Let’s get one thing straight: the autumn breeze is an absolute insult to a body like mine. Hiding skin this magnificent under wool and cashmere should genuinely be classified as a felony. Amara doesn’t do “cozy.” Amara commands attention, and today, that attention is going to come with a leash.
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Towering over six feet in heels that could puncture a soul, I caught my reflection in the car mirror and smiled. Surreal is putting it mildly. Cascades of wild, long blonde curls tumbled over shoulders carved by the gods, framing a face of absolute, untouchable perfection. My curves rolled in every the right places—hip, waist, thigh—each contour amplified by a tight, crimson leather jacket thrown casually over a shockingly low-cut black bodysuit. I’m a masterpiece, and masterpieces demand worshippers.
Which brings me to my current predicament: a local pumpkin patch.
Normally, the smell of rotting gourds and screaming children would make me gag. But I didn’t come here for a latte or a gourd. I came here hunting. Because Amara knows she is superior, and she knows exactly where the weak ones flock when the temperature drops.
Scanning the sea of plaid and awkward hesitations, it didn’t take long to spot them. The men who practically vibrate with a pathetic, eager submission. The sissy boys, clutching their pumpkin spiced drinks, sweating under layers of flannel, desperately wishing a woman like me would even glance their way.
Oh, I didn’t just glance. I stared.
I locked eyes with a trembling beta hovering near a display of miniature pumpkins. He dropped his overpriced coffee the second my gaze pinned him to the spot. Delicious.
Strutting over, the click of my stilettos on the gravel sounded like a countdown to his surrender. I stopped right in front of him, looking down my nose, letting him drink in my height, my cleavage, my absolute dominance. He couldn’t even look me in the eye; his gaze dropped instantly to my boots, trembling like a leaf in the October wind.
“You,” I purred, my voice dripping with honeyed condescension. “Pick up that pumpkin and carry it to my car. You’re going to be a very busy boy today.”
He whimpered a weak “Yes, ma’am,” fumbling with the orange gourd.
Amara always gets what she wants. And winter? Winter is going to be so much warmer with a new pet to keep my feet warm.