Mated to My Fiancé’s Alpha King Brother

“Speechless omega?” One dark eyebrow arched in what | was beginning to recognize as his signature look of

amused superiority. “That's

a first.”

The smugness in his voice snappedback to coherent thought. “Fine,” | said, trying to inject sdignity into

what was clearly a

complete surrender. “But I'm not paying for dry cleaning if someone spills wine on this dress.””

The corner of his mouth twitched-not quite a smile, but close enough to make my traitorous heart do a little tap

dance. “Noted. | protect what's mine,” he said simply, and the possessive note in his voice made my knees

wobble like a newborn deer’s.

The casual threat, delivered in that low, dangerous voice, made heat pool in places that had no business

responding during work hours

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of focused intensity that felt like being caught in a very attractive, very

expensive tornado.

Despite the mate bond crackling between us like a live electrical wire, Damien and | fell into a surprisingly

natural rhythm. He was

demanding but fair, brilliant but not condescending, and when | anticipated his needs-sliding the northern

territory reports across his

desk just as he reached for them—he looked atlike I'd just performed actual magic.

Meanwhile, Ayla had been a constant source of commentary all day, providing a running narration like the

world’s most inappropriate

sports announcer. *Ooh, look at those shoulders,* she'd purr when Damien moved past my desk. *Did you see

the way his muscles

flexed when he reached for that file? And that smell-God, that SMELL. It’s like sandalwood and testosterone had

a baby and named it

Perfect Man.*

“Could you maybe tone down the lustful commentary?” | muttered under my breath during one particularly vivid

description of what

she’d like to do to our mate.

*'m just saying, those hands look very capable. Very... thorough.*

“AYLA.”

By the tevening approached, | was wound tighter than a Swiss watch, every nerve ending hyperaware of

Damien's presence. When

he so much as shifted in his chair, | could feel it like a physical touch. When he spoke, his voice seemed to

resonate in my bones.

This mate bond thing was going to be the death of me.

“Control yourself,” | muttered under my breath during one particularly intense wave of mate-hunger, pressing

my thighs together as

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712

neat pooled low in my belly.

As evening approached, | excused myself to the ladies’ room to touch up my makeup and attempt to calm my

racing pulse. The emerald dress still looked stunning, but now | could see the flush on my cheeks, the dilated

pupils that betrayed exactly how affected | was by spending eight hours in close proximity to my mate.

When | emerged from the restroom, Damien was waiting by the door like a predator who'd been stalking his

prey. He looked devastatingly handsin his perfectly tailored navy suit, the fabric molding to his broad

shoulders and lean torso in ways that should be illegal. When he offeredhis arm with old-fashioned gallantry,

the simple gesture made my heart flutter like a teenager's.

“Ready?” he asked, and there was something different in his voice-softer than his usual commanding tone,

almost... tender?

| placed my hand on his offered arm, biting back a gasp as electricity shot throughat the contact. His

muscles were like steel beneath the expensive fabric, and | had to resist the urge to run my fingers along the

length of his arm just to feel more of that delicious

warmth.

“As ready as I'll ever be,” | managed, hoping my voice sounded steadier than | felt.

His car was a thing of beauty-sleek, black, and expensive enough to fund Adrian's college education. As he held

the passenger door open for me, | caught another intoxicating whiff of his scent and had to grip the door frame

to keep from swaying. God, he smelled incredible-like sandalwood and something uniquely masculine that made

my wolf whine with need.

“Careful,” he murmured, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back to steady me. The simple touch sent

fire racing through my veins, and | had to bite my lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

“So,” Damien said finally, his voice carrying a note of curiosity that hadn't been there during our professional

interactions, “tellabout

your son.”

The question caughtcompletely off guard. My heart stuttered, then began racing for an entirely different

reason. “What would you

like to know?” | asked carefully, studying his profile in the dim light of the dashboard.

“Everything,” he said simply, and there was something in his tone-not judgment or calculation, but genuine

interest. Maybe even

warmth.

“His nis Adrian,” | began, unable to keep the fierce love from my voice, “and he’s four. He's brilliant-scary

brilliant sometimes.”

Damien chuckled, a rich sound that made warmth spread through my chest. “Sounds like he keeps you on your

toes. And his father? Are

you two still in contact?”

The question hitlike a physical blow, all the warmth draining from my chest in an instant. | stared out the

window, watching the city lights blur past as | tried to find words that wouldn't makesound like exactly what

Valerie had always called me.

“I don’t know who his father is,” | said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

Damien's knuckles went white. “You don’t know?”

| forced myself to keep talking even though every instinct screamed atto change the subject. “Just one night,

no real names exchanged,

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The restaurant was exactly what I'd expected-elegant, expensive, and filled with the kind of understated luxury

that screamed old money and older power. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over pristine white tablecloths,

and the soft murmur of conversation blended with the gentle clink of silverware that probably cost more than my

monthly rent.

Damien guidedthrough the crowd with a possessive hand on the small of my back, and | was acutely aware

of the way other wolves tracked our movement. Several women shotlooks that ranged from curious to

openly envious.

“Relax,” Damien murmured near my ear, his breath makingshiver with awareness. “You're the most

beautiful woman in this room,

and you have every right to be here.”

The confident certainty in his voice was exactly what | needed to hear. | straightened my shoulders and lifted my

chin, channeling every

ounce of dignity I'd spent five years building from scratch.

Throughout the dinner, | found myself hyperaware of every brush of contact, every shared glance, every

moment when Damien leaned close enough forto breathe in his intoxicating scent. When he reached across