Page 17 of The Omega Verse

I lift a hand to steady myself against the wall, and it takes a second to realise what’s different. “We’re not moving. Where are we?”

“Just picking someone up real quick.”

We enter the main sitting area as Jett places a coffee cup on the kitchen table and heads towards the door. He’s dressed in head-to-toe leather and it’s hard not to stare. Are there such things as leather gods? Because Jett must have made a pretty epic sacrifice at their altar to look that sinful in leather pants.

But I peel my gaze from his arse at the sound of a deep, happy rumble coming from the open door. A huge guy mounts the steps, night air and road grit swirling around him as he pulls a black motorcycle helmet off his head. The first real smile I’ve seen breaks over Jett’s face, but I’m too busy ogling the newcomer to appreciate it.

Because even with the thick beard, flannel shirt, and motorcycle boots, I’m pretty sure American music royalty just climbed onto the tour bus. “Holy shit!” I gasp. “That’s Kobi Grace!”

Jett grunts at my fangirl moment, but the mountain man just gives me a sweet smile, his eyes wrinkling adorably. “Hey. Nice to meet you.”

The understatement of the year on my part, since I grew up listening to him sing in Grace Lands, the country-rock-gospel sensation he started in his teens with his younger twin brothers. I thought it was just churchy music until another foster kid got me into it, and even my tortured soul found a little peace in their beautiful harmonies.

I watch starry-eyed as Jett and Kobi hug tight, slapping backs and murmuring in ears, too low for me to hear. Both pain and comfort seem to wrap around them, and I know I should look away, but I’m transfixed. Not just by seeing a pair of music legends share a private moment, but because every fibre of my being wants to thrust my way between them. Doesn’t matter that Jett hates me and Kobi is my teenage crush, I really really want to be the gooey filling in that alpha sandwich.

I manage to swallow back a whimper as Jett takes the helmet out of Kobi’s hand and smirks at his friend. “Ready to roll?”

But Kobi grips his arm, clearly breathing in his scent. “You been chugging the coffee, brother? Cos it smells like you’ve been hanging out with Jack.”

Oh, shit. Jett is planning to ride Kobi’s motorbike, and I can’t help but think of Steven. Of dark, unfamiliar roads where Jett won’t know to slow down, or to look out for wildlife, or to prepare for the dangerous bends. But just as I open my mouth to tell him he can’t ride, he waves a dismissive hand at his friend. “Don’t worry your pretty head, Kobes. I’m sober as a judge.”

I can’t tell if it’s a lie, but he looks pretty steady on his feet. Still, I grew up with plenty of functional alcoholics who did a good job of hiding their habit. Maybe Kobi did too, because he pulls a breathalyser from his pocket and holds it out to Jett. He rolls his eyes, but goes through the process of checking his blood alcohol level, fluttering his lashes like a fallen angel when he passes.

“Okay, bud,” Kobi grunts, punching his shoulder. “Had to check.”

“It’s all good.” Jett puckers his lips and smacks a kiss on Kobi’s cheek. It’s a teasing gesture, but I’m fascinated by the blush that blooms up his thick neck. “I’ll look after your princess, don’t worry.”

“I’m sweating bullets,” Kobi admits in his twangy rumble. “I’ve seen how rough you ride your own girl.”

Okay. There’s no way I can swallow a whine after that.

Which of course they hear with their alpha ears, both turning to study me as I clench my thighs and try not to drool on myself. I see a flare of interest in Kobi’s eyes – or at least that’s what I’m hoping it is - but Jett’s jaw just flexes as he slams on the helmet. He mutters something to Kobi through the visor, and with another round of backslaps, he’s out the door. We all stand there staring at each until the unmistakable roar of a motorbike has the bus jerking forward again.

It seems to kick-start Kobi, too, because he wipes his hands on his thighs and takes a few steps closer to us. I expect him to extend one of those giant paws in my direction, but he just tucks them in the pockets of his perfectly worn jeans and looks me over, from my curling toes to my sleep-rumpled hair. “You’re definitely in heat, darlin’, in case there’s any doubt.”

I feel a pinch under my breastbone that’s probably my last hope snuffing out, but I just nod. “Okay. Thanks for the confirmation. Although, the disaster in my underwear already had me leaning in that direction.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, and then he’s laughing, long and loud. His scent is all spicy apple pie, and it’s like being wrapped in a cinnamon-sprinkled hug. “That sense of humour should make this easier, at least.”

I just raise my brows at him, because Silva chooses that moment to come out of the bathroom in sweatpants, a faded denim shirt crumpled in his hands. He’s dried himself off, but there are still a few drops clinging to his silver hair, and I watch, captivated, as one drips onto his collarbone, then snakes down his broad, bare chest.

I’m moving before I realise it, like a magpie swooping on the nearest shiny object. Or maybe a homing pigeon, because it feels completely normal to step into his open arms and tuck myself against his shower-warmed chest. He smells like amaretto coffee and pine trees, probably from his body wash. I can’t be sure, though, since I still haven’t managed to have that allusive shower.

But he doesn’t seem to mind how I smell, nuzzling me back before he looks over my head at Kobi. I watch him offer a cautious nod. No backslaps, but a couple of respectful chin lifts are exchanged.

“You want to sit down?” Kobi gestures to the bench seats. “I’m just gonna lean over here ‘cos I’m still sweaty from the road, but you should make yourselves comfortable.”

I pull a face since I think that time has long passed, but I follow Silva over to the table and slide onto the bench. He shrugs into his shirt, leaving the buttons open, then scoots in behind me. Since I’m trying to avoid ogling his chest, I cast a wistful glance at the coffee machine, but settle for the bottle of chilled water River digs out of the fridge. I guess that caffeine on top of heat hormones probably isn’t the best idea right now.

“Did Jett ask you to come here to see if I was faking?” I ask as soon as I’ve had a refreshing gulp.

Kobi frowns, folding his huge arms across his chest. “No. I mean, he wanted me to confirm it. But only because I have experience with heats. My wife Raquel was an omega.”

“I’m sorry.” And I mean it, because I wept along with the rest of the world when he lost his beautiful wife to cancer at twenty-eight. “I loved that picture of you guys riding horses on the beach.”

He gives a soft, wistful smile. “You saw that? It was near Savannah, where she grew up. I keep a copy of that picture by my bed.”

Despite his sad words, his voice is like honey being poured straight into my soul. Deep, rough, melodic, with an American twang. I think I could sit here and listen to him all day long… If my pussy wasn’t trying to climb out from under the table and fling herself on his knot.

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