Page 1 of Omega's Forbidden Heat
Chapter One
He can’t take the silence anymore. The silence and the emptiness. Four blank walls staring at him unblinking.
So he grabs his jacket and his wallet and heads out the door, already halfway down the path when he hears the door click closed behind him. The Autumn’s evening is chilly and he shrugs on the jacket, burying his hands in his jean pockets and hurries down the lane.
He’d forgotten how dark it is out here. No city glow, no passing headlamps, no streetlights. As he walks down the black lane, the stars appear in the sky, little pins of light shining more brightly as his eyes adjust and the moon illuminates his steps with a silver trail.
At the end of the lane, he takes a left into the centre of the village, the dark outline of the church’s spire visible in the distance, the flat space of the green to his right and the pub glowing on his left.
There are a couple of Land Rovers, a truck and a car parked out front and faintly he can hear the hum of voices.
He wonders if there’ll be anyone in there he knows. Not that it matters; he’d be content to sit and nurse a beer alone as long as there are people and noise around him. But likely there’ll be one of the old boys in there. Someone who’ll want to talk farming and weather with him and he’d happily distract himself from his thoughts with that too.
He strides along the stone path and pushes against the heavy wooden door of the pub, ducking his head to make his way through the low doorway, built several centuries ago.
Automatically, he takes a deep inhale as he blinks against the dim yellow glow of inside. The smell of this pub is something homely, smoke and hops and the scents of people he grew up with. It grounds him, makes him feel at home in a way his own house no longer does.
But the aroma that greets him is not the familiar smell of alcohol and ancient chimneys, and his stomach growls.
Omega.
It’s strong and new. A scent he does not know.
His body reacts to it automatically, even before his mind registers it; an electricity bruising across his skin, the hair rising on his arms and his gland tingling. Drawing himself to his full height, his shoulders hunched forward, his fists clenched, he swings his head from side to side, nostrils twitching, chasing the scent in the air, trying to locate the owner. His eyes follow the arc of his nose, sweeping through the inside of the pub with its dark wood furnishings and worn floorboards.
Then the scent sucks his senses in one direction. It’s the deep pungent aroma of ripe peach, wet and juicy. Something to sink your teeth into, through the paper-thin skin, soft against your lips, sweet nectar trickling into your mouth and over your tongue, warming your throat and your gullet. It’s the smell of summer and sunshine and sticky fingers.
His stomach growls again, more violently this time as the scent sinks into his stomach and his bloodstream.
No doubt about it. It’s the curvy little barmaid, leaning over the counter. She’s all arse and he licks his lips.
He hasn’t screwed anyone in a long, long time. There’s been too much on his mind, too much to do. But now he considers it might be just what he needs. To be all feeling and no thinking. If he can charm his way into her bed that is.
Fuck, she smells like something divine and the way the denim stretches over the curve of her behind; the seam riding all the way up into her crotch, has him almost groaning out loud. Removing his hot hands from his pockets, he stalks towards the bar, eyes locked on her.
He’s a few steps away when she turns and her eyes latch onto his face. Deep brown eyes the colour of walnuts. Her eyebrows rise in surprise and then a smile blossoms over her face, two dimples forming in her plump cheeks and her pretty pink lips curving. There’s recognition in her eyes, that and something else. Something that looks like sympathy.
He halts.
Does he know her? She looks familiar, so familiar. The dimples and the eyes, the loose plait cascading over her shoulder. He knows her. He’s sure he knows her.
She saunters to the near side of the bar, towards him, her face all excitement, ready to talk with him, but still he struggles to place her; his brain racing through faces and memories, frantically trying to find her.
“Jack,” she says. And it’s her voice that finally slots the piece into place.
“Amy?” He takes a hesitant step towards the bar.
She laughs. “Erm, yes. Hello, stranger.”
He’s still two yards from the bar, but he daren’t move any closer. He ought to turn right around and walk straight out of the pub.
Amy?
Since when the fuck has Amy Logan been an Omega. And why the fuck has Finn never told him this?
A warning. He needed a warning. His best friend should have warned him about his little sister.
She’s watching him, the smile fading from her lips and he’s sure she must see the thoughts flickering over his face. The sense of panic. He’d just been thinking about … with his best friend’s little sister.
