Page 26 of Omega's Forbidden Heat
“I seem to recall you creeping downstairs in the evening when your parents were out, moaning to Finn you couldn’t sleep because there were strange noises in the house.”
Warmth spreads up her neck towards her cheeks and amusement dances in his eyes as he watches the progress of her blush. “That’s because Finn used to tell me there was a ghost in the house — he was obsessed with ghosts, wasn’t he? I couldn’t sleep for months with all the stories he told me. Then mum got wind of that too and put a stop to it.” She frowns. “He was such an idiot.”
“The old lady ghost, right? He told me that one too. I think he convinced himself about that one. There was a time he wanted to hang out at my house, not yours.” Now he smiles. A little flicker across his plump lips, the blue of his eyes brightening like sunlight filtering through clouds. It makes her stomach flip and she can’t help but stare at him, a different kind of warmth spreading through her core this time. “Ahhh,” he says, the smile widening, “this song.”
It’s that song. The song from the kitchen. Does he remember that night? They’re playing that song now, she can hear the rumble of it starting.
“This is a good song.” His head nods in time to the music and he looks so much like he used to. That fun, crazy boy is still in there somewhere. She takes his glass from his grip, and he gapes at her in surprise as she places both their drinks on a nearby table and takes his hand in hers.
“Come on,” she tells him, “I have to dance to this one.”
He tugs on her hand. “Amy, I don’t feel like—”
“I am not taking no for an answer, Jack Johnson.” She drags him onto the centre of the dance floor where they’re surrounded on all sides and there is nowhere for him to go.
At first, they just stare at each other and she can’t help giggling at the stern expression plastered to his face. Then she bounces up and down on her toes to the beat of the music and reluctantly he sways a little on the spot. But the beat is infectious and so is the melody and he can’t resist it. She can see it’s taking him over, part of him clearly wanting to let go and enjoy himself. Gradually, his movements increase and he’s jumping on the spot, head nodding, hand punching the air. She can’t help grinning at his obvious joy, throwing her arms above her head, losing herself in the music and in his scent.
Then someone pushes her from behind and she’s flung forward against the hard plane of his chest. He studies her, his hands reaching for her waist.
“Oof,” she says, peering up towards his eyes. “Sorry.”
They’re crushed in from all sides now and she can’t step away. And neither can she drag her gaze from the blue intensity of his eyes as they reach right down into her soul. His fingers dig a tad deeper into the flesh of her hips and slowly she reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck, swaying her hips in time to the music. The backs of her hands skim over the gland on his neck and her groin brushes ever so slightly over his and his pupils dilate, his scent swelling more fiercely.
He shakes his head, appearing to want to drive whatever thoughts have taken over him from his head and he nudges her away. There is no malice in it, though, and his hands still rest on her hips as they dance together.
The music builds to the final crescendo and he grins wolfishly at her, picking her up so that she hovers high above the other dancers. And he spins her. She grips the fabric of his T-shirt at his shoulders and squeals, kicking her legs but loving every minute of it. The world with all its judging eyes and vindictive tongues an insignificant blur and swirl. He, the only thing clear and in focus, everything else insignificant and unimportant.
And then the music is fading and slowly he lowers her to the floor, her body brushing against his as he does, creating a friction that seems to spark every inch of her skin and by the time she finds her feet on the ground her breath is hitched in her lungs and she is panting.
There is more space on the dance floor around them now and although he stays firmly where he stands, she stumbles backwards dizzy, unsure what this means, certain something is tripping in the air between them but remembering his earlier coolness, his continual dismissal. He doesn’t say anything. His hands hang by his sides, his shoulders rising and falling with more emphasis than usual, drawing in heavy breaths, sucking in her scent. He opens his mouth, his tongue running against the seam of his bottom lip and returning to the centre of his mouth as if he’s about to speak but then his eyes flick up over her head to something in the distance and instantly his brow furrows; a deep frown forming on his face. She twists to look in that direction and sees her brother glaring at them but ,before she can return the angry look, the girl, Rebecca, has captured his attention away.
She turns to Jack.
Gone, he’s gone.
The space he occupied only minutes before empty, other dancers already invading the spot where he’d stood. Her eyes scan the club, searching for him and she spots him pushing his way through the people, heading towards the exit. He’s leaving.
She swivels towards Finn. Then Jack. Then stares down at her feet, her nails digging into her palms. She’s going to follow him.
Chapter Ten
Her stride is quick as she swerves in and out of people, heading the way he’d gone, although he’s vanished into the crowd already.
Her coat is in the cloakroom, but scrabbling about for her ticket and waiting while the attendant fetches it will only mean she loses him. Hunching up her shoulders and wrapping her arms around her chest, she braces herself as she steps out into the cold, dark street. A couple of bouncers in thick puffer jackets, beanie hats pulled over their heads, stand by the entrance, stamping their feet, their hands tucked under their armpits. They make some comment to her, possibly about her lack of coat, she doesn’t hear them. Jack’s there in the distance, striding down the middle of the road, illuminated in the orange glow of the street lamps. She runs, calling his name. He stops. His body freezing and then with what appears to be reluctance, he turns to face her.
“Jack, wait,” she calls, “where are you going?”
“Home,” he says, his shoulders squared, his spine tense, that closed expression back on his face, that coldness returned to his body. She doesn’t care. She’d seen a glimpse of the old Jack on the dance floor; she knows that he’s in there somewhere and it’s enough to take the risk.
“Let me give you a lift,” she offers.
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
“Don’t be silly, Jack. I was leaving anyway.”
Jack quirks one eyebrow at her, but she ignores it.
“Alpha,” she holds his gaze as she says the word and observes how his nostrils flare. “I didn’t drink tonight. I didn’t want to get into a taxi on my own. I drove.”
