Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 37

Chapter 37: Calling Officer Everett

Fifteen minutes after Penelope phones the number on Logan’s business card, there’s a knock on the door.

We share a glance.

"That can’t possibly be him, right?" I ask, even though we both know the answer.

Penelope bolts to the door, yanking it open without a second thought. So much for caution.

He must be thinking the same thing, because the moment the door is opened I can hear his voice. "Are you out of your mind?" Logan’s deep voice rumbles through the apartment. "You don’t just open doors without checking. Especially if you’re worried about stalkers."

Penelope’s cheeks flush. "Sorry, I just—"

But Logan’s already inside, his eyes scanning every corner of the room like a predator seeking prey. His gaze snags on the white bag of apple fritters, and I swear I see his nostrils flare.

Then he’s moving. Toward me. With purpose.

My heart leaps into my throat as he drops to one knee in front of me, his green eyes blazing with an intensity that steals my breath.

"Are you okay?" The fierceness in his voice makes me blink.

"I’m... fine?" It comes out more like a question than a statement. My brain struggles to process the concern etched across his face. Where’s the cold, professional Logan from before?

He exhales, his shoulders sagging with relief. Before I can react, his hand engulfs mine, warm and calloused. He gives it a gentle squeeze that sends sparks shooting up my arm.

"You need to call me if anything scary happens. Always." The command in his tone brooks no argument.

I nod dumbly, my eyes fixed on our joined hands. My body wages an internal war. Part of me wants to throw myself into his arms, to taste those lips that have been haunting my dreams. The other part wants to slap him silly for daring to touch me after everything that’s happened.

"So, what’s going on?" Logan turns to Penelope, his hand still firmly clasping mine.

As Penelope launches into an explanation about the mysterious fritters, I try to focus. But Logan’s proximity is wreaking havoc on my senses. His scent—pine and something wild—wraps around me, making my head spin. My skin tingles where we touch, and I have to fight the urge to curl my fingers around his.

"...and the security cameras around here are just for decoration," Penelope finishes.

Logan’s thumb absently strokes the back of my hand. Does he even realize what he’s doing?

"A bag of pastries means a stalker?" he asks, sounding genuinely confused.

"No, no," Penelope backtracks. "It wasn’t just this delivery. There was another one. There were clothes—oh, and a note! Let me go get them."

"Clothes..." Logan turns to look at me, looking like he’s trying to think of what to say.

I yank my hand from his, and he frowns, but doesn’t try to touch me again.

"Is it just those two things?" he asks slowly. "Those are what have you two so worried?"

"What, is that not good enough to take seriously? ’Oh, someone must really care about you, you should be grateful’?" I snipe at him, more irritated than I probably should be. Or maybe not irritated enough. I can’t tell. He’s got me all twisted up into loops. "What, is stalking not serious when they’re sending gifts? Only severed pinkies make the cut into danger zone?"

It’s not a toupee. I’ve tugged on that hair. But maybe if I think it’s fake, I can picture him as a bald and unsexy version of himself. freewebnovel-cσ๓

"Can you stop wafting at me, please?"

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