Page 28 of Worthy or Knot (Serendipity Omegaverse #3)

Twenty-Eight

MARCUS

W armth fills my chest, spreading from beneath my sternum and into my arms—Cole’s contentment with just a touch of worry.

Being able to feel him, know him, is everything I could have hoped for even if the still-foreign sensation makes it harder to secure the tie around my neck.

As if my own anxieties about this dinner aren’t enough to consume me.

I huff out a sigh and pull the haphazard knot apart, trying to get my hands to stop shaking.

Meeting and engaging with rich people is nothing new for me.

Working in the arts, heading up the entire philanthropic arm of the New York Philharmonic, has forced me to rub elbows with the wealthiest and most powerful people in the world.

Tonight really shouldn’t be any different, especially since I’ve been in the same room as Johnathan Fallon before, even chatted with him once or twice at various fundraising events over the years.

Hell, it was his own event where I met Cole three years ago.

Easy enough. Slam dunk, really. And yet…

Nerves crawl up my throat, and I have to swallow twice before I can remember how to breathe around them.

A soft knock steals my attention from attempting to put on the tie for the third time.

I glance over my shoulder. Cole leans against the door frame, his hands tucked in the pockets of his exquisitely tailored black slacks.

His shirt is a rich silk, the sheen subtle but telltale all the same.

A small monogram is tucked on the inside of the cuff, a small signal of the bespoke European brand.

I swallow again at the blatant display of his wealth.

His eyebrows furrow as my own insecurity bleeds across the bond.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. He pushes off the doorjamb but hesitates, eyeing my room before looking at me again. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” I say. “Why wouldn’t you be allowed in my room? You were in here just a couple nights ago.”

It’s not until I feel the lingering, festering resentment blending with embarrassment that I realize what the small twist of his lips must mean.

“My dads never let Sienna in their rooms. Ever. I didn’t even realize it was abnormal until Scarlett matched with her pack and she slept in their beds more than her own.”

“Scarlett?”

“My oldest sister,” he explains casually.

“Ah, well, we’re bonded. My bed or yours, it doesn’t really matter to me.” I drape the tie over my shoulders again. “If you need me, if you want my body or my scent, everything that I am is yours.”

The column of his throat moves with his heavy swallow before he crosses the room, taking my undone tie in his hands and adjusting it until it sits flat and formal against my Oxford. His fingers are long and graceful, his wrists thin—musician hands.

“Do you play an instrument?” The question tumbles out.

His eyes flash up to me. “Piano.”

“That wasn’t listed as one of your interests,” I say.

He shrugs. “I didn’t put it as one when filling out the Council’s paperwork for attending the gala.”

Before he can pull away, I grab his wrist and bring it to my lips, running them across the base of his palm. Interest flashes in his eyes, and arousal flows across the bond, but his apple scent doesn’t surround us. “Remind me to hide your scent blockers.”

His cheeks flush, and embarrassment replaces the arousal. I pull him closer until our hips bump, wrapping an arm around his waist and kissing just under his ear. Nutmeg bleeds out from me, surrounding us. Cole groans, low in his throat, nearly mournful.

“Marcus,” he whispers, desperation coloring his voice. “The car’s going to be here in only a few minutes.”

I only clutch him tighter, letting him feel my dick where it lays hard between us.

He shudders as I pull the skin under his ear between my teeth hard enough to bruise, marking him.

His desire rolls through our bond, stronger than before.

His breathing is shaky, and his nails dig into my hips through the dress shirt.

I palm his throat, tipping his head back.

He complies without resistance, and I bask in the immediate capitulation to my urging.

His eyes are hazy, full of need and want.

“Alpha.” Even his voice has gone low, nearly pouty.

I can’t help but grin and grind against him.

He responds in kind, his dick hard, too.

God, do I want to lean him over the edge of my bed and knot him, send him to dinner with his dads covered in my cum.

The vision jolts through me, and I grunt as my dick jumps.

A throat clears just before two raps sound against my open door. “Car’s here,” Megan says dryly. “Out of time.”

Cole’s eyes flutter closed as he swallows hard. I follow the movement of his throat, a wave of nutmeg blasting out from me. His laugh is breathless, almost disbelieving.

“I can’t believe I’m about to have dinner with my dads with the worst hard-on I’ve had in years,” he admits, his eyes still closed.

“I’ll knot you the moment we’re home to make up for it,” I promise.

His lips flick up, and happiness fills the bond.

The car takes us to an opulent, modern restaurant only a few blocks north of where the Council’s matching galas take place.

A young man in a black vest and slacks opens the door to the car the moment it’s stopped along the curb, ushering us toward the glass and metal high-rise with a sweeping gesture of his hand.

Cole steps out first and then turns, holding out his hand for Megan.

I ease Charlotte out and then stretch my own legs, palming the small of Cole’s back.

He doesn’t hesitate, guiding us into the building after murmuring his thanks to the young man. It’s obvious he’s been here before. His strides are long and sure as he approaches the hostess standing about ten feet from the entrance, a tablet in her hands.

“How many tonight, sir?” she asks.

“Seven, but I believe the others are already here.”

She raises an eyebrow before glancing down at her tablet. “What’s the name?”

“Fallon.”

“Oh, yes, follow me.”

Though the main dining area isn’t overly crowded, she leads us to an alcove along the back wall mostly blocked by a half wall of frosted glass.

Three men glance up as we come into view, stopping their conversation.

Three sets of keen eyes look over us all.

The man in the middle, his brown hair mostly gray on the sides, stares at me for a long half-minute. And then his eyes widen in recognition.

Cole clears his throat, breaking the heavy quiet.

His nerves slither under my skin. They make me want to take him to the car and hide away, kiss him and touch him until all he feels is the warm glow of happiness I haven’t felt from him nearly enough.

I dig my fingers into the waistband of his slacks.

“Dads, this is Pack Harper,” Cole’s voice cuts through the room. He holds up Charlotte’s hand as he introduces her. Megan waves as he moves on to her. When Cole introduces me, all three of the men freeze. And I know that they understand I’m the Alpha that bonded their son on accident.

Johnathan Fallon stands from his middle perch at the table, his face an unreadable, stoic mask. The others follow suit, following him around the table and then passing him, letting him fade toward the wall as they take over introductions.

Their suits are bespoke, hugging the lines of their bodies perfectly.

As the second man, the one with blond hair worn longer than the others, a strand falling onto his forehead, holds out his hand in universal greeting, a watch flashes under the light.

The brand is one I recognize. One that’s so expensive it could pay our mortgage for an entire year.

It’s been several years since I felt this out of place when handling the ultra-wealthy.

“I’m Kurt,” he says. His blue eyes are curious but guarded. His handshake is firm but not overly rough. Exactly what I’d expect of an Alpha meeting his kid’s lovers. He takes a half-step back and turns toward the third man.

“And I’m Phillip,” he offers. His dark hair flashes nearly maroon under the low lighting of the alcove.

Neither man looks anything like Cole. It’s easy enough to see the resemblance between him and Johnathan as he approaches.

They have the same nose and jaw, the same eyes.

Cole’s skin is darker, though, a warm olive instead of a golden tan.

He must get his coloring from his mother—the Omega he never mentions.

Charlotte had mentioned some of the articles floating around involving her.

I didn’t blame Cole at all for not interacting with her.

Johnathan’s gaze is shrewd, soaking in every detail about us. Charlotte shifts uneasily, a sour edge creeping into the sage scent slowly pulsing from her. I grab her elbow in silent warning, and her shoulders tighten.

Cole twists toward her, a subtle shift of his shoulders. Jonathan pauses a few feet away, tucking his hands into his pockets. Instead of saying anything, Cole kisses her temple. The growing tension slips away from her body.

The man is quick to close the distance as soon as her scent loses the sour note. He holds out his hand to each of the women, introducing himself with an ease that signals just how often he’s meeting new people, before focusing on me.

“Marcus,” he says in his quiet baritone.

It surprises most people when they first meet him that he’s so soft-spoken.

Especially when the Omega they’d been matched with certainly wasn’t.

But I’ve seen him command entire ballrooms full of people with that calm voice.

I take his offered hand, and God help me, I’m back in LA at that fundraiser three years ago.

“I didn’t realize you were no longer with the philharmonic.”

“I took a position with the New York Philharmonic just over two years ago,” I explain.

“Ah. Congratulations.” His smile is genuine, lighting his eyes. “I’m sure you’re a phenomenal asset for them.”

I shrug off the compliment. “It’s the people I oversee that really do the work. I just turn in the reports every quarter.”

And that’s not even wrong. I might attend all the fancy events, might try to learn the wealthy benefactors that fund the arts in New York City by name, but it’s the team underneath me that does the heaviest lifting.

“You know each other?” Megan asks, clearly shocked.

Johnathan drops my hand and turns to her. As he does, he grips Cole’s wrist, the movement so fast it must be innate, something they do all the time. Cole’s small shake of his head is even more subtle. It doesn’t match the sudden rush of anxiety through the bond. I palm the small of his back again.

“My entire job is convincing wealthy people to donate their money to the arts, Megs,” I say dryly. “First in LA and now here. Of course I’ve met and talked with Johnathan Fallon.”

Megan stares at me, practically dumbstruck. Johnathan laughs, the sound light and airy like his son’s.

“Let’s sit and eat.” He gestures to the table behind him. “We have all night to learn about each other.”

As we settle around the table, Cole’s chair closer to mine than is really necessary, Cole clears his throat. “It’s an event of my dad’s where I met Marcus, actually. A fundraiser for some music nonprofits that help at-risk youth in LA.”

All three of his dads tense at the mention of the event. Confusion rises in me followed almost instantaneously by worry. No one says a word until the waiter comes and takes our drink order. As his dads are giving theirs to the young woman, Cole leans into me.

“Sienna did something really awful to my sister Violet there this year. It’s not about you.”

I force the worry down until he can’t feel it.

“So, Megan, Cole tells me you’re an ER nurse?” Kurt asks.

She nods and gives a bit more detail. We dissolve into amicable conversation, no real awkward lulls or uncomfortable comments.

Just like with Cole, being around his fathers is easy.

Natural. I squeeze his hand as the food comes.

He glances at me, a happiness lighting his eyes.

And then I feel it in the bond: the weightless feeling of his joy.