Omega's Forbidden Heat Page 2

  But it’s different now, isn’t it? Something new between them that hadn’t been there before. Their dynamic. When she was a girl, being around him had done funny things to the pit of her stomach. Delicious swoops that had whipped her breath away and there’d been many nights she’d lie in her bed imagining Jack Johnson.

  Last night had been something entirely different. First there had been his scent. Invisible and inaccessible to her before, now so strong, so powerful, it had hit her as soon as he’d entered the pub. A scent that shook her legs as if it had blasted through the door and plummeted into her. A scent that swirled around her and swum into her nostrils, into her mouth, dissolving onto her tongue and entering her bloodstream. She shivers, remembering the flavour of it.

  Her body had reacted to it instantaneously even before she’d turned around and seen who it belonged to. No other Alpha scent has had her nipples hardening and her stomach growling in hunger like his did.

  And then he’d spoken to her in that deeply Alpha voice and all the desire swamping her body had amplified.

  Her experience of Alpha’s is limited. The way her body reacts to them still so new. She has to engage her rational brain when one is near, fight every instinct otherwise she’d be on her knees for them, probably in their bed, in a flash. It’s hard, but she’s getting better and better at controlling it. But Jack?

  They reach the foot of the hill, and Maddock’s pace slows as he climbs the track under the old trees, the ground damp and sticky with mud. Soon he’s puffing, and she leans forward to rub his neck.

  Yes, he’s getting old. She hates to acknowledge it, but he’s finding it harder to carry her up the incline.

  To the left is the bridle path that leads down to farmer Widham’s land. It used to be a favourite of hers, but not anymore. Not since it became public knowledge that she’d presented as an Omega. Now he curses at her whenever she rides past his land. He probably thinks she can’t hear him. He’s half deaf and has no idea how loudly he speaks. But she heads the other way instead, skirting along the old stone walls of the estate.

  She tries to keep her thoughts on the path, on Maddock and the burn in her thighs and her core, but her mind keeps drifting back to little flashes of Jack. How stiffly he stood there. How he refused to step close to the bar. How his nostrils had flared despite he’s obvious best efforts. How he’d rammed those pills into his mouth.

  At the summit of the Down, she draws the horse to stop, and slides down, coming to stand beside him and leaning into his strong body, gazing out over the stretching Sussex landscape; the dark of the meadows, the dusty brown of the harvested fields and the dark patches of forest. Plough line stretch over the fields rolling with the land and the river curls like a ribbon where the earth flattens. She lets her gaze flow away to the hazy horizon where the sea twinkles, a tiny star bright under the sunshine.

  She can’t imagine being locked away from here. Taken away, forbidden to roam free in this landscape. The very thought of it makes her throat constrict and she can’t breathe. She wonders what that must have done to Jack. What kind of man he now is. It wasn’t just his physique and his scent that had changed last night. There was something in those blue eyes of his too. Something dangerous. Like a predator coiled tight, ready to spring. And something else too, something sad.

  Maddock snorts and she peers at her watch, swearing under her breath. She has to be at the pub by noon for her shift and she was planning to get some more of her assignment for uni done first. She jumps up into the saddle and turns the horse towards home. When they reach the bridle path, she cuts into the paddock, and kicks her heals lightly against Maddock’s ribs, urging him onward with a click of her tongue. He responds eagerly, increasing his pace and picking up his legs until soon they’re cantering over the rough ground, the air streaming over her face and ruffling her hair. She grips the reigns, leaning right down into Maddock’s neck and bouncing in the saddle with the pound of his hooves, his fur dampening with sweat.

  It feels glorious, liberating, freeing, and it drives Jack Johnson from her mind.

  Well, almost.

  Jack Johnson had noticed her. Finally. And an excitement bubbles in her stomach. She’s not sure what that means.

  * * *

  Seven years ago

  She can see them in the living room, playing computer games and demolishing a packet of crisps, the munching and laughing filtering through the doorway. She hovers in the hall, peering through the crack in the door just out of sight, watching them.

  She likes to watch him because he is beautiful and the sight of him does strange things to her insides. New, exciting things. His long curly hair falls into his face, and he brushes it aside, his biceps flexing and the tendons in his arms tightening and her gaze drifts down to his hands gripping the controller, his thumbs flicking backward and forwards over the buttons. His hands are larger, bigger than Finn’s, bigger than her Dad’s. But then he’s taller than them both, by a half a foot at least and larger.

  She’s mesmerised by his long thick fingers, the size of his palm, imagining those hands clasping at her waist. She shifts, her skin growing warmer.

  They are talking about girls, in between mouthfuls of popcorn, and expletives in response to the video screen. She doesn’t understand all that they are saying, but she knows it is dirty, rude, and her cheeks burn furiously and that point in her stomach, already buzzing, swoops.

  Spying on them like this is forbidden. If they catch her, Finn will yell at her and chase her away with threats but it’s worth the risk. She knows there are many girls who’d pay dearly to sit here with her. She hears them giggling in the girl’s toilets; the older ones gathered around the mirror reapplying lip-gloss and concealer. Everybody is in love with Jack Johnson. It’s hard not to be.

  Once or twice there’s been a girlfriend who’s tagged along to hang out at their house as well and she’s stared in fascination at the way his hands have left the controller and slid over the girl’s waist, down to her butt, felt pangs of what she thinks might be jealousy when they’d mashed their lips against each other’s, tongues thrust into mouths.

  The staircase groans as she wriggles in her seat and Finn’s head snaps towards the door. He spots her and scowls.

  “Oi squirt. What you doing?” he shouts and Jack’s eyes follow his, the piercing blue discovering her.

  She springs to her feet. “Nothing,” she says, her voice squeaking in her throat and her eyes falling to her feet. She keeps very still, hoping they’ll return to their video game and ignore her, but Finn leaps to his feet and stalks to the doorway with a menacing look on his face.

  “Bugger off, will you?” he hisses in her face, shoving her down the hallway. “Stop lurking about like a bad smell and annoying us.”

  She peers up at him, towering above her. “Can I play?” she whines, unable to help it. It’s Saturday afternoon and she’s bored, her mother is down the stables mucking out and her dad is listening to the rugby on the radio. She’s too old for her barbies and her dolls now, but too young to wander down the road to her friend’s house. There’s nothing to do but observe the boys.

  He laughs. “It’s an 18. Mum would kill me. Go away will you?” The door shuts on her but she can hear their voices through the woodwork.

  “Your sister is so annoying,” Jack says, and she can hear the irritation in his voice. Her heart sinks a little and her eyes smart. She rushes up the stairs and into her bedroom, flinging herself onto the bed.

  Their laughter floats up through the floorboards though and it adds to her misery. She rolls onto her side to stare at the wall and picks at the paintwork with her thumbnail.

  Chapter Three

  A far off buzzing noise drags him from his sleep and he blinks awake, his brain scrabbling in the dimly lit room for several minutes before he remembers where he is. His old bedroom; the dark blue lamp shade staring back at him from the ceiling.

  He scrubs his hand over his face as the blaring noise rings out again. It m
akes the pain in his head thump. His mouth is bone dry and his lips cracked and he rolls over and takes several large gulps of water, then collapses into the mattress and screws up his eyes, the pain in his head intensifying.

  If he ignores the noise, hopefully it will stop. But it doesn’t and swearing to himself, he pulls himself up and hunches over his knees on the edge of the bed.

  He shouldn’t have drunk that last can of lager last night. His stomach is sloshing with acid and it burns the back of his throat. But what else was there to do? Alone in these empty rooms is more bearable with alcohol coursing through his blood, taking the edge off the sting of sadness that weighs him down.

  Grabbing yesterday’s t-shirt off the floor and struggling into it as he stumbles down the stairs, he hears his aunt’s voice through the letterbox and groans.

  “Jack? Jack? Are you in there?” She leans another time on the doorbell and he winces.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he shouts, his voice hoarse.

  She’s waiting on the doorstep, a deep frown on her face as he draws open the door. It’s a hazy Autumn’s morning and the sunlight hits his eyes, and he draws up his hand, shadowing his eyes.

  She waves her own hand in front of her face. “Woah, Jack.”

  He ignores her and walks back down the hallway towards the kitchen. He needs a strong coffee and something to eat. He’s not interested in a lecture. He’s not a teenager anymore. The door closes and her light footsteps follow behind him and then there’s a thud on the table as he fills the kettle.

  “Did you forget I was coming?” she asks, sliding her glasses up the bridge of her nose. It’s a gesture his mum used to make, just the same, they had always been very alike; his aunt a little skinnier, her cheeks more hollow and her skin paler. If you’d had to guess which of the two would get sick, it wouldn’t have been his mum. He glances away from her to the floor, not wanting the reminder, not now, when his head pounds.

  “No, I didn’t forget. I overslept.” The kettle rumbles behind him and steam rises into the air, streaming over his head and into the space between them. He turns; waiting for the switch to flick off. “Do you want a tea or a coffee?” he asks her.

  “Jack, sit,” she says, with what sounds oddly like sympathy. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”

  He hesitates then does as she says, pulling out a chair and massaging his temples. She busies herself at the cupboards and then slides a mug of black coffee onto the table in front of him as well as two paracetamol.

  “Thanks,” he mutters.

  “I’ll make you some eggs,” she says, heading back to the fridge.

  He sips his coffee as she cooks and after a while she flips on the radio to fill the silence. It’s some Saturday kitchen show and he allows his attention to get tangled in the banal commentary, the caffeine working its magic on the pressure in his head.

  His aunt sits beside him and pushes a plate of buttered toast and fried eggs his way.

  “Do you know what you want to do first?”

  No, he doesn’t. He should have formulated a plan, made a list — it’s what his mum would have done. He hasn’t had the energy.

  He shakes his head.

  “I’ll start in her bedroom then, Jack.”

  “I think I’d rather do it.”

  “No, love,” she says, patting his hand. “She wouldn’t have wanted her son going through her most private possessions. Let me do it, please.”

  He stares at her and she gives him a hard look. He nods and tucks into his breakfast, slicing through the rubbery yolk with his knife and watching as the warm yellow liquid spills out, running over the toast. The smell of the butter and eggs turns his stomach despite his hunger.

  She lifts her own mug with both hands and sips at her fruit tea, her glasses steaming momentarily. “Are you okay?” she asks him.

  “Fine,” he grunts. “I drank too much last night.”

  “You were out?”

  “No.” He can feel her hot gaze assessing him and he fixes his eyes on his plate, willing her silently not to quiz him more. He’s doing fine and he doesn’t need the sympathy and interference of others, even his aunt’s.

  “I’m going to get started then. I’ve got a load of boxes in my car. I’ll go fetch them.” She hesitates. “Are you sure you want to do this right now, Jack? We only buried her a fortnight ago. Wouldn’t it be better to wait awhile? Ensure you really want to do this?”

  “I’m sure,” he says. “I want to sell the house.” What’s the point of sticking around? Not that he knows what or where he’ll go. He could return to London. Go stay with his cousin. All he knows for certain is he doesn’t want to stay here. In this house, surrounded by memories.

  His aunt examines his face, her eyes dancing over his features and then goes to fetch the boxes.

  He’s just got out of the shower when the buzzer blares again. He wraps a baby blue towel around his waist and steps out onto the landing, water still running down his face and his chest. His aunt emerges from his mum’s bedroom and peers over the banister, her arms full of clothes hangers.

  “It’s okay, I’ll get it.”

  She raises an eyebrow at his half dressed state but doesn’t argue and disappears inside the bedroom.

  The caller presses on the buzzer as he jogs down the stairs and he makes a mental note to disconnect the damn thing. He flings open the door in irritation. Finn’s waiting on the doorstep, leaning against the porch wall, with his legs and arms crossed, a nonchalance look on his face.

  “So you are alive?” he smirks at him.

  “Just about,” Jack mumbles, running a hand through his wet hair and sweeping it off his face.

  The smirk fades and Finn searches his face in the same way his aunt had and Jack wishes everybody would stop doing that, as if he’s some dangerous animal they need to tiptoe around, scared he’ll lash out. He hasn’t got the energy for that.

  “How you doing, mate?” Finn says more seriously.

  “Fine,” Jack snaps. “You coming in or not.”

  Finn nods and Jack pivots around, taking a step down the hallway. It’s then he smells her, a whiff of her scent carried inside by the breeze.

  Jack freezes, his hackles rising. Maybe they were right after all. He spins and gets a glance of her, hanging behind her brother.

  Finn steps inside the front door and Jack grips the top of his arm, leaning into his ear. “What’s she doing here?” he hisses.

  Finn’s eyes flick to his and he pats his shoulder. “She’s come to help, Jack.”

  He grinds his teeth. He doesn’t need an Omega in his house. Especially not this Omega. It’s been almost a week since he stumbled upon her and her mouth-watering scent in the pub; a scent that has been lingering on the tip of his tongue for the past seven days and driving him mad.

  Finn pushes him aside and continues down the corridor. Amy steps up into the doorway.

  “It’s fine.” Jack tells her, his hand tight on the doorframe, his muscles flexing as he breathes through his mouth, trying not to inhale her. “I don’t need your help.”

  Her deep brown eyes skirt over his body fleetingly, so quick he could almost miss it, and he groans inwardly as her scent swirls in approval, his dick stirring in response. It would be interested and paying attention to any Omega within his immediate radius. It’s why he doesn’t want her here.

  Her face shows nothing but confusion, her brow creasing in puzzlement.

  “I don’t mind helping,” she says, stepping off the doorstep and peering up at him. She smiles brightly, that smile he remembers from when she was a kid, her nose crinkling.

  He takes a menacing step towards her, about to send her away, when his aunt’s voice calls from within.

  “Is that you, Amy?”

  She draws her gaze away from his and over his shoulder. “Yes, it is. Hi, Julie.”

  “I’m upstairs. Can you come give me a hand?”

  Amy keeps her eyes locked away from his. “Sure,”
she calls, ducking under his arm before he can stop her and hurrying up the stairs. He slams the door in frustration and stalks to the kitchen where Finn has helped himself to a cup of coffee.

  “Put some clothes on, will you, Jack?” he says, the tease there in his voice.

  “Amy’s an Omega.”

  Finn places his mug down on the counter and nods.

  “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

  Finn eyes him. “Why would I tell you?” he says.

  “Because…”

  “Do you have a problem with that?” Finn asks, his tone now noticeably more aggressive.

  “Of course I do. Don’t give me that shit. You know how these things work.”

  “I do, do I?” Finn’s fists ball by his sides. “She’s my sister.”

  They stand there, glaring at each other, the kitchen clock ticking loudly behind Finn and the fridge humming. Then something in Finn seems to shift. His shoulders slump and he shakes his head. “Just leave her alone, okay, Jack? Things have been hard for her — things have been hard for all of us. It came as a shock, finding out she was an Omega. It happened so late, and she’s the only one in our family. Plus, there were people in the village …” He shakes his head again.

  Jack’s anger wanes, the tension in his own shoulders dissipating. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me,” he mutters to the floor.

  “Because it was none of your business and it was not my information to tell.”

  He should let it lie, but the irritation is still there in the pit of his stomach, baiting him, not helped by the sweet Omega scent wafting through the house. “I just would’ve appreciated a warning that’s all. It took me by surprise.”

  Finn raises his eyes to meet his. “Like I said, leave her alone.” He picks up his coffee and takes a sip. “Now, what do you want me to help with?”

  Jack takes a deep exhale, blowing away the agitation through his teeth. “I think if we start with all the junk in the sitting room. My mum was such a hoarder. So much crap’s in there.” He motions to the chairs around the kitchen table. “Let me get dressed and we’ll work through it together.”