Alphas' Indecent Proposal

Chapter 6-1

Kate's POV

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I was sure he could hear it.

The closet door was already cracked open—just an inch, but an inch was enough.

My brain short-circuited through a dozen terrible options before landing on the lingerie set I'd impulse-ordered during a late-night livestream. I grabbed Ronald's arm, and I have no idea how I managed to sound calm—coy, even—when every cell in my body was screaming.

"Let me keep your birthday surprise a secret, babe." I tugged him back gently, forcing a bashful smile. "I think the perfume the seller sprayed on it was too strong—that's probably what set Mochi off."

Ronald turned to me, his eyes lighting up. "Wait—is it the kind of surprise I'm thinking of?"

He'd hinted at it enough times. Wear something bold for me, baby. Something that shows off what's mine.

His mind went exactly where I needed it to go.

"Mm-hm." I rose onto my toes, cupped his face, and kissed him—not softly, not sweetly, but with the kind of desperate, open-mouthed urgency that made his hand slip off the closet handle and land on my waist instead.

Ronald stumbled backward. His fingers slid under the hem of my shirt, trailing heat across my skin, and I let out a breath I'd been holding for what felt like a full minute.

Through the narrowing gap, I caught a single dark eye watching us—steady, unblinking—before the closet door clicked shut and sealed Darius back into the shadows.

Thank God.

But Ronald was lit now. The kiss had flipped a switch I hadn't meant to flip, and his hands were everywhere—my waist, my ribs, skating up to palm my breast through the thin cotton of my bra. I tried to sit up, tried to create space, but he read resistance as enthusiasm and pressed closer, his weight pinning me into the mattress.

I had not forgotten that a six-foot-three Alpha operative was folded into my wardrobe three feet away.

I did not have an audience kink. I really, truly did not.

"Ronald—stop." The word came out breathy, ruined by the moan that followed it.

"Stop?" He nipped at my collarbone, voice rough. "You started this, sweetheart. You can't light a fire and then ask it to behave."

My face burned. My body was betraying me in every possible direction—flushed, trembling, far too responsive for someone trying to shut this down. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for divine intervention.

Divine intervention arrived in the form of my ringtone.

It blared from the living room—shrill, relentless, the kind of call that screamed pick up or I'll call again. Ronald groaned against my neck, then pulled away with a muttered curse and went to find the source.

I collapsed against the pillows, chest heaving.

The second Ronald cleared the doorway, the closet door clicked open. Darius unfolded himself in one fluid motion, his gaze sweeping the room—clinical, efficient—and then it landed on me.

He paused.

Just for a beat. Just long enough for his eyes to register my flushed skin, my rumpled shirt, the rapid rise and fall of my chest.

Then he moved—silent as smoke—and was gone.

I yanked my shirt straight with shaking hands.

What was that look?

Before I could spiral, Ronald reappeared with my phone. "It's yours, babe. Been going off nonstop."

I answered. The voice on the other end was smooth, unhurried, and laced with barely concealed amusement—Damon, doing a flawless impression of a demanding corporate superior.

I killed the screen and swallowed hard. "That was my office. They found me a flight—tonight, to Boston. I have to leave soon."

"Tonight?" Ronald's brow furrowed. "Already?"

But he didn't push. He never pushed. He just sighed, kissed my forehead, and launched into a familiar rant about how Voss Capital worked me to the bone while simultaneously assuring me he'd always support my career.

He packed my suitcase for me. Folded my sweaters the way I liked.

Two hours later, I stood on the curb with my luggage, watching his silhouette disappear behind the apartment door. Then I climbed into the car idling two blocks away.