Page 54 of In Doubt
Jake
Ican only skulk about inside for so long, my book lying open on my lap, the pages hardly turned. I can’t concentrate on the words.
Not when Giorgie Martinelli is out there in her swimsuit.
She looks fucking sensational, and it’s too much of a temptation. My eyes flick continually from the page of my book to the door. I can hear excited voices from outside by the pool – the high pitches of the girls and the deep growls of my packmates.
I slam the book shut.
I can’t stand it.
I want to know what’s going on out there.
My pack was meant to have my back today. Keeping me focussed on my work and out of the path of the omega. Instead, they invited her back to our villa and into a bikini.
What the actual hell? Are they falling under her spell too? And what does that mean? For us? For me?
I fling the book to one side and change into my swimming shorts. Grabbing a beach towel from the rack, I fling it over my shoulder and pause in front of the mirror. I stare at my reflection and ruffle my blonde hair. Does Giorgie even look at me the way I look at her? Has the thought of being with me ever entered her mind or is she too consumed with her obvious dislike for me?
Although, she certainly didn’t look at me with disgust last night when I’d nearly kissed her. Her eyes had been brimming with longing. The thought of it makes me shiver, and kept me awake thinking about it all night. God, I want her to look at me like that again and that is a dangerously foolish idea.
I stomp through the villa in the direction of the pool.
I stop in my tracks at the sight of her bobbing on the surface of the pool with Levi beside her, his hand on her back.
A spike of jealousy spears through my gut and I want to dive into that pool and drag him away from her by the scruff of the neck.
I force myself to turn away and walk back into the hallway.
Breathe.
What the fuck has gotten into me?
He’s hardly touching her.
Where has this jealousy come from?
Because I want to touch her like that. I want her toletme touch her like that. It’s becoming clearer and clearer by the minute.
I want Giorgie Martinelli and I want her badly.
But do I want her for myself?
Or for my pack?
I stand there trying to work that out, jealousy and longing bubbling in my gut, when that arresting scent sweeps my way, followed soon after by Giorgie, a towel wrapped around her middle, her long dark hair wet against her head, her glasses missing.
She squints into the shadows and her caramel eyes find me.
“Hey,” I mumble.
“Hey,” she responds. “I was looking for the bathroom.”
“There’s one that way,” I say, trying not to notice the fine droplets of water racing down her bronze neck towards the delicate outline of her collarbone. A collarbone I want to trace with my tongue.
“Thanks.” She smiles up at me.
I thought Giorgie’s frowns were toxic. They’re nothing like her smiles. They are a million times more potent. My hands shake by my sides and I fold my arms over my chest, trying not to breathe in the scent.
