Page 64 of Just Wait

“That’s the woman they stopped the show for,” another paparazzi yells through the fence. “Who is that, Kincaid?”

Aww, fuck.

Those aren’t the label-approved reporters. The members of the press who come backstage have guidelines they’ve agreed to follow—mostly regarding not asking lewd personal questions or purposely trying to bait us into reacting.

The paparazzi on the outside of the fence don’t have those same considerations.

“Are you a Liminal fan, sweetheart?”

“Come on. Give us something.”

They’re relentless.

The barrage of flashes promises those pictures will be uploaded before tomorrow morning.

“Smile back over your shoulder at me.”

That one pisses me off. It’s well known that the magazines and internet sites pay fifty percent more if they can get a woman’s ass and face in the shot at the same time.

Wrapping my arm around Lumen’s lower back, I help her twist to the side.

“Bury your face in my shirt. I’m going to give you some coverage.”

Once she’s in place, I toss my arm over her shoulder and bring my other hand up to block her face from view. It’s the most I can do under the circumstances, but it’s still too late.

Those pictures are going to be everywhere.

If it had been Malcolm or Drew—when he was around—leading a woman to our bus, it wouldn’t be worth quite as much. It would still have value because we haven’t given them anything of note to focus on this tour, but for the last three or four years, I’ve made it a point not to let them catch any pictures of me leaving with a woman.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur, keeping my voice low. “Let me lead you, and I’ll make sure we get onto the bus without them snagging any extra shots.”

She nods against my T-shirt. “Thanks, Kincaid.”

Lumen shakes out her hands as we stand in the living room of the bus.

Kasey said her goodbyes and headed off to the bus she stays on with the other core security team members who travel with us.

That just leaves me and Lumen.

She takes a step toward me, and my head tilts.

I’ve seen that look on a lot of women’s faces, so I’m not sure why I’m surprised to see it on hers. Her plush pink lips push together, and I ache to know what she tastes like.

She’s followed my lead multiple times now, and that animalistic part of my hindbrain craves more of her submission.

“You smell like hazelnut,” she says, licking her lips. “All smoky and nutty, but also sweet with hints of chocolate.” Her pupils are blown, and her nostrils flare like she’s desperately trying to pick up hints of my scent.

Could she be an omega?

Maybe she takes suppressants and uses scent blockers?

That doesn’t make sense.

She would have had to reapply the scent blockers multiple times tonight if that were the case. They don’t last that long, and they wear off when the person sweats.

She could be an omega who hasn’t presented yet.

Shit.