosh, Daxton. Do not call her that,” my mom says. “She hates it.”

Daxton frowns. I guess I never admitted that to him. Although, I never minded when he called me it. In fact, I liked it.

“It would be good to catch up,” I say, unable to drag my gaze away from his.

“It would,” he says.

On the periphery of my vision, I see Molly’s eyes flick from me to Daxton and back again.

My mom on the other hand is distracted, waving to someone across the room, then the next thing I know, I’m being swept away and sandwiched between my aunt and uncle as they fill me in on their house renovation. I nod and ummm and ahh at the right moments but I’m not listening. I’m too consumed by all the mixed up emotions hurtling round my head on account of all those bombshells.

Daxton is back. Living in Rockview. He’s now an ER doctor. He has a pack. And they are looking for an omega.

I consider strolling straight back out to Judy, with all the suitcases still crammed into the trunk, driving back out to the airport and hopping on the first plane to anywhere I can find.

This is too much. Way too much.

I excuse myself and go in search of a strong alcoholic drink.

“Hey there stranger,” a voice says as I’m searching the refrigerator for a coke.

It’s another voice, and another scent, I’d recognize anywhere.

I straighten up, wishing my ass wasn’t protruding in his direction, and spin around.

“Owen,” I say, another smile pinned to my face. “Hi.”

I wonder if these dudes are taking secret youth-enhancing pills – or drinking the blood of virgin sacrifices – because, hell, just like Daxton, he hasn’t aged a bit. Okay, his hair is shorter, and he’s now sporting a thick beard on his square jaw, but apart from that, yep, just the same, just as hot.

“That’s it?” he says, with one of his charming grins, one that makes his blue eyes twinkle and any defenseless girl weak at the knees. “That’s all I get? Not even a hug?”

I stride towards him and we embrace. His moss scent’s just as intoxicating, his arms just as strong as they once were. He gives me a little squeeze, lifting me off the ground, then lands me back on my feet.

“Shit, Harp, Paris must suit you. You’re looking really good.” His eyes flick to my chest. “Except for the … Or is that some weird-shit French fashion?”

“I spat coffee down myself,” I blurt out.

“Hmmm,” he says, rubbing his finger through his beard, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “I don’t remember you being one for spitting. More of a swallowing kind of girl, if I recall.”

And if I had any coffee in my mouth, I’d be spitting it out all over again.

“I … I …”

His smile widens. “I’m messing with you, Harp.” He dips his head towards me and whispers, “That was a long time ago.”

“It was,” I say.

“We were stupid kids.”

“We were. Not any more though,” I add quickly.

“No, I’m a consultant pediatrician,” he says, winking at me. “I’m very responsible. Hence the haircut.” He pointed to his head.

“You work with kids?” I say, my heart practically melting. I can see how good he’d be at that. Easy-going, charming, funny.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing his beard again. “It can be tough at times. It’s not nice seeing kids so ill. But it’s very rewarding. Very.” I smile at him. Genuinely. “And how about Harper Hall? I hear from your mom you’re a big art curator now.”

“Was. I’m unemployed. I’ll be looking for a new job.”

“Weren’t you working in the Louvre?”

I nod.

“Isn’t that the,” he grins, “crème de la crème when it comes to art jobs? Why did you leave?” he asks, as I crack open my can of coke and tip it into the glass with several measures of vodka.

“It’s complicated.”

“Ahhh,” he says.

I pick up my drink and take a long swig. “What’s that meant to mean?”

“It means a man – or woman – was involved.”

“Hmmm,” I say. We stand in silence for a moment, weighing each other up, and then he says, “Have you seen Wyatt yet?” I shake my head. “No doubt you’ve heard we’re officially a pack now.”

“I’m surprised it took you so long.”

“It was time,” he says.

“For what?”

“To settle down. We want to find an omega,” I swallow my mouthful of coke, “start a family.”

“Really serious stuff,” I say.

“Come on,” he cocks his head to one side, “if you’ve finished hiding out in the kitchen–”

“I’m not hiding out.”

“–let’s go find Wyatt.”

He takes my hand in his and I try really hard – I swear I do – not to remember the last time he did that. In bed. Definitely in bed. Our hands clasped and our bodies …

I push that image from my mind and focus on the decor as Owen pulls me along, debating whether Ethan and my mom have changed the color of the walls or replaced the curtains.

“Ahhh, there he is.”

I follow Owen’s gaze and find Wyatt standing in the corner on his own, nursing a can of beer. He doesn’t look uncomfortable about it. He looks perfectly content in his own company. He was always the quiet one. Serious. The total opposite to Owen. Sometimes I wondered how they got on as well as they did.

“Wyatt,” Owen calls, and he lifts his gaze and spots us. Unlike Owen, I’m not rewarded with the panty-melting smile. Wyatt is far tighter with his. However, I always liked his serious demeanor, as if he was studying me intently, as if anything I said was the most intellectually astute thing ever uttered.

Just like his packmates, he hasn’t changed. Unless you count the glasses perching on his nose and the longer reddish-brown hair on his head. An addition which only adds to his appeal.

I consider yanking my hand from Owen’s and walking in the opposite direction.

Why, oh why, couldn’t they be like every other guy I know and have gained wrinkles or bad breath, or a stoop, or poor hygiene.

It doesn’t seem fair. Especially as I’m quite aware I’ve gained one or two creases around my eyes since I left Rockview and a patch of gray hair right behind my left ear.

“Hey Wyatt,” I say as we stop right in front of him.

“Harp,” he says, bending down to peck my cheek and causing my pulse rate to skyrocket. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” I say, really really wishing I’d had time for that shower and makeover, and that I wasn’t standing here in front of these two alphas slightly sweaty, with smudged eye make-up, crumpled hair and a stained blouse. “Jet-lagged. A little jet-lagged. I was planning to dive straight into bed.”

The muscle on Wyatt’s jaw twitches. “Bed?”

I am clearly jet-lagged. My brain warped with tiredness. Because why am I talking about bed with two men I spent seven days straight in bed with? “It’s like three in the morning in Paris right now!” I quickly clarify.

“Ahhh,” he says, and something I hope is comprehension and not relief sweeps his face. “You want to sleep.”

“Of course, the best cure for jet lag,” Owen tells me, “is to stay awake. That and get out in the sunshine. We’re going to head down to the beach for a surf later if you fancy it.”

“You surf now?” I say.

“We’ve always surfed, Harp,” Owen says, “what do you think brought us to Rockview all those years ago?”

I’m pretty sure, if my memory serves me right, it was to look for girls!

Just so happens, I was the girl they found.