Page 39 of The Omega Verse

Leaving the two suits with their heads together, I follow the sound of running water to the ensuite off the master bedroom. The view really is spectacular for a concrete box, and the bed easily beats two California kings for size. Which is definitely a waste, since knowing Jett, he doesn’t plan on sharing it with anyone.

The greedy arsehole is currently ensconced in a massive walk-in shower, his lean, muscled body the target of the three pounding rainforest heads. He’s soaped himself up with some kind of spicy gel which makes my mouth water. Although, it could be the sight of his hard cock in its nest of pretty bubbles.

“Enjoying the view?” he snarks as he catches me watching him stroke himself off.

I swirl my glass and jerk my chin towards his bedroom window. “Nice to be so close to all that water, at least.”

“Sure, it is,” he smirks, then curls a finger towards my glass. “Give me a sip.”

I step up closer to the shower screen and hold out my glass, his eyes dancing as I tilt it back for his waiting mouth. The guy’s a fucking flirt when he’s not being a surly bastard. Or should I say a tease, since Jett Colter doesn’t swing my way. “That’s good shit,” he hums as he goes back to soaping his rock-hard dick.

I don’t even pretend to look away. “I thought Antarctic temperatures would keep that bad boy under wraps. Or did you forget your wetsuit?”

“You know me,” he shrugs as he continues with his lazy stroking. “Nothing can keep me down for long.”

It sounds like bravado to my ears, especially since pleasure’s been the last thing on Jett’s mind for a while now. “Shame you didn’t share it with us during Cass’ heat. You really missed out, brother.”

Jett loses his smile as he quickly rinses himself down and turns off the water. I toss him a towel and he jerks it around his hips, his eyes narrowed to fiery blue sparks. “We’re not talking about this again.”

I set my glass down and lean against the counter. “We’ve barely started.”

He rakes his hand through his inky strands and glowers at me. “Don’t push it, Kobi.” He studies his reflection in the mirror, but I don’t think he’s really looking at himself. His eyes have that glazed, slightly pained expression I’ve seen a lot in the last few days. When he catches me staring, he arches a brow at me. “Besides, she looked pretty satisfied last time I checked.”

I grunt, refusing to be distracted by memories of the heat I can’t get out of my mind. I have my own reasons for not looking too closely at my emotions right now, but I’m not about to let Jett off the hook. As far as I can tell, there’s no downside to him getting to know the sister of the guy who was closer to him than a brother. “But you haven’t given me a clear answer why you stayed away. If you think Steven would have disapproved -.”

Jet cuts me off with a punch to my arm. “I told you already, shit is too messed up without putting her into the mix. Besides, how do we even know she’s the real deal? You know as well as I do, the crazies love a celebrity death. Or maybe she’s just a gold-digger looking for a quick score.”

“You don’t believe that.” When he gives a moody shrug, I gape at him, then grab his shoulder, squeezing hard. “How about you look at it this way? During her heat, when she could have had any one of us bite her in our rut, who did she end up bonding with? The small-town paramedic who lives in a shack on the beach, that’s who.” I give his shoulder a shake, but when he doesn’t react, I let it go, the disappointment written all over my face. “She’s not a gold-digger, brother. So get your head out of your stupid arse before you fuck things up beyond repair.”

He swallows hard, tense lines settling on his face. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about it. Seriously, Kobi.”

“Fine, but she’s coming for dinner, in case you forgot. Oh,” I pause at the door and shoot him a saccharine smile, “and now I think about it, Hoover and your lawyer are waiting for you in the front room. Chop chop, rockstar.”

“Fucking goddamn shit.”

I close the door on his blue streak, grinning to myself as I finish my drink and head towards River’s room. The concrete box has eight bedrooms, half of which have spectacular views. River chose the smallest of the lot, with no windows at all, and a bed barely big enough for his lean frame. In fact, it looks more like a closet than a bedroom, but I don’t need to ask why he’s chosen to lock himself away in here.

“River,” I murmur quietly, because even though he’s lying down, I’m pretty sure he’s not asleep. If there’s something I excel at besides music, it’s listening, and River’s body is screaming out all kinds of pain. “I’ll leave you be if you want, but Hoover and your lawyer are here. Just wanted to give you a heads up.”

He pushes back the comforter and runs a hand over his shaved head. Even in the dim light from the hallway, he looks like a rumpled angel and I feel a savage throb in my chest. Grief speaks to grief, so I know what he’s feeling, even if my pain isn’t as sharp as his.

But then he gives me one of his beautiful smiles and swings his legs out. “I’m coming.”

There’s a hint of excitement in his voice, and I catch the edge of his oversized sweater. “You know why they’re here?”

He brushes past me and I can feel how thin he is. How fragile. Like a stiff breeze off that wild ocean outside will sweep him right off his feet. “Let’s go see,” is all he says, so I follow him back to the living room, his steps quickening as a delicious aroma reaches my nose. The two suits are still parked on the sofa, but I gravitate towards Cass and Silva, who are working in the kitchen with the ease of long-time friends.

Damn, but they make a pretty picture. Cass has changed into a pale blue sweater that matches her eyes, and there’s a flush on her cheeks, no doubt from whatever Silva is murmuring in her ear. As for the drummer boy, he’s as mouth-watering as ever in his faded jeans and band hoodie. Silvery-blond hair falls into his eyes as he orbits around Cass, his body angled her way no matter where she moves in the spacious kitchen. And every time they pass, there are little touches or whispered words, the intimacy between them enough to revive that ache in my chest.

“Hey, guys,” River says to the room in general, although his gaze, like mine, is fixed on the couple in the kitchen. “What’s up?”

“Lasagne and garlic bread,” Silva crows. “I’d invite you guys, but I’m planning on having thirds.”

Cass slaps him on the hip as she looks our way. “There’s enough for everybody, and we’ve got a chocolate torte for afters.”

She nods at a big white bakery box on the bench, and I head over to investigate. I’m salivating before I’ve got the lid all the way off. “Damn, that’s almost too pretty to eat.”

“Seem to remember you saying something like that in the back of the bus,” Silva says with a taunting leer in my direction. “Didn’t stop you though, did it, big guy?”

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