Chapter 6 Jake
SIX
jake
Omega?! The realization tears through me as the woman on top of me scrambles back, gasping. She rolls off and ends up on her hands and knees, sucking in a sharp breath. Dirt streaks her arms. She’s shaking. She must’ve had the wind knocked out of her when we hit the ground.
She could’ve been hurt.
That thought hits harder than the bull did, and anger surges up to meet it—sharp, protective, and impossible to swallow. What the hell was an Omega doing in the holding pens?
I’m rolling up to my knees and bending over her, desperate to make sure she’s okay. I barely register that compared to me, she’s tiny, even for an Omega.
“What the hell were you thinking?” The words rip out of me, rougher than I mean them to be. My hands move on instinct—skimming over her shoulders, down her arms, checking for broken bones, blood, anything. “That bull could’ve killed you. For fuck’s sake, do you have a death wish?”
The urge to protect her, to keep her safe, is nearly overwhelming. I don’t usually react like this to women. Hell, I make a point to steer clear of Omegas. But something about this one has every instinct in me roaring awake.
My Alpha surges, fierce and hot, and suddenly I’m drowning in adrenaline. She’s still catching her breath, her chest rising and falling fast, her head still lowered, and my gaze betrays me—lingering on the curve of her hips, the strength in her thighs, the dirt clinging to her skin.
Even shaken and dusty, she’s… stunning. There’s something about her that hits me square in the chest. The memory of her body pressed to mine when I yanked her up flashes through me—soft curves and lean muscle, like she was made to fit against me.
And then, just as my heartbeat starts to steady, a flicker of recognition strikes.
I’m still trying to gauge any injuries when the sweet scent of buttercups, orange blossoms, and vanilla runs me over like that bull nearly did her. Everything inside stills until all I can hear is my heartbeat.
No. No fucking way. But only one person has ever smelled like that.
She sits back on her heels and stands up, dusting herself off, her back to me. I roll back, lying in the dirt staring at the lights above the arena, trying in vain to get my racing heart to slow the fuck down.
I look up at her and see her APbrA-branded jacket and realize she’s staff, just as she says, “I was doing my job, for what it’s worth.” Her voice is laced with barely checked irritation.
That voice. Sweet Jesus, I know that voice.
Willa James. I’m a fucking moron, I didn't realize it as soon I saw her…
I know I should say something, but all I do is stare at her back like a dumbass, trying to understand how in the hell Willa James ended up in the pit being charged by a bull.
“Your job includes getting trampled by fifteen-hundred pounds of pissed-off beef?” I sit up on my elbows as she yanks her lanyard free and brings it up to my face. But the scorching words she was undoubtedly about to throw out at me die in her throat as recognition slides across her features.
She looks at me, eyes wide, her sweet pink lips slightly open, brushing a few errant blonde curls away from her flushed face. She’s still just as fucking gorgeous—even more so than she was all those years ago.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Her ire is evident in the curl of her lip and the fucking adorable way her eyebrows still scrunch up the same way they used to. It sends a thrill through me, quickly followed by a stab of longing I thought I’d long gotten rid of.
“Hey, Wild Cat.”
“Don’t call me that.” The response is automatic, one born of history and familiarity.
Those storm-gray eyes that have haunted my dreams are wide with shock and emotion.
She reaches down to offer me a hand. I take it even though I’m nearly twice her size.
The warm skin of her palm slides into mine, and flashes of the girl I used to know come roaring back to life.
Sweet moments of cold feet and midnight texts.
Somehow, in the one moment of contact, two years of shared existence live.
I’m lost in how her skin feels when her scent rises around us—sweet and sharp, distressed, but also laced with something that smells like slick and arousal. I can almost taste her on my tongue with how rich her scent is, even through the blockers I know she’s required to take.
Every cell in my body is screaming at me to flip her over, pin her beneath me, and grind against her until she remembers exactly who she belongs to. And exactly how perfectly my knot fits inside her.
Jesus Christ. I’m rock-hard already, and that’s just from her scent.
“Willa,” I sigh, and her name tastes like coming home and losing everything all at once. Her breath is coming faster, and I feel more than hear the tiny whimper that escapes her.
Like being electrocuted, the force that is Willa James rushes through me. And fuck, I remember how good it feels to slide into this woman. How tight her wet pussy squeezes me, and how sweetly her Omega will beg me to go harder.
I take a step closer to her, and suddenly it’s just her and me. Everything else disappears, and I hear her whine, the sound of it faint and precious. I would have missed it if I hadn’t been so keyed into her.
“Fuck, woman. Make another sound like that, and I won’t be able to stop myself from seeing if you’re as wet as I think you are.”
My words snap her out of whatever fuzzy soft space she was just in, and she seems to remember—well, everything.
Slap!
I didn’t even see her raise her hand, but she strikes me open-palmed across the side of my face, hard enough for me to pay attention. I should have seen it coming, really. Lord knows I deserve far worse from this woman.
She looks at me with a shocked expression on her face, like she can’t quite believe she just did that, and then looks over her shoulder at the crowd we seem to have gathered. Her head whips around, taking in the handlers and riders who’ve gathered around the pen to see what the chaos was all about.
She hates the attention. She was always a wild card, but never for the attention.
Fuck, some Alphas might get pissed at being slapped, but it just makes me fucking hard. God damn, I’ve always loved her fire.
Everything in me wants to pull her into the shelter of my arms, tuck her into my chest, and carry her away. But something tells me she wouldn’t like that.
“Shit,” she mutters. “This is—I can’t—Sorry.” She starts to turn away.
Miguel walks up looking concerned, and a couple of the bullfighters I was talking to before the commotion are grinning like this is the best entertainment they’ve had all week.
“Easy, woman,” I say, reaching for her automatically. “You’re still shaking. You need to sit down.”
“I’m fine.” She jerks away from my touch like I’ve burned her. “I was handling it just fine before you decided to play hero.”
“Play hero? That bull was about to turn you into ground beef.”
She rolls her eyes, and I watch as her open expression shutters.
“I know what I’m doing, Jake.” Her voice cracks slightly on my name, and something twists in my chest. “I’ve been around bulls my whole life without getting trampled, and I didn’t need you to save me.”
“Right,” I say, because what else can I say? That the idea of her being in danger makes me lose my fucking mind? That the thought of losing her again nearly brings me to my knees?
She turns to Miguel, who’s hovering nearby with his keys in hand. “Miguel, can you give me that ride home now?”
“’Course, mija,” Miguel says, but his eyes dart between us like he’s trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
“No.”
The word comes out harder than I intended, and everyone turns to look at me. Willa’s eyes flick to me with a hard glare.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not riding with Miguel.” My Alpha is pushing at me now, demanding I stake my claim, mark my territory. “You’re coming with me.”
“Like hell I am.”
“Willa.” I step closer, and she takes a step back, but there’s nowhere for her to go with the pen rail behind her. “You’re hurt, you’re shaken up, and you just had a near-death experience. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“You’re—you’re not letting me?” Her voice wavers, sharp with disbelief. “Who the hell do you think you are, Jake? You don’t… You lost the right to let me do anything. Six years ago.”
The crowd is eating this up.
“Everyone, back to work,” I bark, and my voice carries enough Alpha authority that most of them scatter. Miguel hesitates, looking between us.
“Willa?” he says. “I don’t mind driving you.”
I level him with a stare that makes him take a step back. “I’ve got her.”
“I can speak for myself,” Willa snaps, but Miguel’s already backing away with his hands up.
“Sorry, mija. You two work it out.”
And then we’re alone, standing in the circle of light from the overhead bulbs, staring at each other across six years of silence and regret. I can feel her anger pouring off her. My skin prickles with the intensity of it.
I walk over to the boys and tell them I’ll see them in the morning at six a.m. for warm-ups, and start heading toward the back lot through the side loading doors. I look behind me and gesture at her to follow.
She stands there, stiff and stubborn. I’m forced to use the only thing I know she’ll hate more than giving ground to me in front of everyone else.
“Woman, remember Cheyenne?”
I want to eat up the flush that cascades over her face as she remembers exactly the night I’m talking about. The memory runs through my mind.
I had carried her over my shoulder after placing a rather loud smack to her ass, through a crowded restaurant, straight to my truck. In all fairness, I had warned her that if she didn’t stop trying to rile me up, I was going to.
I stand and wait for her to walk in front of me, and I follow her, trying not to stare at the way her ass looks in those jeans.
Some things never change.