Page 77 of The Omega Verse

The others follow his lead, my mates lingering over their bites until Jett pulls me away. “Greedy bastards,” he mutters as we head out to the Range Rover and start driving along the coast road. “You’re just too addictive, Cassie. But don’t forget who’s the lead singer in this arrangement, okay?”

I laugh and press a kiss to the palm of his hand. “But doesn’t Kobi sing lead sometimes?”

He gives me a dirty grin. “Not the way I do it. Those country boys think they know romance, but they haven’t got a clue.”

I roll my eyes at him, but they’re bugging out of my head a moment later when he pulls into the Willow Beach Marina. “We’re going sailing?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He opens my door with a very romantic flourish and leads me into the yacht club reception. It’s all navy carpet and nautical furnishings, with the scent of rich, entitled alpha in the air. The beautiful omega behind the desk looks up with a practiced smile, runs curious eyes over Jett’s worn jeans and my Scare Crew hoodie, and then gives a little shriek. “Jett Colter!”

He gives her a polite smile, but before she can regain her breath, two men in business suits are bustling our way. They look exactly how the club smells – rich and entitled - although I spot a hint of sweat on the brow of the man out front. “This is such a pleasure, Mr Colter,” he says, his hand extended. “I’m Len Hardy, the chief executive of the marina, and this is Guy Sullivan, in charge of client services.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jett says, then jerks his chin past them at the docks. “A friend left a boat here for me.”

“Of course,” the executive says smoothly. “We’re happy to help in any way possible. Do you have the name of the gentleman or his vessel?”

Jett rubs his chin. “Not sure what it’s called, but it’s one of Ben Cliff’s boats.”

“The Blue Pearl.” The client services guy blinks. “It just arrived and is moored near the ferry terminal.”

“Ah, wonderful.” The executive claps his colleague on the shoulder. “Guy can show you the way. And will you be wanting a tour of our facilities as well? We have excellent wet berth options, an onsite shipwright, an award-winning restaurant, and a very lively social club for our VIP members…”

“Sounds great, but today is all about my mate, Cassie,” he says and their eyes snap my way, lingering on the three bite marks on my neck. “She might want to stop by at some stage for that tour, and I’m sure you’ll treat her as you would me.”

The executives fall all over each other to reassure him of the fact, and then we’re leaving the building and being escorted to the biggest boat I’ve ever seen. “Just so you know, I can sail about as well as I can sing,” I warn him.

“No need for that,” the client services guy pipes up, eyeing the luxury vessel with adoring eyes. “She comes with a full crew. All you have to do is sit back and enjoy.”

That sounds easy enough, especially since there’s a team of fit young sailors to make us feel at home. One gives us a tour of the main salon and my eyes bounce from one luxury fitting to the next. The boat is beyond beautiful, and the first officer takes great pride in telling me all about the teak deck, carbon fibre hull, Scania engine, and five staterooms. But when he starts explaining the top speeds and gross tonnage, I let Jett step in and hustle us off to the sky lounge.

It's basically a glass room that opens to a deck with a small lap pool and a raised jacuzzi. Not that there’s anything basic about it. The whole back of the boat is given up to dining and sitting areas, with sleek sun pads and big comfy couches. There’s also a sauna, gym, and massage room, in case we need some pampering after lolling around in all that luxury.

Jett leads me straight to the jacuzzi and a swarthy sailor in a bright white uniform appears with a fruit platter and a bottle of champagne. “Is this the R&R you planned up north?” I ask him as we clink glasses. “Because if it is, I feel really bad about your detour.”

He smirks over the top of his glass. “Nah, that was just a fishing charter. But the same guy owns this boat, and when I told him about my change of plans, he insisted we take this out for a spin.”

“Wow, you must be a really good customer.”

“Or he’s a really big fan,” he says with a grin and slaps my arse. “Now go get your bikini on and let me sort out the music. Might as well get this wooing underway.”

I laugh as another helpful crew member appears and takes me to a bedroom that’s bigger than my apartment. It’s decked out in steel, glass, and marble, and I’m not surprised to learn it’s the owner’s suite. There’s a walk-in closet with his and hers racks loaded with every possible style of outfit, and I wonder who the lucky lady is to have all this at her fingertips. Not that my wardrobe is exactly suffering these days.

I select a black and gold bikini from about a dozen, all still with the designer tags on. It fits well enough, but I grab a silk wrap to knot around my waist. After studying my reflection in the wall mirror, I kiss River’s necklace for luck, then head back to the sundeck. Jett is in black board shorts and is leaning on the railing, staring out at the boat’s wake. I stop and do some staring of my own, because his sinking sun tattoo is on full display. Since he practically lives in a wetsuit, I haven’t had many opportunities to ogle it properly.

“I love this,” I murmur as I slide a hand across his sun-warned skin, my fingers tingling at the contact. “When did you get it done?”

“Steven had one, too,” he replies, looping an arm around my waist and stroking my cheek. “We got them when ‘Afterlove’ went platinum. I guess we didn’t see the band ever changing, but if it did, we wanted something to remember it by.”

“Maybe I should get one, too. But something small, like Silva’s palm tree. I mean, I can’t exactly be a rockstar’s girlfriend without some ink, can I?”

“Mate,” he growls, pressing a hard kiss to my lips. “You don’t need to change for our sake, but if you want ink, I can take you to a guy who knows his stuff.”

I shrug, slipping between him and the railing, smiling up at the view. “Maybe someday. Right now, I just want to soak this all up.” I wind my arms around his neck, staring up into his moody blue eyes. “Thank you for bringing me here. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so spoilt.”

“Well, I had to make up for the green room.” His gaze roams over my face, a divot between his brows as he plays with the drumsticks pendant nestled between my breasts. “I was a bloody arsehole, and I treated you like shit.”

I screw up my nose at him. Yeah, he’d been an obnoxious dick, but he’d also been strung out and grieving. And I know I didn’t help things. I came out of nowhere, wasn’t exactly clear about my intentions, and my hormones were going haywire. In a different scenario, things could have been a lot worse than finding myself in Jett Colter’s lap. “It got us here, didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did,” he murmurs, dropping his lips to mine. “And for that, I thank Steven every day.”

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