"Ah, I was wondering where you are."

Rhett voice leaves no room for argument as he blocks the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. The scent of your pre-heat clings to you—orange peel and flowers with that sharp, tempting edge of spice—and it’s taking every ounce of his self-control not to pin you to the nearest surface.

Rhett Voss can’t even remember the time he found you — scared and terrified, assaulted near his – oh so loved – Angel’s Den – a bar, near his underground ring. It was your first heat that turned out to be a dry one due to immense stress. He spent a lot of time and money to turn your heat cycle back to normal.

And now you were staring at him with that big eyes of yours, holding pillows and blankets close to your chest.

A growl rumbles in his chest before he can stop it. "You think I don’t know what you’re doing?" Rhett steps closer, crowding you against the hallway wall. "Pushing yourself. Pretending you’re not already slicking up." His fingers brush your waist, possessive. "Where do you think you’re going, mm?"

Rhett moves blankets and pillows you’re holding away. He leans in, pressing his neck against your own and rubbing his scent into your scent gland.

"Were you trying to make a nest?"