Page 117 of Feeling the Heat: Part One
“Camille…”
Emotion bubbles up inside me. I’m not sure what I’m going to say. If I’m going to thank her for the comfort she’s providing or confess my desire for her.
It doesn’t end up mattering, because Ambrose walks into the room before I can get anything out. I stiffen like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. Even though it’s his damn fault I was left alone with Camille this long.
My mate raises a brow at me, a small smile forming on hislips before he clears his throat to get Camille’s attention. “Dinner is ready.”
Camille yanks her hand back and lets out a nervous giggle.
Tension creeps back into me now that she’s stopped purring, but it’s for the best. Any longer, and I would’ve done something we’d all regret. Maybe Ambrose and Jackson could sense that through the bond.
Fuck. I need to get my shit together.
No more solo chats with Camille. No more touching or purring or getting close enough to scent her.
My pack can’t afford for me to be that selfish. My job is too important for our security to jeopardize it by letting my attraction to Camille cloud my judgement, and there’s no way I’d put her in danger of getting fired, either.
This beautiful, smart, hardworking, funny, and caring omega is nothing but my new friend.
I ignored feelings like this successfully when I met Jackson. I can do it again. I have to.
38
Camille’sthigh presses against mine as she leans forward to roll the dice, and her tits jiggle in her low cut top when she claps with glee at the result. She moves her piece across the board, getting even closer to destroying the rest of us.
Not that I care at all about winning. Not when this gorgeous woman is sitting next to me, laughing and joking around with my pack.
River nudges me with his foot. “Earth to Jackson. It’s your turn.”
I yank my eyes away from Cami’s abundant cleavage and give her a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”
She snorts. “Hey, if my tits distract you enough to give me an edge, I won’t argue.”
My roll is abysmal, but my smile widens as I let my eyes drop back to her chest, blatantly ogling her now. “No arguments here, either.”
A flush creeps up her throat as a hint of her perfume wafts through the air. I don’t miss how both Ambrose and River’s nostrils flare, or the way River’s hand grips his mate’s thigh.Her omega pheromones may not affect me the same way as they would an alpha, but Camille doesn’t need them to cast a spell on me.
The undercurrent of sexual tension that’s been building since we finished dinner and headed into the living room to play a game grows with every passing moment. My dick has been hard since she teased me after I boasted I was unbeatable at this game and asked if we wanted to bet on that.
I’m about to lose that bet, and I couldn’t be happier to give her whatever prize she wants. Hopefully it involves my tongue and her dripping pussy.
Ambrose rolls and lets out a soft sigh, shaking his head at his terrible luck.
River grabs the older alpha’s chin and kisses his cheek. “Don’t pout, babe. You’ll get frown lines.”
Ambrose shoves at River’s shoulder. “I thought you said my wrinkles made me look distinguished!”
River chuckles and moves his hand to grip the back of his mate’s neck possessively, brushing his thumb against where his bonding bite mark is on Ambrose’s nape. “Mmm, you know I’m teasing.”
The way Ambrose shivers and the look they exchange has my skin heating and my dick gives a confused twitch that must be from the arousal that’s spilling down the bond from them.
“They do make you look distinguished,” Camille adds with a reassuring smile. Her cheeks flush at the exchange between the two alphas, and she looks like she’s trying hard not to stare. She chuckles. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right there with you soon.”
“No, you won’t,” Ambrose grumbles. “The influx of omega hormones in your system will delay signs of aging for at least another ten years. Maybe twenty. Depends on how long your omega wants you to be fertile.”
“Wait, what?” Camille’s mouth falls open. “What do you mean, ‘how long my omega wants to be fertile’? I’m not having kids in my forties!”
There’s a beat of silence and Camille’s scent grows a touch sour.
