Page 13 of Doubly Claimed

Landry and Callan were right to do this. She is ours, Misha. We must claim her.

Yes, but patience, he told his friend. Though he more than understood what his Omega was going through. His own Bear was scraping his insides, begging to get closer to her.

“So, your sisters are getting your drink? How about a snack then?” Ross asked.

“Oh, that would be lovely,” she returned.

“On it,” Ross told Misha.

“Would you like a table?” he asked.

“There weren’t any available when we arrived,” she shrugged.

Ginger watched, surprised as Misha raised a hand, and one of the wait staff came quickly across the room, followed by two more holding a table and half a dozen chairs between.

They set it up promptly, and he handed one of them a folded bill. Ross came back in time to hold their mate’s chair out for her. Bracketing her on both sides, Misha could hardly move, completely enthralled by her as he was. Her glossy, long, fiery hair danced down her back like live flames he was begging to touch. How glorious her locks would look spread across his pillow at night.

Grrr. Then there was her body. She was wearing the most tempting little dress he’d ever seen. Imagining peeling the soft yellow lace from her lush body was doing all sorts of things to him he’d never experienced. As the Alpha Omega pair, Misha and Ross had known many women, but this was the first time he hungered for one.

We could remove it with our teeth, lick her skin, get her hot and ready for us, inserted Ross and Misha nodded. He liked the idea. A lot.

“What is your name, love?”

“Okay, don’t laugh.” She blushed once more, and Ross knew he was going to like bringing that rosy color to her cheeks again and again. It was simply beautiful.

“Why would I laugh?”

“Because my father is a chef, and a self-proclaimed comedian. Anyway, he named my sisters and me after his favorite spices.” She placed both hands flat on the table as if to steel herself and took a breath. “My name is Ginger.”

“Ginger?” Misha asked.

“It’s beautiful,” Ross inserted. “Like you. But why would we laugh?”

“Um, thank you,” she said. “Most people laugh because my name is Ginger, and I have red hair. You follow me?” Her eyes darted from one man to the other.

“Yes, we understand, but we don’t think it is funny. Ginger is a great name, and your hair is gorgeous.”

“Oh.” She blinked and, fucking hell, there was that blush again.

His pants were uncomfortably tight as he gazed into those warm brown orbs. Fucking gorgeous. Misha looked at Ross, and he nodded his agreement. The female, Ginger, was made for them. There was no use denying it. Both men and their beasts knew instinctively that she was theirs. Pulses of arousal thrummed through their bodies, blood raced in their veins, and every single cell in their bodies was screaming at them to claim her.

As if her sweet scent and incredible body weren’t enough, there was the fact both their animals were all but salivating for her. Misha’s Bear was ready to toss her over his shoulder and drag her home caveman style, but Ross pushed against the idea, squashing it like a bug.

She needs care. We must talk first. Explain.

She can’t leave, Ross. I can’t allow it.

I know, man, I know, but easy does it.

The food arrived, and Ginger smiled appreciatively at the small plates of tapas Ross had selected. Misha silently congratulated his partner. It was good that he intuitively knew her tastes.

“This looks great,” she said, “I wish I would’ve let you order a drink for me too. I don’t know where my sisters are,” she said, looking around, and popped an olive into her mouth.

“Actually, I ordered some wine.” He lifted a glass from the table and took a bottle of chilled white from the ice bucket the server had brought.

“Thank you.”

“Our pleasure,” Misha answered.

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