An Alpha's Heart

by Sara Allen

  I plastered a fake smile on my face and turned. “Oh, hi!” My voice was too high pitched and overly friendly. By the way he narrowed his eyes I knew I was off my game. With an exaggerated cough to clear my throat, I licked suddenly dry lips. “Sorry. How can I help?”

  He stood, framed by the doorway, and drank me in like a thirsty man in a rain shower. His eyes roved over me, from my head to my feet and back again, so fast that I wondered how he didn’t get dizzy.

  It made me uncomfortable, and I crossed my arms over my breasts and my legs at the knees. The asshole had the audacity to cough a laugh at my expense and walk into my office. My dislike took hold and loosened my arms from the tight grip they’d had on me.

  “I was intending on making an appointment to see Andrew sometime this week, so I could discuss the design with him,” I said, taking a seat behind my desk. “What brings you here?” I waved him into the seat opposite and steepled my fingers.

  He sat, examining my office in a slow, lazy scan that didn’t miss a thing. His eyes lit on my diplomas displayed on the wall and the award I’d won five years ago for the best concept design of an up-and-coming architect. I watched his head nod slowly, and a strange expression crossed his face.

  This guy was trying my patience, but instead of acting how I would have done in any other situation, I decided to play him at his own game.

  “Mags, could you bring my visitor a coffee please? I’ll have tea.” I listened as the office secretary asked a question. “Oh, I’m not sure, just put some on the tray and that should be fine. Thank you.” I replaced the receiver and ignored Ash as much as I could.

  The man had a sense of style, knowing exactly how to put together the pieces of his wardrobe to show off his best features. I’d never seen him clothed in anything that didn’t give off a sexy, self-assured aura, whether he wore jeans and a sweater or as in this case, an expensive, pale blue shirt to compliment the dark, blue-gray of his custom fitted slacks. A pair of crisp, dark tan brogues on his feet and a tweed jacket with tan leather patches on the elbows had me staring at him from under my lashes. He looked delectable, charming and cavalier, despite the thick lines of ink that covered his neck and hands, and also snaked into the open collar of his shirt..

  A sharp tap on the door brought me back to my senses, and I jumped from my seat to open it for Mags bearing a laden tray. Ash sat as quiet as the eye of a storm, and I knew he was just as deadly. Perhaps, I’d pissed him off without knowing, which was entirely plausible when it came to this guy.

  “Sugar?” I asked with the spoon poised over the cup of coffee I’d requested.

  “What makes you think I drink coffee?” His voice was hushed with a stillness within that could have been a need to be at peace with everyone, or a dangerously still pond that sinks so deep you’d think it was a puddle until you fell in over your head.

  “You can have the tea.” I pushed the cup in his direction, “makes no difference to me.”

  “Do I look like your grandma?”

  He most certainly did not and the fucker was trying to be aggravating.

  “So, what do you want?” My teeth ground against each other, holding back the sarcastic retort on the tip of my tongue, with the strength of thirty-thousand men.

  “Just spit it out,” Ash said, leaning back in the chair and stretching out his incredibly long legs. “You know you want to.”

  I held on for a few seconds, then shrugged, pulled the coffee cup towards me, sprinkled sugar into it and stirred. “You know what,” I responded, sitting back in my seat. “I’m not going to bother with your cryptic mind games.” The mellow aroma of coffee filled the room and I sighed as I took my first sip and closed my eyes.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” I could play Ash’s little game, and beat him at it too.

  He studied me for a couple of seconds. “Show me the plans.”

  I sputtered, coughing up the sip that had gone down the wrong side when he’d demanded to see the design. Scratch that, I wouldn’t be playing any games with this man. He had me cornered in under five seconds and I was floundering. How the fuck was I supposed to show him those designs when I knew that I’d been seeing this as a house I’d created just for him.

  “W-why?” My hand shook just slightly, but enough to bring a twinkle of amusement to his eyes.

  “I want to see if you’ve captured my essence.”

  8

  Her

  “I thought there’d be three designs?” Andrew inquired, the crease of a frown marring the perfect forehead.

  My mind shifted to the rolled-up plan sitting in my office that Andrew would never see, or anyone else for that matter. Everyone except the grinning fool sitting across from me at the conference table. As soon as he’d asked to see that design I knew he was aware of it.

  I’d protested of course, an indignant snarl on my lips as I told him he was being ridiculous and I hadn’t designed anything for him. The steady look he'd given me as he spoke so quietly still had me wondering if I'd heard him correctly. I had to admit that he had a point and I really wouldn't have wanted Andrew choosing the design I’d created with him in my mind's eye. Yet, how he'd seen through me I'll never know.

  Despite my hand-thrown protests that he was mistaken, admitting my crimes against him took courage. Calling my bluff, he’d sat there as though he had all the time in the world for me to man up, which I eventually did and pulled the concept I’d lovingly sketched from the roll and laid it across my draughtsman's table. He stood and crossed my office to peer down at the design over my shoulder, not a word leaving his mouth as he surveyed the sketch. With him standing behind me, I was surer than ever that the concept suited him like a well-worn overcoat.

  “Although I usually make three designs,” I explained with a slight flick of my eyes across the table. “this time I have a good feeling about the two you’ve got,”

  Andrew looked at both and I could see him wavering.

  “I can make you a third if you want,” I stated. “But it will take me a couple days to complete.”

  His eyes lit up and a wide smile stretched his face. “Could you?” He looked like a three-year-old who’d gotten his way..“I mean I don’t want to miss out on anything.”

  This was why I hated rich kids. The need to have everything even though they didn’t deserve it, was a pain in the behind. I smiled sweetly and nodded, dreading that my mouth would flap open and something fly out that I wouldn’t be able to take back. Then another thought struck me and I realized that I’d have to go through this whole scenario again.

  “Well, if it's okay with you,” I rose from the chair and gathered my materials, “I’ll get going.”

  “No, leave those.” Andrew grabbed the large sheets from beneath my hand. “I want to look at them again without any pressure.”

  I stilled. “I don’t usually leave designs with a client unless they’ve agreed on one.”

  Andrew glanced up at me as though shocked. His mouth firmed, and he eased back in his chair. I dared not look at Ash because I didn’t want to see the look on his face.

  “Let me ask you a question.” Andrew steepled his fingers and sent me a steady glare. “Did you or did you not make these designs for me?”

  “Technically, yes.”

  “Then what’s the problem leaving them?”

  Now, this asshole was pissing me off. “First…” I counted off on my fingers. “Protocol. Second, those designs are our property until the client has decided on one. We don’t leave drawings with a client. Ever.” I wasn’t going to budge. He could like it or lump it. These plans were my intellectual property and no one, not even that asshole sitting across from me with a twisted smirk on his lips and his eyes screaming bravo, would get a drawing out of me without a signed contract.

  “Well,” Andrew stood and pushed his chair away from the desk, “I may have to rethink using your firm for this project if that’s the attitude I’m going to get.”

  “Suit yourself,”
I said. I gathered the two sheets and rolled them, sliding them neatly into the document roll and closing the flip-top. “Have a nice day.” I smiled and walked to the door.

  “Hang on!”

  My hand paused on the doorknob. “Yes?”

  I could see the struggle his mind dealt with. “How long?” He swallowed and started again. “How long before I see the other concept drawing?”

  “I’ll have it ready for you in three days.”

  “Fine,” he snapped, as though he'd somehow regained control of the situation. “I’ll have Ash take you back to your office.”

  “No!” Why the fuck I’d answered like that, I’ll never know. But it was too fast and too emphatic. “I mean I’m sure he has other things to do.” I waved my phone, “I can call an Uber.”

  “Absolutely not.” Andrew sneered. “He brought you here, it’s the least I can do is have him take you back.”

  His tone informed me that he wasn’t even considering my feelings in the matter.

  “Fine.” I couldn’t help the defeated tone that edged my voice or the avoidance of looking at Ash while I walked to the lift and pressed the button.

  As the lift door slid closed behind us, I looked at his immense frame beside me and felt the claustrophobia of being in an enclosed space with someone whose aura was so powerfully enveloping.

  “I don’t bite you know”

  For a man so colossal, his voice seemed to echo up from the depths of his soul. A quiet whispering that may or may not have held all the pain of his past.

  I peered at his eyes reflected in the mirrored door and an understanding passed between us. A sense of comradeship that I hadn’t wanted to feel for him at all, but felt it settling about me nonetheless. This man was deep like a crevice and even if you shone a light down into it, you would never see the depths unless you were willing to climb down and investigate it yourself. But I wondered what uncovering Ash’s secrets would cost me, and him.

  “You will make that house for me.”

  He didn’t ask, he demanded, and I didn’t even have a reply for him. Besides, what else could I do but what he’d said?

  It took three days and two nights of working until the early hours of the morning to create a workable concept for Andrew Sherwin. I’d tinted the three with watercolor to show how they would look within the space and allowed them to dry on my draught table while I napped on the sofa in my office. My space was a mess of disposable cups and pizza boxes, strewn photographs and miniature sketches that I’d used to come up with something different from the other impressions I’d made.

  This third was so unlike the other two that it had taken me on a whole round about journey of understanding what Sherwin had really sought. The mesh of ideas that Andrew and his fiancée asked to incorporate within the space meant that I’d had to fit all of those want’s and more into the creation as well as sit the design within the landscape in a way that would complement the space.

  It wasn’t that the other designs didn’t do that, but in all honesty, they weren’t anything special. I’d shifted the focal aspect of the house so that it faced outward, embracing the vista with a panoramic view. I’d also settled a significant portion of the property within the landscape, opening up an area that would be a secluded and enjoyable space for a family for many years to come.

  If I were honest, I was far happier with this design than any of the others. It proved that my insistence on paying attention to a client’s detailed requirements had won me an award as a newly qualified architect, as well as the corner office that allowed me to work late without being disturbed.

  A tap at the door jolted me from a light sleep, and I rubbed my eyes and eased upright. I couldn’t believe I’d actually closed my eyes and drifted away, especially when I knew I had an appointment to go to.

  “Come in!” I called, scrubbing my hands down my face.

  His aura hit me before he was fully in the room and I ducked my head, hoping to hide any ugly spots that may have appeared while I slept. There was a concerned crease between his eyes and I tried smiling to shift focus. This guy had the eyes of a hawk and nothing missed his notice. I could tell he saw the bags under my eyes and the dark circles that made me look like a panda. In an attempt to straighten my creased shirt, I pulled on the hem. But all I’d accomplished was drawing his attention to my clothes rather than deflecting it. Shaking my head, I stood and offered him a seat.

  “When was the last time you went home?”

  My mouth pursed in disapproval. “When I work I don’t have time to focus on anything else.”

  He gave me an oh-fuck-really look and rested his fists on his hips. He was either searching for an excuse to fight with me, and I really wasn’t in the mood or he was genuinely concerned.

  “Get your bag and stuff.” There was tension in his voice that told me to comply. “I’m taking you home.”

  “Erm, Mister,” I said, as politely as my BS meter would allow. “I have an appointment with your boss.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’ll go home after.”

  “You look like shit,” he stated. “You’ll go home now.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I didn’t take you for deaf, but alright.” He eyes made a slow sweep. “You look like the dog’s dinner, the one he puked up. You are not going anywhere looking like that.”

  “Excuse me!”

  “Here we go repeating ourselves again.” He shook his head, “Get your shit, I’m taking you home, period.”

  9

  Him

  Who she was trying to impress with her impersonation of a martyr I had no idea, but she looked a mess. She’d always been put together flawlessly, and to see her in such a state surprised me. Her clothes were creased, and I’d swear she’d slept in them as if lack of a decent night's sleep counted for anything. I wouldn’t be the one to deny her creative process or any process that could grab a person and hold on so tight they forgot all about themselves, with their focus fixed firmly on a goal.

  But the stale body odor that pervaded the room angered me. And I couldn’t even find a sensible reason why it should.

  Perhaps, my expectations and the woman didn’t mesh? Or maybe she was more than my limited assumptions could fathom when she’d already accomplished everything and moved on. Although, the most terrifying thought was that my belief in myself hadn’t been lofty enough, and she surpassed me at every milestone I’d chosen to place us together. So much so, I felt myself falling away from her before I'd even gotten close.

  I’d driven her home, ordered her to shower, change, and fix herself up a little before we met with Andrew. My refusal to have him looking down on her after all the efforts she’d put in for him made me determined in the face of her stubborn disapproval. The sneak peek of the plan I’d glimpsed far surpassed anything he’d even dreamt of, let alone had a mind to envision.

  The spacious corner unit with a view of the river meandering below on two sides was the space my beautiful architect called home. Living on the sixteenth floor of a complex overlooking Canary Wharf afforded her a lifestyle that wasn’t evident by her quiet demeanor. I’d seen plenty of luxury apartments, enough to know that a place like this would cost a tidy sum. Grudgingly, I awarded her another tick for having misjudged her.

  In all honesty, anyone who’d seen her appearance a few hours ago would assume the place she lived was a pokey bedsit, off a back street in East London. I’d mistakenly assumed she slept in her office because her apartment lacked the space for her mind to create. She’d fooled me into underestimating her on this too.

  The care and attention to detail she’d taken in setting up her personal abode was evident in the clean, sleek lines, and calming atmosphere. A worktable was set up along one wall where she could turn and gaze out of the window if the mood took her. While a comfortable L-shaped sofa ensemble sat dead center in the living room, neither blocking her work area from the fireplace, nor the wide-screen TV, which sat directly opposite the sofa. Her furn
iture lay in elegant, flowing lines that made perfect use of the available space, a placement that I knew she’d thought long and hard about before even making a purchase.

  She'd colored the whole unit in muted tan, wheat, and roasted sesame with darker accents in clay and dark mustard. White highlights bounced light off the walls and into the darker corners of the room. The ambience had a grounding effect as though just sitting in the apartment would ease your soul from whatever trouble you had. However, my psyche knew where I was taking her next and wouldn’t allow my soul to settle.

  As I waited for her return, my feet and curiosity got the better of me, snaking me around the room to gaze at the numerous canvases she’d suspended from the walls. It seemed she had a liking for abstract designs, those deep and dark lines in a painting that forced you to look beyond mere color or form. The one I stood in front of held my attention so firmly. I could feel the cracks in my armor begin to close.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  I must have been so caught up with the painting that I hadn’t heard her walk up and stand behind me. But my awareness latched on to her aroma and refused to release me. In my mind, I knew it was nothing more than the scent of her fancy shampoo that crept up my nose and stayed there.

  I grunted and twisted quickly, only to find that the gap between us didn’t allow me to breathe out without touching her. Her eyes opened wide in shock, and she made to take a stumbling step backwards. Instinct threw my hand out and around her small waist to pull her back into my chest. And despite the smallness of her stature, she stood against me like she belonged there.

  My fingers splayed, covering the small of her back and the gentle dip that was her spine. I looked down at her pout and watched as her tongue eased out and covered her lip.

  “Err…”