Page 18 of Omega's Forbidden Heat
“Hmmff, fine.”
She marches around to the side of the house and stops under the window. “If you give me a bunk up to the ledge and then maybe hold it open for me. That was always the tricky bit about getting through this window. The way the window falls shut on your back or your arse.”
He links his hands together and crouches down, and she places one booted foot into his palm and rests one hand on his shoulder.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
He lifts her into the air, feeling a satisfaction with how easily he can support her weight, and she steps off onto the ledge, clinging to the window. He opens it for her and she threads through her hands and leans in her arms, then her head and then her upper torso. The opening is only just big enough to accommodate her, but there’s no room for her to swivel or twist. She tips her weight and wriggles further in until her stomach rests on the wood and her legs swing up into the air. She wriggles some more, but she doesn’t move. She tries again. But her body remains hanging in this one position.
“I’m stuck,” she says, kicking her feet about in frustration.
“Just grab the counter and pull yourself through.”
“I can’t reach it,” she says stretching, before attempting to tip herself back onto the ledge. Her legs flail about in the air, but she doesn’t move. “Jack!” she screeches.
A rumble starts in his stomach, rising up to his throat and threatening to burst from his mouth. He smothers it with his fist but when she squeals a second time, her arms and legs scrabbling about, like a fish caught on a hook, it comes out in a loud snort.
“It’s not funny.” She pouts at him upside down through the window.
“What?” he says, letting go of the window so it slaps her on the backside, and swivelling his head around so he’s upside down too, cupping his ear.
“It’s not funny,” she says, biting her lip as his wide grin migrates to her own face and she tries not to laugh. “Don’t make me laugh. I’ll slip.”
But he can’t help it. His shoulders shake silently but when she sees him and giggles, his laugh comes loud and he has to hunch down to regain his breath. He suppress the laughter, but as soon as he looks up again at her bottom in the air, it starts all over again, rippling through him uncontrollably. It feels strange, like a release of all the tension that’s been swilling around inside him, he’s lighter, his head no longer a weight on his shoulders.
“Jack Johnson, you are such an arse! Help me out.”
“Okay, okay,” he tells her, wiping away tears with the back of his hand, and gripping one of her thighs in each of his hands. He lifts her off the ledge and she screams and struggles. “Hold still. I got you.”
“I’m going to fall,” she shrieks.
“No, you’re not. Amy, I’ve got you. I’m going to lower you down so you can reach the countertop and you can walk yourself down with your hands.”
She grunts and he tries not to stare at her round arse right in his face, suppressing a fleeting desire to bite her there. “Got it,” she calls through the window, finding his eyes again.
“Right, walk forward then. I’ve still got you. You aren’t going to fall.”
She nods and together they feed her body through the window until it’s just her feet hooked on the outside.
“Shit. I should’ve taken off my boots.” Gripping her with one hand, he tugs them off and then after several attempts, she bends and angles her left leg and hooks it inside the open window, landing down on the countertop, then spins on her bottom and draws her right leg in too.
She peers over her shoulder at him with a satisfied grin. “I’m in.”
“I can see,” he says, unable to help but smile at her.
She holds up her forefinger. “Wait there.” Then she jumps down and trots out of view.
His smile tugs wider across his face and he shakes his head, bending down to pick up her boots and heads towards the front door. It opens as he draws closer.
“Your boots,” he says, handing them over.
“Thanks.” She shuffles on the doorstep and his gaze drops to her shoe-less feet. She wiggles her toes in her socks. He can hear the chickens in the backyard scrabbling on the ground, and the sound of a truck rumbling down the lane behind him. “Do you want to come in? I can make you a cup of tea. May even have a biscuit lying around somewhere.”
His smile fades, and the heaviness descends. Why can’t it be easy? Why can’t he step towards her? If she were any other girl, he’d kiss her right now.
Being with her, in the moments he forgets himself and forgets who she is too, is like walking under thick cloud only for the sun to suddenly break through and warm your skin. Snatches of bright light, swimming with colour, in an otherwise grey existence. But then he remembers, he always remembers, and the sunlight is snatched away and replaced by a fierce raging storm. It’s brewing in his belly now, frustration and anger and sadness, colliding and churning together, threatening to erupt.
