Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Which maybe it was.
For him.
The testing room felt smaller than it had looked in the blueprints. Neutral walls the color of expensive champagne, soft lighting that somehow made everything look like a luxury spa crossed with a medical facility. There was a raised platform in the center, surrounded by equipment I’d designed but never actually used on myself. Biometric scanners, scent collectors, compatibility monitors that hummed silently in the background.
I’d built this room. I knew every piece of technology in it.
So why did I suddenly feel like I was about to be dissected?
“For scent syncing to calibrate properly,” Nicolo continued, tapping something on the control panel beside us, “your skin needs to be exposed. Minimum upper chest and back.”
“Then you go shirtless.”
“I will,” he said.
And he did.
In one smooth movement, Nicolo pulled his shirt off and tossed it onto the single chair positioned outside the scanning area. His body was exactly what I’d tried not to remember for the past seven years. Broad shoulders that tapered to a lean waist, chest muscles that looked carved rather than built, and that smooth trail of dark hair that disappeared under the waistband of his pants like a roadmap to places I had no business thinking about.
There was a scar along his left shoulder blade. Another across his ribs. Alpha fights, probably. Challenges for dominance that he’d obviously won.
“You’re staring,” he said without looking at me.
“I’m calculating how fast I can leave without getting sued.”
“You can’t. You signed waivers.”
The scanner overhead blinked red, waiting for input.
He held out a hand. “Come here.”
“You are not scanning me like a bar code.”
“It’s not a scan. It’s a scent sync. I need your baseline profile to compare compatibility markers.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“You wrote the protocol.”
“Well, I was obviously out of my mind.”
“Then let me help you get back in it,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Shirt, Maryah. Now.”
There was something different in his tone. Not quite a command, but close enough that my body responded before my brain could file a protest. Alpha voice. The kind that made every human instinct I had sit up and pay attention.
I gritted my teeth and yanked my blouse off, hating how my skin prickled the moment his eyes dropped to my bare shoulders. My bra was plain black cotton, nothing special, but it suddenly felt like the most revealing thing I’d ever worn.
“Happy?” I snapped.
“You’re flushed,” he observed, making a note on his tablet.
“Because I’m annoyed.”
“Sure.”
The way he said it made me want to throw something at his stupidly perfect face. Instead, I stepped onto the platform and tried to pretend this wasn’t the most mortifying moment of my professional career.
“Step forward,” he instructed.
I did. Slowly.
The scanner hummed to life above us, casting everything in a soft blue glow. Nicolo moved closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, could smell his scent without any technological assistance required.
He smelled like winter mornings and something darker. Something that made my mouth water and my pulse skip.
“This will take about twenty seconds,” he said, reaching out to place one hand on the side of my neck.
His fingers were warm. Steady. The touch should have been clinical, professional. Instead, it felt like a brand.
“Fantastic,” I managed.
“Try to relax.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being sniffed by your stepbrother.”
Something flickered in his expression. Too fast for me to interpret.
The scanner beeped. Green light.
But he didn’t move his hand.
“You got the baseline,” I said, my voice coming out breathier than I’d intended. “You can let go now.”
He didn’t.
Instead, he stepped even closer, and I found myself backing up until I hit the edge of the console. Trapped. The blue light from the scanner cast shadows across his face, making his cheekbones look sharper, his eyes darker.
His mouth was near my ear now. Close enough that I could feel his breath against my skin.
“You smell like nerves,” he murmured.
“And you smell like an arrogant control freak.”
A low sound escaped him. Not quite a laugh. Something rougher.
“I’m the control variable,” he said. “You’re the chaos.”
“And you like chaos?”
His hand moved, fingers threading through the hair at the base of my neck. The touch was gentle, but there was something possessive about it that made my knees weak.
“I like you.”
Three little words, but they were more than enough to turn my world upside down.
Before I could react, before I could speak or move or remember how to breathe, he stepped back.
The scanner overhead chimed.
*Compatibility: 98.7%. Alpha match potential detected.*
I stared at the display, my heart hammering against my ribs.
98.7%.
That was higher than any pairing I’d ever recorded. Higher than the theoretical maximum I’d built into the system.
Higher than should have been possible.
Nicolo looked up at the screen, then back at me. His expression was unreadable again, but there was something burning in his eyes that made my stomach flip.