Page 72 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
He nods, shoulders his bag, and heads for the door. His hand closes around the handle, and I think he's actually going to leave without another word—which would be very Rex—but then he pauses.
"And Bells?"
"What?" I ask warily.
"There's omega scent in my bed."
Oh SHIT.
My stomach drops so fast I feel physically sick, but I force my face to remain neutral. Years of practice not reacting on stage when shit goes wrong is the only thing that saves me now.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, sounding appropriately bored despite my heart hammering so hard I'm sure he can hear it.
He turns his head slightly, just enough to look back at me over his shoulder. "Yes, you do."
I force a shrug, going for casual indifference. "Yeah, yeah. Okay. You got me. Had an omega over one night."
The silence stretches between us for one beat, two.
"In my room."
Not a question.
A statement, flat and dangerous.
"Better to ask forgiveness than permission?" I try for wry, my lips twisting into an uncomfortable grin. At least the discomfort isn't part of the act.
Rex doesn't move for a small eternity. Just stands there in the doorway, bag over his shoulder, icy glare boring into me like he's trying to peel back my skin and see what I'm hiding underneath. There's something else there, too. Something I absolutelyhaveto be reading into.
There is no fucking way he's jealous.
"No one but you is allowed in this room," he says finally, his tone making it crystal clear this isn't a request. It's an order. "If you want to bring an omega over, fuck them elsewhere."
"Yes,father," I say pointedly, because I can't fucking help myself, apparently.
He blows a puff of air through his nose. "Change the code," he mutters, turning back to the door. "Tonight."
"I will."
Then he's gone, and as soon as the door shuts behind him, I sag against his desk. My legs feel like jelly, and I slide down until I'm sitting on his bed—the bed that apparently reeks of omega pheromones.
Myomega pheromones.
Shit. My suppressants are failing worse than I thought. If Rex noticed after being in here for maybe thirty minutes, what about Phoenix and Rafael? Have they been smelling it on me this whole time? Are they just too polite to say anything, or have the suppressants been working just enough to keep it subtle until I spent three nights rubbing my scent all over Rex's most private space?
Gods, I'msofucked.
Chapter
Twenty-One
BELLS
For the first time in weeks, I don't feel like I've been run over by a fucking truck.
It wasn't great sleep. It wasn't the kind that leaves you refreshed and ready to conquer the world. I'm in Rex Steele's bed, for fuck's sake. But it wasactualsleep, the kind where you lose consciousness for more than two hours at a time without jerking awake at every creak in the walls.
Progress.
