Page 37 of Feeling the Heat: Part Two
“Can I see it?” I ask. Partially because I’m intrigued, but also because the longer they take to do the tests, the longer I can stay in this room where my omega is happier than she’s been in months. Jackson mentioned his hobby to me in passing, but he made it sound like he was an amateur. Ambrose is a sweetheart, but his words don’t sound like false praise.
An unexpected flush rises on Ambrose’s neck. “Oh, uh, sure.”
“Don’t show her!” Jackson protests, springing up from the bed to intercept him and bodily block the painting from view.
My omega whines at the loss of contact, but I cover it with a laugh and stand. “Now Ireallyneed to see it.” I walk over to the closet, and both Jackson and Ambrose give me pleading, embarrassed looks. I tilt my head at their behavior. “Is it something dirty?”
“No! But it’s not good. Let’s go sit back down so the doctor can run his tests,” Jackson says, tugging my arm.
I hold my ground.
“I want to see it too,” River calls from where he’s still half in, half out of the bedroom.
“For that, you’ll have to stop lurking like a vampire whoisn’t sure he got an invitation inside, dude,” Jackson huffs over his shoulder.
River stiffens, like he didn’t realize he was doing that. “I…” His gaze flicks over to Ambrose. “I didn’t know whether that would be okay or not.”
Oh. When Ambrose said he hadn’t fully forgiven River, I didn’t realize that meant they hadn’t been intimate again yet. Not that it’s any of my business. That feeling of intruding on their long-established bond flares to life inside me, the lighthearted moment gone, and I step back from the closet.
“Of course you can come in,” Ambrose says in an uncharacteristically frustrated huff.
“Yeah, stop being weird,” Jackson adds, rolling his eyes. “You can feel through the bond as much as I do that he wants you in here with us.”
“Okay fine, sorry for trying to be respectful of my mate’s boundaries,” River says drolly, the tension in his spine bleeding out as he strides over to where we’re clustered together. “And I’m not the one being weird. You two are hiding a painting from us like it’s clown fetish art.”
I blink at him, surprised at the teasing. The River I remember would’ve brooded and gone cold, but the distance he’d been holding himself at melted away once it was pointed out.
Maybe he really is changing.
My stomach does a little flip at the thought, and with the three of them this close to me, I struggle to keep my breathing even. They smell so damn perfect together, my omega is ready to go back over to the bed and pull them all down on it with me.
“It’s not clown porn!” Jackson snaps. “Fine, you can see it, but save your ‘oh, it’s not that bad’ comments.”
Ambrose sighs. “I just don’t want to seem like a creep. I waskeeping it in here until…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, turning the painting to face me as Jackson steps out of the way.
My heart stops. Tears spring to my eyes.
It’sme.
A far more beautiful, stylized version of me, but the subject is clear. As is the artistry and passion imbued in every brushstroke.
“Holy shit,” River murmurs, stepping closer to inspect it.
I stare at the painting, chest aching. This isn’t just a portrait. It’s a love letter.
“I know I messed up the eyes, and the hair isn’t quite right,” Jackson mumbles, taking my stunned silence as a critique.
Pulling my gaze from the portrait, I turn to face him and find he’s curled in on himself, shoulders slumped and arms wrapped around himself like it’ll protect him from us hating his art.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, tears slipping down my cheeks. “I can’t believe you…”
I can’t believe you love me.
I don’t say it, too terrified to acknowledge the depth of emotion found in his painting. But it doesn’t matter if I say it aloud or not, because the way his gaze pierces into mine tells me he understands. And being the amazing man he is, Jackson doesn’t push or say the words. He just nods with a small, vulnerable smile.
I’m on him in an instant, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Jackson moans against my mouth, gripping my hips to press our bodies closer. An ache builds between my thighs, and the heat that’d been simmering flares.
“It’s pretty, but it’s notthatgood,” River says, and I pull back from the kiss to glare at him in time to see Ambrosesmack him in the chest. He shrugs, eyes molten with desire despite his attempt at nonchalance. “The real thing is much better.”
