Page 3 of Auctioned to the Alpha
The sound slides down my spine before I even turn around.
And when I do?
Oh.
That’s a problem.
He’s leaning against the wall near the back hallway like he owns the damn building. Tall enough to tower over everyone else in the room, broad shoulders stretching beneath a dark thermal Henley rolled to his forearms. Heavy beard. Dark hair. Sharp eyes locked directly on me.
Not just looking.
Assessing.
There’s a difference.
Everything about him feels controlled in a way that immediately puts me on edge.
Not loud.
Not showy.
Dangerous men rarely are.
“And why’s that?” I ask, turning fully toward him.
His gaze drags over me slowly, taking in the camera bag, my boots, my face, like he’s cataloging information whether I want him to or not.
“Because people who go looking for trouble up here usually find it.”
The bartender mutters, “Rhett.”
I take a sip of whiskey, refusing to let him see the way his attention affects me. “That sounds suspiciously like a threat.”
“It’s advice.”
“From a stranger?”
His eyes hold mine steadily. “You won’t stay a stranger long in a town this small.”
Something about the way he says it makes heat creep up my neck, which is deeply irritating.
I straighten slightly. “You always this welcoming?”
“No.”
The answer comes flat and immediate.
A couple guys near the pool table laugh quietly into their beers.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Good to know you’re difficult with everyone.”
“Not everyone.”
There’s something almost playful underneath the words now, which somehow makes him worse.
I shouldn’t notice how attractive he is.
I definitely shouldn’t notice the way he watches me like he already knows exactly how this conversation is going to go.
