Page 59 of The Omega Lesson

“Your skirt’s not charity-event-friendly.”

She widens her eyes at me, but keeps swishing her racquet. “The solar plexus controls our fight-or-flight response. He might come back out here all fired up to take us down.”

“Fuck him. He couldn’t take us down if we were roped to the back of his polo horse.” She snorts at that and I ask, “How do you know that? About the solar plexus?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a teacher.” A coy smile curves her pink lips. “I could open your eyes to a lot of things about the human body, Mr. Lyall.”

Well, that fucks up my next serve, and we end up in a long rally where she leaps all over the court like a gazelle. I’m equally relieved and furious that I can’t see her tits bouncing around in her tight t-shirt. Our opponents have missed more than a few shots ogling her, and I know I should just write it off as an effective strategy. But there’s a heat spreading under my skin that has nothing to do with my allergy to acrylic courts or the sweat trickling down my back.

We take the second set and power through the third. I’m in the zone, but it’s about as far from my usual calm, calculated approach as you can get. Every serve is a blistering missile, my returns leaving pock-marks in the hard court. Alexa more than covers her half, slicing and lobbing with effortless precision. And she keeps shooting me these smouldering smiles, that pink ponytail swishing around in a way that throws me into another gear.

We slaughter them in the end, the crowd leaping to its feet despite the fact our opponents didn’t win a game in the last set. Handshakes are exchanged, although I glare at the polo player until he backs off with raised hands. He’s laughing, but I don’t smile until he’s limped all the way off the court. And then the tournament officials are swarming us. A microphone is shoved in my face and I nearly bite it off, but Alexa grabs it and swings it her way.

“This great match was only possible today because of the good people who organised this event, and because my brother, Anton Novak, graciously allowed me to step into his place. I’m sure he’s regretting that now, since my partner just gave us all a lesson in total domination of a tennis court.” She raises her brows at me, then swings back to the microphone. “Oh, and my brother’s firm, Novak Bremmer and Associates, wish to make a generous donation to the children in poverty charity that we’re all supporting this evening. I’m sure they will be very, very generous.”

“And of course,” I bark, leaning over her shoulder, “the Lyall Corporation will match whatever donation they come up with.”

The event organiser looks ecstatic for obvious reasons, before he zeroes in on the initials embroidered on her clinging polo. “On a personal note, are the rumours true, Miss Novak? Is this more than just a sporting partnership?”

“Oh, yes,” she says brightly. “I’m courting the Lyall-Cliff pack. No pun intended.”

But the official is too dumbstruck to appreciate the joke. “You’recourtingthem?”

“Yep. And I seem to be making pretty good headway.” She looks at me with a coy smile. “What do you think, My Lyall? Am I making any headway?”

“I think we need to go over our post-game analysis,” I growl, and tucking my hand in her elbow, start pulling her towards the players’ lounge. There are plenty of spectators trying to catch our eye – not least of all, my brothers, who look like they want to leap out of the box and join us – but I stop them all with a glare.

They’ve had their fun. Now it’s my turn.

We don’t stop until we’ve reached the locker room. But then she breaks out of my hold, seeming oblivious to my grinding teeth as she throws herself down on a bench and wipes her face with a towel. “Oh, my God! That was crazy! You were on fire! What the hell? You should be playing professionally, Travis.”

I can’t sit down beside her, so I walk in circles, massaging my shoulders. “How come I didn’t know you could play like that? Why hasn’t Anton ever told me?”

Some of the joy goes out of her and she tosses the towel aside. “I’d be surprised if he talks about me at all.”

“He doesn’t,” I admit. “After warning us off that summer, he barely mentions your name.”

She stares at me, a look in her eyes I can’t decipher. “Warning you off? Anton told you to stay away from me?”

“He told all the guys at the club. But it was pointless in my case. He knew I was getting sucked into my dad’s world, and would have to quit.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her arms crossed over her damp polo. “He said you’re all omega hunters, and I’m not going to last a month.”

The growl that rips out of me is alien even to my ears. “That’s bullshit! Anyone can see they’re all besotted with you.” I suck in a harsh breath, trying to put the beast back in the cage. “I take it Anton doesn’t know you’re a switch?”

“No. He’d just find a way to twist it…”

Ah. Like tell her the only reason she’s good enough for us now is because she’s an omega part of the time. I really want to kick his arse now, but my rational side can’t really fault him. Yeah, he’s a fucking arsehole for saying those things to her, but he won’t be the only one to think them. Our own father exiled our brother and betrothed us to a stranger just so no one could ever say the Lyalls didn’t deserve an omega.

“So, what now?” I ask her, nodding at the embroidered initials on her polo. “Looks like you’ve signed yourself over to the Lyall Corporation.”

She stares down at her chest and huffs. “That’s Lyall-Cliff. If you hung around more, you’d know I’m an equal opportunity lover.”

“Oh, yeah? You love us all the same?”

Her eyes fly up to mine. “You were the first, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Holy shit. I wasn’t. Or, I don’t think I was. And she must read the panic in my face because she leaps to her feet. But instead of storming out of the locker room, she tilts her head, those honey-brown eyes burning into me. “What do you want, Travis? You want me to act like the adoring ball girl, down on her knees, hoping you’ll glance her way? Or do you want me to be an omega in heat, spread open in front of you and begging for your cock?” All the playfulness is long gone from her eyes, and when I can’t find my tongue to answer, she gives me a little shove in the chest. “I’m not going to do that, Travis.”

---