Her Knotty List (MVP: Most Valuable Pack #4)

Chapter 12

chapter

twelve

Knox has to grab my arm to physically shove me out of his room.

I let him because I know he’s right. Obviously, the omega deserves her privacy. And obviously, I’m acting weird as hell right now.

It’s just… her voice. I’ve never heard anyone else sing so beautifully. And that song …

The further I get from Knox’s bedroom, the sicker I feel. My stomach is in knots, dread riding me hard.

At first, the heavenly smell of cinnamon buns makes my gut tweak harder. But after just a few seconds, my mouth waters. Damn, that smells delicious.

How the hell did Zane get something so good in the oven so fast? I wonder while Knox leads me down the black iron staircase that drops us into his family room.

The house is palatial.

I remember when he built it. The whole town practically rioted. Some hoity-toity billionaire asshole buying up three whole properties? The guy practically owns half the mountain.

They all hate that. When he submitted his plans to construct this monstrous house, people legitimately lost their shit.

I, for one, didn’t see the problem. It’s all his land. No one can see any of it through the forest… unless they’re on a neighboring mountain looking over at this one.

Even then, the enormous A-frame cleaving to the side of the peak doesn’t seem out of place. Whoever designed it went out of their way to make the structure as organic as any five-thousand-square-foot mansion could possibly be out here.

The person who did the outside obviously didn’t do the inside, though. This place is stark . There aren’t even pillows on the rounded leather sectional in his sunken living room. Nice enough flat screen hanging over the enormous slate fireplace, though.

The view really can’t be beat, either. Just like the picture window in his bedroom, Knox has an equally large, unobstructed vista of the horizon here. The sun crests over it as we cross through his foyer and into the kitchen.

Zane is at the stove, whistling while he adjusts the heat on the gas range like he owns the place. I notice his shoulders are tight. They hitch up higher and higher as the mouth-watering aroma of fresh cinnamon rolls gets stronger.

While I take a barstool at the massive white-marble island, Knox slinks out to his garage, and Zane soldiers on, adding bacon and sausage to a cast-iron skillet before whipping a big bowl of eggs and chopping an onion.

I have to say, he does move like a guy who knows what he’s doing in the kitchen. The extent of my culinary knowledge is firehouse chili and cornbread from a box, but he dices and slices like a pro.

A door opens somewhere upstairs, and McKinley trots into the room a moment later, looking pleased with himself. “Yeah, yeah,” I grouse, patting his head, “You got the girl. We know.”

Zane flinches and shoots me a suspicious look. “Do you smell that?”

I don’t smell anything apart from whatever miracle he has in the oven. I glance over at it, but the thing doesn’t even look like it’s on.

Knox storms back into the room, carrying… a glass repair kit? Weird .

Even weirder is the look on his face as he stops short, nostrils flaring. I chuckle, trying to play peacekeeper. “I know, right? Whatever cinnamon rolls Zane whipped up smell like heaven.”

Zane turns his dark eyes on me. “What are you talking about? I’m making omelets.”

We all blink at each other.

The real reason for the delectable scent dawns.

Holy fuck.

My pheromones spike, along with both of theirs. The room is suddenly an absolute maelstrom of scents. Pine, peppermint, spice. But nothing as strong as the sticky, sugared cinnamon wafting off the tiny omega who appears in the doorway.