Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Chloe

I pause at the foot of the stairs leading up to the Homestead and lift my hands to double-check that my blond wig hasn't slipped to expose my pink hair hidden beneath. The blue contacts feel gritty, and I blink several times to dispel the discomfort.

Is it really necessary to wear my Beta disguise? I'm not sure, but Holden mentioned the other night that one of his packmates would be home today. If he joins us for dinner, I don't want even more people to discover my secret.

Not that I've done a great job of hiding it so far. But I trust Holden and Blake not to betray me.

My hand drops to my lucky shamrock necklace, and I can't help but think about Grady, whose calls I've been dodging, because I don't want another conversation about a book I don't want to write.

He'll grill me about what I've been doing instead, and then I'll let slip how I've been spending more time with the Alphas of Misty Pines than on plotting my next bestselling series. And that admission will start a whole different argument.

He was against me coming here alone and suggested booking a nicer place with Omega-specific accommodations. But I didn't want that kind of resort. I needed seclusion, and I'm glad I came here.

In just a few days, I've experienced more than I have in the last several years while holed up in my apartment, lost in my world of fantasy.

"Are you going to stay out here admiring the exterior all night?" Holden's voice calls from the open doorway, making me jump in surprise. When I glance up, he smiles. "You dressed up so nicely tonight. It would be a waste to let only the squirrels see you."

Warmth floods my cheeks, and I duck my head to focus on the steps. "I was just trying to predict what tonight's dinner will be."

Holden comes out onto the porch and holds out his hand to walk me across the threshold. "And what's your guess?"

I struggle to ignore the way my palm tingles against Holden's and give the question honest consideration. "Well, we've had roast and pot pie, so… something with seafood tonight?"

I sniff the air, the vanilla cake sweetness of his pheromones distracting me for a moment. "Citrus and…no fresh-baked bread, so rice?"

"Oh, you're good."

He leads me to the long table closest to the kitchen, where he releases my hand to lift the cover from an oval, clay baking dish. Inside glistens a pink filet of salmon with pinwheels of lemon nestled on top of wild rice.

He sets the lid off to the side. "There's also broccolini with hollandaise."

I clasp my hands over my mouth. "I've never tried broccolini. Is it like broccoli?"

He winks at me. " Fancy broccoli."

I marvel at the many dishes already spread out but don't spot the most important one. "No dessert tonight?"

He presses a hand over his heart and gives me a wounded stare. "Would I do that to you?"

"No?" When he raises his brows, a giggle escapes, and I try again with more confidence. "Never!"

"Darn right!" He takes the lid of the clay pot with him into the kitchen and returns carrying a pie with a perfect golden crust.

Apples, spicy cinnamon, and sweet caramel waft toward me, and my mouth waters. I wiggle with excitement as the warm, autumn scents wrap around me like a comforting embrace. "Oh, that smells heavenly."

Holden beams with pride as he sets it at the end of the table.

The flaky dome is just begging for a bite, and temptation gets the better of me as I reach for the silverware laid out next to the plates.

"Who's this little mouse sneaking about trying to steal our dessert?" a deep voice teases from behind me, startling me.

I rear up, the fork clattering from my fingers. Strong arms catch me, and my back connects with Blake's broad chest, his earthy scent of smoked applewood and cider enveloping me.

His embrace tightens around me. "Why does this give me déjà vu? Are you doing it on purpose?"

"Not on purpose," I squeak, my heart pounding as his firm hold sends a shiver of awareness down my spine, making it difficult to focus on anything but the heat of his body against mine.

"That's too bad." His warm breath caresses my ear. "What, no mouse onesie?"

My cheeks flush hot at his teasing. "I-I don't have one of those."

"Shame." His lips brush my neck as he nuzzles me. "I'm glad you came for dinner, though."

The intimacy of his touch brings with it a wave of desire, and I struggle not to gasp.

"Me, too," I say, my voice just above a whisper.

Blake's hands drop to my waist, and he spins me, sending my skirt flaring. "Well, aren't you fancy tonight?" He tucks a strand of fake blond hair behind my ear. "But what's the occasion?"

"Umm…" I tug on the end of my dress.

"The reason doesn't matter," Holden cuts in as he heads back for the kitchen. "You're lovely in anything you wear, Chloe."

I smile at the fervor of his tone and the way he blushes even as he comes to my rescue. It makes me want to gobble him up more than his pie.

And this is why I've been avoiding coming up here for meals. These Alphas have gotten in my nose way too fast.

"Of course, she's pretty everything," Blake rumbles, his touch lingering on my waist before he steps back.

As the distance between us grows, a sense of loss fills me that I struggle to quash.

"Your outfit tonight is quite charming." He appraises my attire. "Shall I fetch my tutu so we can both be fancy?"

I laugh, and my focus drops to his hips only to be distracted by his rainbow-painted nails, each one a different color. I clasp one hand and lift it to the light. "You're already fancy!"

"Ah, well, I visited my niece earlier today." He wiggles his digits under my nose. "She insisted on giving me a manicure."

His happiness every time he talks about the little girl triggers a pang of longing deep within me. I've never experienced such closeness with my family. My father was always kind but distant, and after the divorce, my mother couldn't stand to be around me.

The idea of being part of a loving pack like Blake's makes me yearn for everything I've missed out on. Which means I shouldn't get too close to him. It would be too easy for my personal issues to spill over to these wonderful men.

"Your nails are beautiful," I murmur, trying to force a smile. "You must adore your niece."

"Indeed, she's my sunshine." His expression turns serious, and he touches my cheek. "What happened to your sparkle? A moment ago, you were all laughter and light, and now you look ready to cry."

"Nothing," I lie, turning away from his too perceptive gaze. "It's just… I so wanted a bite of pie, and you foiled my plans."

Blake opens his mouth to say something more, but Holden emerges from the kitchen with a large bowl in his hands. His hazel eyes flicker between Blake and me, and his expression turns strained.

"Our little mouse is still aiming for a nibble of your dessert." Blake strides over to him. "Here, let me help you."

"I'm capable of carrying the salad," Holden snaps, tension in the set of his jaw. "And if Chloe wants pie before dinner, she's an adult who can make decisions for herself."

Taken aback by his tone, Blake and I both stare at him.

"There are still rosemary potatoes." Spine stiff, Holden stomps back through the swinging door.

Blake grimaces at me. "I think I made him mad. I should go talk to him."

"Allow me." Holden's mood seemed to nosedive after Blake commented on my outfit.

Is he worried that Blake is bullying me? I don't want him to think that my feelings were hurt.

I hurry past Blake and rush into the kitchen, almost slamming into Holden, who carries a bowl of small, golden potatoes. Heart jumping into my throat, I sidestep him in time to avoid another collision, and we stare at each other with alarmed relief.

"Maybe I should stop coming in here." My hands flutter. "I don't mean to threaten your delicious food every time I step through the door."

"And I don't mean to assault you with food every time you come in here." He gives me a wry smile.

With a deep breath, I take the bowl from him. As I do, our fingers brush, and the tingles return.

Holden releases the potatoes and clears his throat. "You don't need to help me bring in the rest of dinner. Go spend more time with Blake."

His words catch me off guard, and my heart skips a beat as I try to understand the meaning in his tone. Did I misunderstand? Is Holden jealous? But why when Blake is one of his pack? Packs share Omegas, since there are fewer of us than there are Alphas.

Before I have a chance to ask, though, the shrill ring of the landline pierces the air.

"Take those to the table, will you?" Holden gestures to the potatoes and hurries to answer the phone attached to the wall, leaving me alone with my thoughts spinning.

With the steaming bowl cradled in my hands, I rejoin Blake in the dining room. The warmth of his smile radiates, enveloping me in a cocoon of safety, but I can't shake the worry that something is off.

When I don't return his smile, concern etches lines across his forehead. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah…" As I place the potatoes on a hot pad, I glance back toward the kitchen.

Why is Holden pushing me to be with Blake if it bothers him for us to get close? Does this pack not plan to share an Omega? Not that I have any business nosing into their family plans. I'm not available to be courted by a pack, and I haven't even met all of them.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Blake's voice cuts through my internal struggle, pulling me back to the present. His pale brown eyes search mine, seeking answers I don't possess.

"Of course." I force the smile that I practiced for my book tour. "I'm just working on a plot issue I'm stuck on."

He still frowns, unsatisfied with my explanation. Warm, calloused hands cup my elbows, drawing me closer. "Tell me what's on your mind?"

My lips part, questions I shouldn't ask bubbling up.

But then Holden reenters the dining room, clutching a cordless phone. His steps falter for a split second before he hurries over. "Chloe, it's for you."

"Who would call me on the resort's landline?" I take it from him and step away from the table. Turning my back for some privacy, I press the speaker to my ear. "Hello?"

"Chloe! Finally!" Grady's voice comes through, more agitated than I've ever heard him. "I've been trying to reach you for hours. What gives?"

"You told me to concentrate, so I turned off my cell," I snap, annoyed by his intrusion into an already complicated evening. I walk toward the enormous fireplace across the room. "Do you want me to work, or do you want me distracted?—"

"What's going on?" he cuts in, the urgency in his tone switching to concern. "You never turn off your phone unless… Is your mom harassing you again?"

Of course, Grady would know right away. We only ever get snappy with each other over two things, and since we've talked about writing, my mom is the next logical jump.

"Yeah." A helpless laugh escapes me. "She can always sense when I'm vulnerable."

"I'm so sorry." Frustration threads through the words. He's interacted enough times with my mom to know how she gets. "What's she want this time?"

"More money. I don't know how much," I add before he asks.

A glance over my shoulder shows Blake busying himself by fussing with the place settings, and Holden has returned to the kitchen.

I lower my voice. "I blocked her, and when that didn't stop her, I turned off my phone. If I give in, she'll keep demanding more and more."

He hums in agreement. "Stay firm, and let me know if you need me to do anything. Like file a restraining order."

I laugh, though I know it's not an idle threat. He's been pushing for years for me to bring in legal help to deal with her. "I'll think about it."

Tears sting my eyes, and all the delicious scents filling the air now make my stomach queasy. Why does my mom still have this power over me?

"Is everything okay?" Blake whispers from behind me.

When I turn toward him, something in my expression brings him forward, and his arms encircle me.

I lean against his big body, his smoked applewood and cider pheromones curling around me. A purr fills his chest, the Alpha in him seeking to comfort me as an Omega.

"Chloe?" Grady's voice in my ear reminds me we're still in the middle of a conversation.

"Sorry," I say into the phone. "You didn't call to talk about me. What was so urgent?"

"Have you checked your social accounts lately?" he asks.

My breath catches in my throat, and a sinking sensation settles in my stomach. "You know I don't like that stuff. What's going on?"

"You've been hacked."