The Omega Team: Love: Classified (Kindle Worlds Novella) (3 page)

Joey stood and stared up at the board as it slowly but surely repopulated the departure times. The memory of having very nearly grabbed Paige and dragged her into the nearest broom closet, just so he could get his lips and hands all over her, had not faded. But he’d wrestled the need down, sat on its head, and believed he had himself under control.

For the time being, anyway.

He allowed himself a quick lean over her, a quick sniff of her hair before resuming his thoughtful position. Since he wasn’t sure which city or airport they were looking for anyway, he waited until she pointed to the one she’d been seeking.

“There. Lexington. Oh, crap. It’s not leaving until four, and it’s an hour and ten-minute flight, then a forty-minute drive. My sister is gonna have a shit fit. But my Mama—” As if on cue, her phone jangled down in her purse. She sighed and leaned against him. “I’m going to ignore it.”

“Probably for the best,” he said and draped what he hoped came across as a supportive, friendly arm around her shoulders. She sighed heavier and slumped into him as the phone rang and rang, then rested, and began ringing some more. “Maybe you should . . .” he began until he realized Paige had turned to face him, had both her hands on his waist, and was drenching the front of his shirt with tears.

She shook and sobbed as he patted her back he was reminded of his own weakness in the face of female unhappiness. His mother had never shown much emotion at all, good or bad, to him or his similarly emotionally absent father. They’d moved at least seven times in his life, from base to base, ever chasing the next army promotion until they’d died within a few weeks of each other when he was twelve. He’d learned early to equate emotion with something bad or negative, while silent stoicism equaled strength.

The first time a girlfriend cried when he’d done his best strong and silent thing, he’d freaked out and dumped her. He’d learned since then not to give in to his fear and loathing of tears, lest he found himself without pleasant female company on a regular basis. But he’d never quite grasped what to do or say in the face of the semi-regular outbursts of waterworks.

So he kept patting Paige’s back, trying hard not to notice how great she felt pressed up against him as she went about the business of being female and turning his shirt into a wrinkled, damp mess. Finally, her shaking shoulders stilled, and she gave a few sniffles before drawing away from him.

“God, you must think I’m certifiable,” she said, swiping the back of her hand across her lips before grabbing her shoulder bag and poking around in it, presumably for a tissue. Joey pulled the small pack he always kept handy from the front pocket of his rucksack and handed them over in silence. She took one, blotted her eyes, blew her nose, tossed the tissue in the trash then took a long breath. “Thanks, boy scout,” she said with a slight grin.

He shrugged, still a little wigged out, but fighting it by reminding himself of the very nice pressure of her breasts against his chest and the lovely sweet taste of her lips earlier. “I’m hungry,” he said, grabbing her suitcase handle. “Let’s go find some food.”

She nodded, sniffled a bit more and fell in beside him. They ended up at another bar where she proceeded to put away a serious meal complete with a double cheeseburger, fries, and half his chocolate shake. When she grinned, gave a little burp and sat back, patting her flat stomach, Joey thought he might be in love.

“Impressive,” he said, breaking their burger-induced silence.

“Yeah, I’m a delicate desert blossom.” She propped her feet up on the chair next to him and dragged out her phone. “Best face the music and get it over with now.”

He nodded and listened as she spoke first with her sister, who made a wailing sound that even the people at the next table could hear, then her mother who must be giving Paige a real earful since the girl hardly got a word in edgewise. When he saw the tears rise in her huge green eyes again, he reached across the table and snagged the phone from her grip.

He put it to his ear, holding out his hand to keep her from launching herself at him and taking it back with a wink and a grin. “Hello, is this Mrs. DiFerrari? Hi, I’m Joey. Joey Preston. You know, Paige’s boyfriend?”

“Well, I declare,” the woman said, her voice soothing his ears with its warm, not-too-overdone accent. “Honestly, hon, I thought the girl was having me on, making up some silly story.”

“No, ma’am. I’m a real person, and I’m sitting here with her at the Detroit airport. I wanted you to know that we’re doing everything we can to get her back to Kentucky in time for today’s . . . uh, event.”

“Well, I’m sure you are, young man. I do hope my daughter is treating you well. I mean, I like to think I taught her a thing or three about—”

Joey cut her off, not willing to hear how that particular sentence might end. “Yes, ma’am, Paige is a very nice, ah . . . um, girlfriend.” He winced, then glanced over at her to catch her rolling her eyes at him. She had her arms crossed, her feet still up on the chair, and looked more beautiful to him at that moment than any woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Without thinking about it, he put a hand on her calf. The warmth of her leg sent a pulse of desire through him he hadn’t expected.

But she didn’t flinch or move her leg so he kept his hand there, enjoying the casual intimacy a few more seconds. He could hear voices in the background on the other end of the line. “You do me a big favor and tell Leslie that I’m bringing her sister as fast as I can. The airlines say the fog is clearing, and we’ll be taking the very first flight possible.” He paused and checked his watch. “We’ll be on the ground at approximately seventeen hundred hours.”

“Oh, heavens, I forgot that you’re a military man,” Paige’s mother squealed in his ear. “Leslie, Les, guess what? Paige’s beau is military.”

“Yes, ma’am. I was an Army Ranger. Now I’m in . . . um, private security.”

There was more random chattering. He waited, keeping his hand on Paige’s leg, noting that she seemed a lot calmer. “All right then, young man. Paige’s daddy will pick y’all up at the airport.”

“Oh, no. That’s all right,” he said, feeling more confident by the minute. “I’ll rent a car. We’ll see you at the . . .” He glanced over at Paige for a clue.

She mouthed “barbecue” at him.

“At the barbecue.”

The woman sighed in his ear. “Well, now, that sounds just fine. You tell my daughter I said to behave herself, and we’ll see her real soon.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that.” Joey squeezed Paige’s leg. She smiled. “Bye, now.” He ended the call before any more unnecessary words could be said and handed her phone to her. She stared at him, then down at the proprietary palm on her calf. He moved his hand, embarrassed by his own horniness level.

“You are such a sweet talker,” she said.

“Yeah, well, sometimes it just takes a boyfriend’s touch.”

Her smile widened. His face got so hot at his honest misuse of such a loaded phrase he groaned and looked up at the ceiling.

“You are the cutest goddamned thing,” she said, dropping her feet to the floor and leaning forward on the table. Joey tried not to fixate on her boobs, choosing, instead, the higher road of her wild corkscrew curls and her full lips.

“So, is there anything else I should know about your family, you know, so we don’t seem like this is all a big set up?”

“Other than the fact that my mama is a former Miss Kentucky, president of her sorority, and a pushy southern lady, and my daddy is sweet, quiet, madly in love with her still and willing to do whatever she wants?”

“What does he do for a living?”

“He owned the Ford dealership in town before he sold it to a giant conglomerate of dealers for a shit ton of cash during my freshman year of college. Now he goes into the big office at the shiny new location near the mall and gets to preside over someone else’s balance sheet. He’s damn good at it, I’m told. A real go-getter of a sales manager who turns into someone else entirely when he hits the front door of our house and my mama takes over.”

“Huh,” Joey said, leaning back to take the pressure off his zipper while Paige pulled the ponytail holder out of her hair, reassembled the wild tangle of it, and then reattached it in a sort of messy bun-like thing at the base of her skull. “And your mother, your mama, does she work?”

“Oh, if you ask her, she does all the work,” Paige said, rolling her eyes. “And I suppose, at one time, it was true. Back when me and Les were little and into ballet, piano, and sports, and she was dragging us all over the place without any help from him. That dealership was open seven days a week, and there wasn’t a day when my daddy wasn’t at it.” She flopped back in the fake leather seat and stretched her arms up over her head. Joey looked away, lest he embarrass himself by staring at the way the thin fabric stretched across her chest.

Get a grip, man. Stop acting like a pop-eyed teenager.

“So, now she works in her garden, keeps the house immaculate, gets her nails and hair done, fusses at my daddy about taking more vacations . . . oh, and she’s taken up golf with a vengeance. Here,” she said, passing the phone back to him. “This was taken last Christmas.”

Joey took a long look at the photo. Paige sat on the floor in front of a huge, stone hearth alongside a girl who he’d never in a trillion years guess was her actual sister. He glanced over at her, then back down at the image. The girls were all smiles, sitting cross-legged and wearing matching, fugly sweaters. Leslie DiFerrari had long, straight blonde hair but, on closer inspection, shared both Paige’s deep green eyes and her double dimples.

The woman sitting to their left was an older version of Leslie, dressed in a similarly awful sweater, but it hugged her figure closer than her daughters’ did. Her smile was also wide, but much less genuine-looking. She looked brittle and unhappy. But Joey was not one to judge since most of the Christmases he could recall were chock full of overblown, unfulfilled expectations of warmth and happiness.

The man, their father, wore his own version of the bad holiday sweater and their smile. His eyes were also green, and his thick head of hair was silver. He had broad shoulders and was probably six foot four or five if his long torso was any indication. He was leaning in toward his wife and daughters while his wife seemed to want to absent herself from the whole experience.

He allowed himself a quick look at Paige again, then back at the photo. She had her arm around her sister’s shoulders. Her face was flushed and both she and Leslie looked as if they’d been laughing.

“Nice,” he said, handing the device back across the table. She snorted.

“I was as high as a kite,” she revealed. “You can get some really prime weed in Kentucky. Leslie always saves some for our ‘family gatherings.’”

Joey stiffened in spite of himself. She frowned as if sensing his displeasure. “Oh, don’t tell me.” Her eyes flashed. “Wait, hold up a minute. Are you . . . a republican?” She whispered the word as if it were on par with “anal cancer.”

He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, the urge to leap across the small, messy table and grab her up and kiss that pursed, full mouth never stronger. “I’m a card-carrying member of the NRA too. That gonna be a problem for you?”

She chuckled. “Please. I learned how to shoot a gun when I was fifteen. Mind you, I’ve never had a use for one since. But my daddy goes hunting every year, usually with his buddy Anton Love, the man who owns the local brewery, and we used to eat venison all winter.”

“Well then, that’s a relief,” he said, feeling the tension crawl up his spine at her frown.

“Yes, well, it’s probably a good idea not to bring up politics. My parents are your basic Southern liberal types. They didn’t support the whole invading Iraq thing, but they have a huge respect for military types. As you probably figured out.”

He nodded. “For the record, I served in Iraq, two times.”

“Great,” she muttered, slumping down. “I
would
pick a fake boyfriend who’s a war junkie.”

“I’m not—” He stopped, unwilling to finish the thought, his mind a whirl once again with the odd position he found himself in. “It doesn’t matter. As you said, I’m only the fake boyfriend.” He rose, angry at himself for thinking this might be anything more than that, and shouldered his pack. “I need to buy a ticket. I’ll meet you at the gate.” He didn’t meet her eyes before he turned away, his jaw clenched, heart racing with confusion, lust and his first taste of true frustration at Paige DiFerrari—a stranger to him not two hours ago, but in whose eyes and lips and wild hair, he wanted to lose himself, forever.

Paige watched Joey walk, stiff-necked, away from her, unable to stop admiring the way his jeans clung to his ass. She shook her head to clear it, wondering what in the name of all that was holy she’d been thinking when concocting the lie about him in the first place. The memory of his hand on her leg, of the way he deftly handled her mother on the phone, of his wide, incredibly sweet smile, all combined in her addled brain, making her head pound and her gut churn.

She got up, re-shouldered her bag and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. Staring down at the remains of their meal, she tried to regain her composure.

“Oh, don’t worry, honey,” a voice said to her left. Startled, she looked over at an older lady sitting with a man who was sipping a beer and staring up at a television. “Men,” she said, patting the guy’s other hand. “They always come back.”

Paige nodded, fought the urge to cry again, and headed out into the terminal, which held a newly revived sense of purpose now that flights were about to resume. She trudged through the crowd, gnawing her lower lip and coming to terms with the fact that she should probably tell Joey Preston to forget the whole thing. She’d already mentally composed her apology and blow-off when she found herself at Gate A12.

Joey was standing by the large windows, staring out at the row of grounded planes. Almost all the seats were taken so she walked over to him, steeling herself for the fake breakup with her fake boyfriend—the boyfriend she sorely wished she had all of a sudden.

Ridiculous. He’s a total stranger. And a republican. And uptight about things like pot, and he’s probably OCD about cleanliness too. A bad match all the way around.

She touched his shoulder. He turned, pinning her with the deep brown of his gaze. She swallowed, trying to regain her nerve and recall the words she’d composed not fifteen seconds ago in her head. His high cheekbones were flushed, and his jaw was clenched.

She lifted her chin, unwilling to give into the girlie urge to cry on his strong, firm chest again. She didn’t need a man, and she was sick of lying to her parents about her dating status. She had a great job in a city she loved and was learning the ropes of the business she wanted to conquer. End of story. No need for boyfriends, fake or otherwise.

When she opened her mouth to deliver the message, something along the lines of—“Well, this has been a blast, but I think you should go wherever it was you were headed when you got to the airport this morning”—he dropped his backpack to the floor, gripped both her arms and yanked her close, angling his lips over hers.

Paige tensed for about two seconds before she let go of her suitcase handle, let her shoulder bag slide off, and went up on her tiptoes so she could wrap her arms around his neck. He had a firm command of the kiss, which was something she loved in a man. There was no immediate thrust of an unwelcome tongue into her mouth, merely a soft, teasing touch of it, as it gently parted her lips.

They fit together as if they were indeed a couple and had plenty of practice at this. He didn’t grope at her, but slid his hands up and tugged out her ponytail, threading his fingers through her hair as it tumbled down around her shoulders. Paige’s entire chaotic universe slowed to a single pinprick, allowing her the perfection of this moment. She opened her lips slowly, letting him in, feeling a delicious meltdown beginning in her core and spreading downward, making her knees wobbly.

A few low wolf-whistles brought her crashing back to reality. She broke from his lips, with extreme reluctance, but kept herself up on her toes so she could look him in the eyes.

“What was that for?”

“Just wanna make sure we can fake this well enough to fool everyone,” he said, that sweet, wonderful grin setting her heart on fire all over again. His lips brushed hers, as if he, too, were reluctant to break the clinch.

“Get a room,” somebody muttered behind her.

“Should we?” she whispered, drowning in the deep pools of chocolate brown that were Joey Preston’s eyes.

“No time for that,” he said, letting go of her and stepping away, tugging the hem of his shirt down over his zipper, which made her
zing
from her scalp to the soles of her feet. Filled with the sort of wild compulsion that had forced her to move away from her stifling family in Kentucky to a strange city, not to mention made her form the words “I’m bringing my boyfriend” to her mother a few hours ago, she grabbed her suitcase handle and bag and said, “I know a place. Follow me.”

She marched away, her face hot, her ears ringing, and her panties damp. She wanted this man, and until they cleared the air with a quick hook-up, she was certain she wouldn’t be able to successfully go through with the farce all weekend long. Paige did a quick calculation in her head and discovered it had been a solid eight months since she’d had sex. No wonder she was so pent up.

Her last encounter had been a drunken quickie with a co-worker who, she suspected, was married. But she’d blown him off since their unspectacular moment and harbored no guilt over it. Paige liked to think of herself as a modern woman, the type who bought her own condoms and carried a few with her at all times, ready for any potential eventuality, unsentimentally meeting her body’s own need for a connection and a release, only to move on with her life afterward, like a guy would do.

But if she were honest with herself right now, this minute, she’d admit she wanted to kiss Joey Preston again and again. Not many men truly knew how to make a kiss into such an amazingly erotic experience. She shivered slightly with the recent memory of his touch. But when she stopped and looked behind her, he wasn’t there. A tickle of anger hit her brain.

What was his problem? She knew he wanted her, had read it in his eyes, and tasted it on his lips.

She took a few strides back toward the gate and spotted him still standing at the window, arms crossed, grin in place. She set her jaw, marched over and planted herself back in front of him. “Are you deaf?”

“Nope,” he said, his eyes twinkling as if amused at her obvious desperation to get him between her legs. “I don’t like quickies,” he said, taking a lock of her hair between his thumb and finger and rubbing it. “Especially not at airports. Sorry.”

“No, you’re not sorry. You’re just fucking with me.” She let her gaze wander down his chest and abs to his zipper, still covered by the T-shirt she’d snot-sobbed into earlier. He put a hand on her shoulder, then let his fingers trail down her biceps to her elbow, then her wrist before taking her hand and pressing her knuckles to his lips. She couldn’t stop the full-body shudder. He grinned into her hand.

“Maybe,” he murmured, turning her hand over and kissing her palm, then her wrist before letting her go. “Maybe I like foreplay.” He gripped her elbow and dragged her close, forcing her to feel the hard press of his erection against her lower stomach. He tilted her chin so she had to meet his gaze. Paige felt dizzy, almost nauseated with lust as he kissed her again. But he kept it short, and she found herself pressing her face into his chest, breathing deep, taking in the smell of laundry detergent that barely masked a raw, leathery, smoky odor of the skin under his shirt. He held her, pressing his lips to her hair, then let go and grabbed her bags.

“Let’s sit. I’ve got a deck of cards to pass the time.” She blinked, trying to deal with all the crazy thoughts and urges banging around inside her skull. He sat, parked her stuff at the end of the row of chairs, and pulled a tattered looking pack of playing cards from one of the many pockets of his backpack. He did an impressive one-handed shuffle, all the while grinning at her.

“Stop that,” she muttered, making her way over to him, conscious of all the eyes on them.

“Stop what?” he asked all innocent as he pulled her suitcase over to serve as a makeshift table between them.

“Stop smiling at me like that.” She flopped into the seat, conscious of the rainforest level dampness between her legs and a sudden wash of exhaustion that made her close her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them and turned to look at him, he was still smiling, which, like a yawn, was instantly contagious. She grinned and whacked his shoulder. “God, you’re too cute for your own good, you know it?”

“I’ve been told that,” he said, dealing out a few cards and putting the deck down. “So, something tells me I know the answer to this, but . . . do you know how to play poker?” He picked up his cards and started rearranging them.

“Huh, as a matter of fact, I just learned how a few weeks ago.” She picked up her hand and studied it.

After she an hour spent taking him for almost seventy-five bucks, he threw his cards down and glared at her. “You are such a liar,” he said, crossing his arms and flopping back into his seat.

“Yeah, but you knew that already,” she said lightly, picking up the cards and treating him to her best wide-eyed innocent look. “Right, boyfriend?” She fluttered her lashes and executed her own one-handed shuffle.

He shook his head and chuckled. She joined him, and after a few seconds, they were both laughing so hard neither of them could catch a breath.

“Whew,” she said, waving her hands in front of her face, her chest hitching with amusement at him, at herself, at this whole bizarre, fateful day. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her over to him before planting an utterly toe-curling kiss on her without a word.

She broke it, breathing heavily, ready to climb on and straddle him in front of God and everybody at that moment.

“You sure you don’t wanna follow me to that place I know? I mean, a quickie could be just the beginning, you know.”

He frowned. She pulled his plump lower lip into her mouth, wanting him so badly it was an actual physical ache in her bones. She let his lip go after biting down on it, gently but hoping it sent her message. She heard a low sound coming from him, a near animal growl down in his throat. He cupped her cheek with his warm hand and pressed his forehead to hers.

“No,” he whispered. “But thanks.”

“What is wrong with you,” she said, raising her voice, no longer caring who heard them. “You can’t tell me you don’t want—”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh,” he said, his eyes shining. “I do want you, Paige. But I’m not gonna fuck you in some random airport bathroom, okay?”

“But—”

“No more discussion,” he said firmly.

She broke away from him and sat, pouting and staring out the large window at the grounded planes. He put the playing cards away and took her hand. She tried to pull away, but he placed something in her palm, then let her go. She stared down at the folded twenties and tried not to scream. Paige wasn’t used to men denying her. The men she’d had sex with had done so willingly and with zero begging on her part. She didn’t like this feeling—the itchy, twitchy, edge-of-something nervousness that made her want to break things.

She glanced over to see that he’d grabbed a Detroit Tigers cap from somewhere and had it tilted over his closed eyes. His long-fingered hands were laced together over his chest, which rose and fell in a slow rhythm. She frowned and studied him from head to stretched-out boot-covered toes, shocked when she discovered her mouth was watering.

“What kind of a normal person can just fall asleep like that?” she muttered, digging around in her messy bag for her e-reader before discovering the battery was dead. “Fuck,” she spat out, tossing it back into the chaos. Her fingers closed around a magazine. She spent the next hour pretending to read articles about sports stars but was really drinking in the sleeping, peaceful, gorgeous Joey Preston, before their flight was finally called.

Once the boarding doors were opened, she nudged his knee. He snorted and tugged the cap down further.

“He’s a keeper, honey,” a familiar voice said. She looked up to find the old couple from the burger place standing in front of her. The woman was smiling. The man had his arm around her shoulders but was studying their boarding passes. “Don’t let this one get away.” The woman patted her shoulder and moved past her.

Feeling frumpy, pissed off, and annoyingly damp between her legs, Paige rose and stretched out the kinks in her lower back. She turned and saw that Joey was still snoozing away despite all the noise around him. Without taking the time to ponder it, she put one hand on the armrest of his seat and lifted the cap off his head. His dark blond, short cut hair was soft under her fingers. She let herself touch it, then moved her fingertips down his temple to his lightly stubbled jaw.

He opened his eyes. She smiled and pecked his cheek, then his lips. “Welcome back, sleeping beauty. Ready to head down to crazy-town?”

He grinned.

“I told you to stop that,” she said with a fake frown.

He covered his lips with his hands. She stood up, noting that his eyes darkened as his gaze traveled down her front. She put one hand on her hip, sticking it out in a flirty, overblown way.

“Like what you see, soldier?”

He blinked fast, then leaned forward and grabbed his pack before getting to his feet. She stepped back, suddenly unsure about this whole thing. At that moment, she was having a tough time separating her body’s need for him from her brain’s need to keep him at arm’s length—in order not to involve her heart. Which pounded faster and louder as she watched him yawn and stretch, then grab her suitcase handle.

“I do like what I see, Paige. But I’m not a soldier anymore. Don’t forget that.”