Her Knotty List (MVP: Most Valuable Pack Book 4)
Her Knotty List: Chapter 23

I scurry up the stairs, hope sparkling in my chest.

Zane is making the other guys dinner. That has to mean something, right?

I can’t help the way my heart floats as I scamper toward Knox’s room. The patter of the shower is audible in the hallway, but the door is open. I peek in, replaceing the room empty. The door to the bathroom is barely cracked, so I step over the threshold and call his name.

“Gunnar?”

There’s no answer, which makes sense. Knox might live in the middle of nowhere, but this house is insane. Everything—from his furniture to the water pressure—is top-of-the-line.

“Gunnar?” I try again, shuffling further into the room. He still doesn’t reply, but I’m grateful for that a second later when I spy his clothes lying in a rumpled heap on Knox’s leather chair.

A thought occurs to me. Remi is a perfect homemaker, and her alphas adore her. I better try to get myself into gear if I’m going to turn any of this into something real…

My feet move, carrying me to the discarded suit and bringing Gunnar’s worn dress shirt to my face. I inhale the scent of roasting pecans and my lungs stutter.

Finally, my Omega huffs, annoyed. I’ve been trying to tell you for months that we needed our mate.

I roll my eyes internally, remembering all the times I’d felt so squirmy around the Dunlaps and how she usually just chanted one word over and over. You could have said something more instructional than “mate, mate, mate.”

She sends me more exasperation. As if you didn’t already know, deep down, that this alpha was the one. But what the hell is his excuse? Does he really think he can just come back after putting us through all of this and we’ll forgive him?

I have forgiven him, I tell her. He apologized!

Well, tell his Alpha that I said to go kick rocks. The other alphas all want me the way they should.

Which is so not helpful. Especially when she starts firing me images of Zane’s kisses… Knox holding me earlier… Micah’s hands all over me…

When my fingers reflexively clutch Gunnar’s shirt tighter, a paper crinkles in his front pocket.

A… purple piece of paper?

With little hearts on the⁠—

Oh.

My.

God.

Oh my God.

OH. MY. GOD.

Did Gunnar Sinclair replace the list Bridget and I made after two pitchers of margaritas?

And then he read it? And kept it?!

I will die. In fact, I think I have died—until a loud clang sounds from inside the bathroom.

My heart restarts with a lurch. The note falls to the floor as I whirl toward the door, hesitating.

It sounds like he fell. Which, I’ll be honest, seems like something he would do. Knox’s shower is beautiful, but the all-stone floor makes it slippery. With just a floating glass partition to shield it, there aren’t any bars to hold on to. And Gunnar was up all night.

I might have slipped in there earlier.

But I was totally fine.

What if Gunnar isn’t?

My Omega is frantic at the thought of him being hurt. She’s already worried about him after the way he shut down before—and the deep, earnest exhaustion I saw all over his face.

When I hear a pained groan, my instincts snap forward. I race across the wood floor, sliding on my borrowed socks and nearly barreling into the bathroom door.

Which is right around the time I realize I’m not necessarily hearing a man in pain.

Sort of… the opposite?

The one brief glimpse I allow myself reveals a whole lot more than I imagined.

For one: Gunnar does not seem to be in any near-death predicaments.

Two: He somehow looks bigger naked? I’m not even sure how he fit into that slim black suit, because the body behind the fogged glass shower partition is larger and broader than any man has a right to be.

Third: he’s wet. And covered in muscle.

Cinched abs, straining quads, bulging pectorals, and heaving shoulders. Not to mention the grapefruit-sized masses of his biceps and the veins roped along his⁠—

Oh. Holy. Night.

As my gaze traces the masculine lines of his forearm, I realize his hand is between his legs. Cupping his very hard, very noticeable cock.

No.

Stroking it.

The sound that tears out of his throat resembles the one I heard before. A long moan, tortured and tight. Only, this time, he says something else, too.

My name.

“Emma.”

Goosebumps scatter down my spine while my lungs stop working. I go completely still, certain he’s spotted me and he hates me and he’s going to yell at me to get out—or bark, like Theo did.

Seconds tick by, and he continues gliding his fist up and down his bobbing length, grunting. When I realize he hasn’t seen me, the truth sinks in.

He’s… thinking about me? While he…???

Before I can control my body, a deluge of perfume pours off of me. It rises into the thick, steamy air, mingling with his salty, roasted scent.

When the mixture hits him, he groans again. Deeper and more urgent. His fingers tighten, his wrist snaps faster, his⁠—

Gunnar’s eyes snap open and fly to the doorway. To me, standing in the doorway.

Oh, sugar.

A thunderous look rolls over his square features as he bellows my name, dropping his erection and lunging out of the shower to shut the bathroom door. I step back automatically, squealing while I cover my eyes.

Still, when he slips on the edge of the wet stone floor and goes careening into a half-split, I totally see it through the crack between my fingers.

He straightens up almost as quickly as he went down, ripping a towel off the nearby rack and snapping it around his hips before he stalks toward me.

“What are you doing in here?” he hisses. “Jesus, Em! You thought you could just scratch number thirteen off your list? You almost gave me a fucking heart attack!”

Lord, he really looks mad. And, you know, gorgeous.

His wide jaw ticks. Thick blond-brown brows furrow over his eyes, setting off the gold streaked through those gray irises. His outrage isn’t anything like the blankness I saw there before—in a lot of ways, it’s better. He looks so much more alive like this.

Alive and pissed.

“I’m sorry!” I squeak, true remorse and mortification swamping my stomach as my sense returns. “Zane is making us all food, and I came up to tell you it’s time to eat, but then I heard you make a noise, so…” I swallow hard, shrinking back a bit. “S-sorry.”

He exhales hard through his nose, nostrils flaring while he grinds his teeth and fidgets with the towel wrapped around his lower half. I recognize his energy immediately since it’s one I’m very familiar with.

He’s embarrassed.

Why is that so adorable?

And sort of… hot?

I don’t know, but the lower muscles in my abdomen clench and gel. Slick slips down my thighs, and I bite my lip.

Crap.

Maybe Lucy has a point about my heat…

Gunnar doesn’t notice. He’s too busy dropping his eyes, muttering, “What were you doing? Just standing around the bedroom?”

“No,” I rush to explain, “I was⁠—”

Holding my sex list.

The one he stole.

And wait⁠—

WAIT.

Did he just ask me if I thought I could scratch off number thirteen???!!!

I shriek again, this time in complete horror. My hands fly to my cheeks, making me a silent-but-decent dupe for that one famous painting of the guy screaming his head off.

“You pig!” I accuse, gasping.

His eyes go wide. “Me? What did I do?”

I feel faint. Literally dizzy. Like my head might detach from my body and drift into the atmosphere to orbit the Earth. Just a big, really stupid satellite.

“You read my list!” I shriek, pointing. “You read my list, and you memorized it?!”

It’s Gunnar’s turn to panic. He holds up his palms in a placating gesture and starts to ramble. “I didn’t know it was yours! Or, well, I didn’t know you were you. I mean, I knew it was yours because I saw it fall out of your purse, but then I didn’t know you—the bride—was also you—the girl I met at that party. So I didn’t really know, you know?”

Part of me wants to laugh, and another wants to cry. Some weird half-sob-snort comes out instead.

Gunnar winces. “I didn’t mean to memorize it, but it’s memorable, okay? I—shit, Em, don’t cry.”

Am I? I guess those are tears streaming down my cheeks. I swipe at them and force a smile. “Sorry. I’m fine. It’s just humiliating, and I… I’ve pretty much gotten used to being a joke to everyone, but there’s something about you guys that makes me wish I could be⁠—”

Important.

Taken seriously.

Considered.

Cherished.

“—something else.”

All of the anger slumps out of his posture. “Em,” he rumbles, stepping closer. “You aren’t a joke. I’ve never thought that.”

I sniffle miserably. “Not even when I fell in the pool?”

“No,” he laughs softly, reaching for my hand, folding my chilled fingers in his water-heated ones.

“Or when you found out I drove into a snowbank?”

His smile disappears, replaced by a small frown that’s all honest concern and maybe a little heartbreak. “No, squirt,” he murmurs, totally sincere. “Not even a little bit.”

I snuff loudly. More tears fall. “Or when you walked in on me and the guys today?”

That one trips him up for a moment. He pauses, then clears his throat…

And comes even closer.

His free hand reaches for my hip, settling my belly against his hard groin. Those gray eyes blaze with dark, swirling desire, but he still gulps like he’s nervous.

“Especially not then,” he husks. “What did you think I was picturing just now in the shower?”

My eyes round. “R-really?”

He huffs out a quiet chuckle, his cheeks turning light pink as he grimaces. “Maybe some other stuff, too. That list of yours is pretty, uh, comprehensive.”

I cover my face with the hand that isn’t wrapped around his, moaning. When I drop my face to hide my shame, my forehead lands on his wide, damp chest.

He slips his touch from my hip to the back of my neck, hesitating for a brief second before sinking his fingertips against my nape and kneading sweetly. My arm wraps around his cut waist, hugging him while I have the opportunity.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “I shouldn’t have come in here.”

Gunnar hums a grumble. “We can call it even, squirt. I shouldn’t have read your list once I realized what it was.”

His scent takes a sudden, sharp plummet from roasted nuttiness to burning charcoal. “I can’t believe how stupid those other alphas were. You guys did all of the shit on that list, and they didn’t even try to go after you when you left?”

For a second, I consider letting him think that’s what happened. It’s almost less mortifying than the truth. But the last time I let him run with an incorrect assumption, I ended up ringing in the New Year with mascara running down my face.

“No,” I admit, barely whispering. “They—We were only, um, intimate during my heat a few months ago. I don’t remember much of it, but my knees were really sore for a few weeks, so I think it was pretty much a presenting-only situation. They said they didn’t want to do other stuff until after we were bonded. Now, I realize they just didn’t want me.”

Gunnar’s scent swells, pressing closer. My Omega loves it, but she’s still decidedly pissy about him. I wince slightly, biting my lip as I add, “I should probably tell you… I’m okay with what happened last year, but my Omega still has a lot of… feelings about it.”

There’s a long beat of silence, punctuated by the patter of the shower and the hiss of steam filling the air. Gunnar’s chest expands faster and harder as he slips his palm around my neck and uses his thumb to tilt my chin back.

Gray eyes meet mine. “You tell her that she can take all the time she needs. I’ll be right here. Every day.”

The solid warmth in his voice is enough to make me slick my thighs again. Gunnar notices, pressing closer and dropping his forehead to mine. “You really haven’t done any of the things on your list?”

Items fly through my head. Phrases like cockwarming, spit-roasting, DVP… Honestly, as the margaritas got stronger, the ideas only got wilder.

And what was number thirteen?

Oh, right, I remember, swallowing hard. Voyeurism.

Technically, Bridget wrote, “Watch an alpha jack his knot.”

But, you know, semantics.

I shake my head, hoping to clear some of the arousal and nerves blurring my thoughts. Gunnar’s scent lightens by the second, edging back into sweet, salted heaven.

“It’s like a wishlist?” he asks.

I nod again. Gunnar’s jaw flexes as he slowly walks me backward, until I’m pressed into the blank wall beside the bathroom door.

He presses his forearm over my head, his intense stare swirling while he grips my face in his strong fingers and growls, “You really shouldn’t have told me that, squirt.”

And then he kisses me.