Page 44 of Knot Their Opening Act

I swallow hard, holding my hands clasped in front of me. “I do. But I don’t think we have time. And what are we going to do about Kai?” A ridiculous bout of Deja vu hits me.

Holden looks at me a second longer with longing in his eyes. He raises a hand to scrub through his hair and gives a wistful sigh. “You’re right. Oh, God, what time is your assistant meeting you?”

I glance at my watch. It’s 5:49. I’d set an alarm to go off ten minutes before Caylee’s due. Was it 6? Or 6:30?

“Bugger. Soon,” I say shakily. I back up to the sofa and have a seat. A replay of last night crashes into my head. We really do need a pocket dimension.

Holden starts pulling on clothes and looking around for any of his belongings. He finds his phone, his water bottle, his hoodie, and his sneakers just as his phone rings. He answers it.

“Uh huh. Yeah. No, I know. It’s going to have to. Right. Well, five minutes then. See you down there. Save me a bagel, dickhead.”

He hangs up and looks at me. My lips are quivering and I can feel the heat rising in me. My hair feels like it might be steaming and my skin is hot everywhere.

Holden’s gone all business. He kneels before me and gently but firmly grips my arms just below the shoulders.

“Jesamine, I’ll work quick, but just bear in mind that my best work requires more time. Don’t hold it against me.” He winks and beams a cheeky, youthful grin at me. I’m shivering with the heat fever now, tucking my damp strands behind my ears as he easily pulls my joggers and panties to my ankles, and leans my back on the sofa.

“We don’t have—” I start, but he places one finger lightly to my lips, and my stomach shudders with desire, overflowing from my core. Just that one movement is enough to make me picture so many more with this man.

And, well, with Thomas, too.

Do I really want both of them? Yes. I do. I would take them both right now if Thomas was here.

But Holden takes my full attention as he spreads my legs and without any further warning, places his lips to my slippery-wet folds and slides his tongue inside. His eyes close as one hand traces up my body and slides under my shirt and bra.

Once inside, he expertly takes a nipple between his forefinger and thumb and twists it, pinches it, and draws circles over the almost painful tip that just begs to be squeezed. I want a mouth on each breast, one Alpha inside my mouth, and another sliding in and out of my entrance.

These images and more bombard me without invitation as Holden’s tongue sucks on my slit then slides between my lowers lips. In seconds, Holden has my hips leaping from the sofa as the electric current pulses through my body, juddering out in waves of exquisite pleasure.

“Can I just saywow.” Holden sits up, runs into the bathroom, returns with tissue and, thoughtfully, a clean pair of knickers from my pile of clothes. “You are—you taste—you are. Jesus.”

I lean against the sofa, legs flopped uselessly out, before giving myself a kick up the arse. I wipe myself down only slightly self-consciously, pull on the clothes, and slide into my sandals. Everything in the bathroom can be thrown into my tote bag, and my suitcases is already closed up, ready to go. Which is great because Caylee knocks on the door a moment later, just as the alarm dings on my watch.

I gape at Holden. We don’t need this to get out. He might tell Thomas, which is fine. But I don’t need all the crew chin-wagging about this for the rest of the tour.

The rest of the tour. Come on, you really think you’re going to survive it if you can’t go a few days without pulling your pants down for them?

But it’s heat. It’s a heat?—

—it’s a heat that’s accentuated by them.

My mind races back toTen to One, and memories bombard me that I’d left buried. But I’ll have to attend to them later.

“What about Kai?” I hiss. Holden takes my hand and squeezes it hard.

“I’ll stay in the toilet until you guys leave. And Kai will find out when he finds out. He must already know you’re in heat, anyhow. And I guarantee he already knows what I can tell you right now: Jesamine Jacobs, you’re our scent match.”

The look of both pleading and magic, wonder and concern floods his face.

What the hell is mine doing? Because deep inside, this is what I’ve concluded as well, based on my body’s reactions to two members of Fable on Fire. But we have no time to compare notes.

I squeeze his hand back. And try very, here hard not to think about Kai Hartley.

“Just a sec, Caylee!” I say toward the door, taking the chance that it must be Caylee because who the fuck else would be knocking at 6 a.m.

“Take your time,” comes her voice. “I’ve got coffee though, large cold brew with chocolate cream, light ice, for Ms Jacobs.”

“Ha, perfect!” I try to project so as not to yell and wake up any slumbering neighbors. Fuck, oh fuck. We are scent matches.

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