Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 135: What’s Wrong?

Logan pulls up in a snazzy car worth far more than what he should be able to afford on an SED Sergeant’s salary.

The passenger window rolls down, and he says, "Get inside," in a voice so rough I jump for the handle.

Sliding into the passenger seat with haste, I study his profile, hardly paying attention to how the leather seat hugs my body with the kind of luxury I’ve never experienced. It’s buttery soft and divine.

"What happened? Is everything okay? Did the Conclave—?"

"No," he responds, hitting the gas as soon as my seatbelt clicks. "Is Penelope coming home early tonight?"

I shake my head. "She said she was going to be out late. Do I need to call her?"

"No. It’s good she’s busy."

The engine purrs, filling the awkward silence as he gives me no extra information whatsoever. His pheromones are dumping like crazy, though, leaving me surprisingly agitated as I shift my weight, leaning subtly away from him.

His body language screams something important is going down, but my body’s too busy wrapping itself in a blanket of his oversexual pheromone production, leaving a distinct throbbing between my legs.

I scan his face for clues. His stubble is darker than usual, eyes somehow both tired and alert. He’s in a suit instead of an SED uniform or casual clothing; I’m not a huge connoisseur of menswear, but it looks expensive, even to my uncultured, department store clearance rack-oriented eyeballs.

Wow. He really is some strange werewolf royalty, isn’t he?

"So you just... have this car? What is this, anyway?" I rack my brain for expensive car models. "Mazda... no, Maserati?"

"This? It’s an Aston Martin." He says it like it’s nothing, like everyone has a spare supercar lying around. "It’s a family car, not mine. I was in a hurry, and my car’s in the shop."

My eye twitches a little. Just a tiny bit. Not a crazy amount. I’m not going to split hairs or anything on what’s normal and not in the strange situationship we’re in, but—I mean, we’ve basically affirmed each other as mates, right?

Which means dating. Serious-level dating. Like, long-term dating, maybe.

My back itches even thinking of anything long-term, but... it is what it is.

Right?

So why is this asshole traipsing off to his parents’ house and taking their car when his is in the shop... when he can barely find time to text me once or twice in a week when he’s out on a mission?

The pheromones clouding my brain are suddenly a lot less enticing as I bite hard on my inner cheek, telling myself not to be that girlfriend. Something’s going on. The details of our relationship and what we expect out of each other can be hammered out later.

It’s not a big deal.

Don’t make it a big deal, Nicole.

"Oh," I finally say, even though it’s been like five minutes since he said something.

Logan glances my way for the first time since I slid into the car, and his gaze is more heated than I expected it to be.

His stare flicks to my lap before returning to the road. "I was going to take you to your dorm, but I changed my mind."

My eyebrows pull together as I frown. "I’m supposed to stay on campus."

"It’ll be fine."

I guess he got permission. Probably some emergency clearance or something.

"Am I in danger?" I ask, because taking me off campus sure sounds like I am.

He shakes his head.

I should feel relief, but something in Logan’s demeanor keeps me on edge. He’s coiled tight and so damn quiet. Would it kill him to explain what’s going on?

"Your mission ended early?" I venture, trying to crack his mood.

"Wrapped it up this morning." His lips curve into something almost resembling a smile. "Thought I’d surprise you."

Huh.

My brain struggles to reconcile the urgency of his call with this casual statement. "So this is just a surprise visit? Nothing huge going on?"

"Well, there’s something huge..." His lips quirk harder, and I swear the man is smirking. But the expression fades as quickly as it appears. "But yes, it’s mainly a surprise."

"You couldn’t have just said that on the phone instead of making me think someone died or was out to kidnap me again?"

He glances at me, then laughs. "Technically, you are being kidnapped."

His hand drops from the wheel to my knee, and the casual touch sends a thrill up my thigh. Oh. Oh. The rough edge to his voice, the impatience, his questions about Penelope—it clicks suddenly, embarrassingly late.

"Oh. Well, Penelope’s not at the apartment," I mumble, as his thumb traces lazy circles on my knee.

"That was the plan." His voice drops an octave, and something distinctly not innocent pools in my stomach. "But I decided I need all night. And morning, too."

Fuck.

My mouth goes dry. Every logical thought with the potential to help me form a coherent sentence disappears, flying off into the atmosphere.

Heat rises up my neck as I clench my thighs together against the incessant pulse between them. The man hasn’t even touched me properly yet, but his pheromones have me in a goddamn chokehold again.

"I..." My voice is a bare squeak until I clear my throat. "That sounds... adequate."

Adequate? What the hell is wrong with me? I’m acting like we’ve never done this before.

Logan’s laugh is low and rich, the sound coiling around my spine. His hand slides from my knee up my thigh, his touch a bare graze yet enough to scorch my every nerve ending.

"Adequate?" His eyes flick from the road to my face, amusement dancing in those green depths. "I only do exceptional."

The promise in his voice makes my stomach swoop like a drunk butterfly.

We drive in silence for the next ten minutes, but it’s the loudest silence I’ve ever experienced. Every breath he takes, every subtle shift of his body, the occasional brush of his fingers against my leg—I press my tongue against the back of my teeth, doing my best to keep from asking him to pull over and fuck me in a random parking lot.

When the car finally stops, I blink out the window at a towering glass structure that gleams in the afternoon sun. Brass fixtures catch the light, and a uniformed valet approaches with a deferential smile.

"Mr. Everett," the man says, nodding respectfully. "Welcome back, sir."

Logan comes here often enough to be recognized? Huh.

Then again, he has to live somewhere. Who said it couldn’t be this ridiculously swanky hotel?

I step out onto the cobblestone drive, suddenly conscious of my casual clothes and messy hair.

"This is..." I trail off, scanning the... wealth of the place.

Nope. I don’t belong.

Though there’s a random old guy in sweatpants coming out of the lobby, so maybe I do after all.

"Let’s go," Logan whispers, resting his hand against the small of my back as he urges me forward. He hands his keys to the waiting attendant, and a strange part of me notices.

Somehow, I thought he would toss them at the guy, like all the haughty rich people on TV.

Good to know he’s still my sweet, down-to-Earth Logan—

"So," he murmurs into my ear, fingers sliding low to cup the curve of my ass, "How do you feel about elevator sex? I feel like you need better elevator memories."