Page 77 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
Rex looks at me, and I look at him.
"Ladies first," I say, grinning.
Rex rolls his eye and starts climbing the steps after Jamie, his long legs carrying him easily up the eternal staircase of despair that feels more like a freaking mountain to me.
Holy shit, do these stairs go on forever?
Then Rex's boot catches on an uneven stone.
He pitches backward.
I barely have time to brace before his weight slams into me. My back hits the wall hard enough to knock the air from my lungs and suddenly Rex iseverywhere—his chest pressed against mine, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping the railing to cage me in and keep us both from tumbling down the stairs.
We freeze.
His breathing is harsh behind the mask, his single visible eye wide with something that might be surprise or pain. Or both. He's close enough that his lips are almost brushing mine, and when I manage to breathe myself, my lungs fill with his sharp, dark scent.
Sterling silver.
Leather.
Smoke.
My omega hindbrain takes a big sniff before I ruthlessly shove it back down and sit on the crate I mentally keep it in for good measure. I can practically hear it shrieking indignantly. It helps to picture my inner omega as a wild, furry gremlin that's hellbent on embarrassing the shit out of me.
"Shit," Rex mutters, pushing himself upright. "Sorry."
"You okay?" I ask, swallowing the lump in my throat.
"Fine." He winces, favoring his left side. Still healing. Right.
"You're not fine, you almost ate shit?—"
"I said I'mfine." But he doesn't immediately start climbing again. Just stands there, half a step above me, jaw tight with what I'm starting to recognize as pain he'd never admit to.
"Move," I say before I can change my mind.
His eye narrows. "What? Why?"
"Because you're injured and clearly not as steady as you think you are, and I'm not getting crushed when you fall backward again."
"I'm not going to?—"
"Move."
For once, he actually listens. He presses against the wall, creating just enough space for me to squeeze past him on the narrow staircase. Our bodies brush—unavoidable in the tight space—and I catch that scent again.
I hold my fucking breath this time.
"Lovers' quarrel?" Jamie calls down from the top of the stairs, his voice echoing off the stone.
"NO," Rex and I say simultaneously, with identical levels of venom.
Jamie just grins wider, clearly not believing us.
I shake it off and start climbing, more determined than ever to put distance between Rex and me. I'm distinctly aware of his presence at my back, one hand on the stone railing, ice blue eyeboring into the back of my head. Then he starts following, his footsteps steady and cautious on the stone.
And even though I'm not charging up the basement steps on all fours like a creature to get away from imaginary monsters lurking in the shadows behind me, my inner omega apparently still has that instinct in spades. Guess picturing it as a furry little gremlin isn't that far off base at all.
