The Omega Team: Love: Classified (Kindle Worlds Novella) (5 page)

“Calm down, Paige. It’s gonna be all right.”

“Would you . . . I mean, could you kiss me again, right now? Like you did—”

He slanted his lips over hers, shutting her up and bringing a sort of peace to his rattled psyche that he required, lest he spin out into the universe like an untethered satellite. She parted her lips and her thighs at the same time. As he penetrated her mouth with his tongue, slowly but surely, tasting as much of her as could, he slid his hand up to her panties. She grabbed his shoulders as if encouraging him to breach the console barrier and take her, right there in some strange driveway with the top down.

Everything in Joey was screaming at him to stop, to wait, not to touch her pussy, no matter how badly he wanted to right then. This was too much like the sort of sexual encounter he claimed not to like.

Then why did it feel so fucking good
, he wondered, as his finger found its way inside her panties, making him groan into her mouth as the warm, wet flesh met his touch.

She shifted forward and spread her legs, giving him more access as he deepened the kiss and got serious with it, his zipper about to explode with the pressure of his raging hard-on behind it. He broke from her lips when he discovered her clit, already plump and ready for him.

Watching her eyes, he stroked it, loving the way her hips moved, thrusting forward into his hand as he lowered his lips to her sweaty neck, then the tops of her half-exposed breasts. Her nipples strained against the fabric of the dress, making him want to blow in his jeans at the concept that she hadn’t even bothered with a bra.

Here he was, Mister Romance, Joey Preston, fingering a girl—a total stranger for the most part, and an annoying one—in some driveway in a small town in Kentucky, and loving every hot, breathless, sweaty minute of it.

“Come for me,” he rasped as she slipped one of the thin straps of the dress off her shoulder and released one small, firm, hard-nippled breast into the evening air. “Oh God, Paige,” he moaned as he leaned forward and took that nipple into his mouth, sucking gently at first until realizing that her hips were now moving faster.

“Oh, Jesus, yes,” she squeaked, digging her fingertips into his biceps as he stroked faster. “More,” she gasped. “Harder. Inside . . . Oh God!”

Joey smiled into her breast then latched on hard as he slid two fingers into the warm, velvet grip of her pussy, keeping his thumb pressed against her clit. She came in a glorious pulse of energy around his fingers, a soft gush of fluid on his hand, and with a loud cry that made him pull his fingers out of her and sit back, gasping, staring around them. He was sort of glad he’d done that because it gave him a full view of her, her legs spread wide, her skirt hiked up, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the armrests, and that hair . . . dear Jesus, he loved that hair.

Her breathing calmed as he watched, willing his dick to soften so he could perhaps walk, talk and function for the next few hours. She heaved a huge sigh and stretched like a cat on a windowsill.

“Better?” he asked, feeling a tad pissed off that he had to wait, but knowing there was no way in hell he’d go any further with her like this, without the four walls and shut door of his hotel room around them.

“Very,” she answered, looking up at him from under her thick, dark lashes. “So nice,” she purred as she leaned over and stroked his dick through his jeans. “My turn,” she said, as she slid his zipper down.

“No,” he said, putting his hand over hers. “You’re late, remember?” With every ounce of self-control he possessed, Joey pressed her back into her seat and reassembled himself.

“You’re a prude,” she said as she wiggled out of her panties and held them up. “Look what you did to me, you bad, bad boyfriend.” He grabbed the soaking wet scrap of silk and heaved them into a row of shrubbery at the foot of the driveway.

“I’m not a prude. And you’re welcome, by the way.” He turned the key in the ignition with a shaking hand. “For the make-up orgasm. It’s what couples do after a fight, or so I hear.”

She leaned over the console into the backseat, making his head spin at the proximity of her pussy to his face. He closed his eyes, waiting until she found a fresh pair of underwear and flopped back into the seat.

“Okay, you’re not a prude. And that was a lovely make-up orgasm. Thank you.” She pulled the panties up her legs, then crossed them and put her sunglasses back on. “Let’s go then. We’re late, remember?” She slid the Raybans down her nose and shot him a look that melted what small remaining bit of reserve he owned.

“You’re a mess,” he said, pulling her hair back and trying not to kiss her again. “Fix your hair so you don’t look like we just made out in the driveway like a pair of teenagers.” She grinned and grabbed the hand he’d had inside her, putting his fingers in her mouth and sucking hard. “Jesus, Paige. Cut it out, or we’ll have to skip this whole thing and go straight to the nearest hotel.”

She grinned broadly now. “That sounds way better. Let’s do that instead.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” he said, pulling his fingers out of her mouth and giving her a fake punch to her bare shoulder. “Nice try, though.”

As he backed out onto the still deserted road, he admired her flushed profile as she fixed her hair. “I will need to find a place, you know, for me to stay.”

She shot him an arch look. “Don’t be silly, boyfriend. You’ll be staying at Casa DiFerrari. We have, like, six bedrooms in our house. Don’t worry. You’ll be made to feel very welcome, especially once my mama gets a load of your extreme cute factor.” She put her hand over his still achingly hard boner. He winced and pushed her hand away.

“Well then, you’d better wrap your pretty head around the fact that we won’t be consummating our whatever the hell this is between us. I am not gonna have sex with your father sleeping down the hall. No way. No how. I did way too much sneaking around girls’ parents as a teenager, and now I’m grown up and can afford a decent hotel.”

“You are so damn cute,” she said, leaning over and kissing his cheek, then his neck, before placing her hand firmly back where it had been a few seconds before. “And you won’t be able to resist me this weekend. I promise you that.”

He snorted and drove, making himself ignore her, and her murmuring and stroking, unwilling to admit that she was probably one hundred percent right.

“Here we are,” she said and withdrew to her seat as he turned onto a side street in a more populated area. The houses looked newer, circa 1980s most likely, and were closer together. “Better park back here,” she said, indicating the long line of cars on the street. He did, and then raised the car’s roof, securing it in place before walking around to her side. As he opened the door, he caught sight of the long, bare line of her leg, ending in the sky-high wedge heels. Her toenails were painted a bright, candy-worthy pink.

“What’s that?” he questioned, touching a scar that ran down her right kneecap.

“That’s what kept me from playing soccer after my junior year,” she responded tersely, brushing his hand off her leg and getting out. Joey sensed the anxiety pouring off her like visible heat waves. He shut the door and grabbed her before she could move past him. “What?” She tried to sidestep him. “Don’t, Joey. Please.”

But he held onto her, pressed her up against the warm car door and kissed her slowly, softly, gently, trying to share his own innate calm with her through osmosis. When he ended the kiss, she was breathing slowly again. Her eyes shone with the sort of happy mischief he’d first fallen for—this morning? Dear God, had he only known this amazing creature for a day?

She smiled and touched his lips. “I hope you’re ready for the onslaught, boyfriend.”

He kissed her fingertip, then the dip of skin where her collarbones joined at the base of her neck. She shivered and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You are really taking this whole farce pretty damn seriously,” she whispered.

Something about that made him stop and pull away from her.

A farce.

That’s right. That’s what this was. A big, fat, fake boyfriend weekend for her parents’ sake.

“What?” she asked him.

“Nothing,” he said, putting a firm choke hold on his looming emotions. “Let’s get this farce on the road, shall we?” He extended his elbow. She took it, and they made their way down the street toward the noise at the biggest house, situated in the cul-de-sac end of the road. At one point, Paige froze. She clutched at his arm.

“Let’s not, okay? I mean . . . I don’t know if I can . . .”

“Don’t be silly, Paige.” Joey patted her arm. “If anyone can pull off this farce, it’s you.”

Paige had the distinct sensation of shoving her foot even farther down her own throat every time she opened her mouth with Joey. She’d have given anything to ponder this, to discuss it with him, to explain why she kept deflecting him and reminding him that this whole weekend was a giant lie. As they approached the noise emanating from the backyard of her childhood home, she slowed, then stopped. Not on purpose—her feet simply wouldn’t carry her any closer.

“What’s wrong?” Joey asked. She tried to answer him, but her tongue felt stuck to the roof of her mouth. He was so—damn—cute. And hot. And good with his fingers. She could hardly believe she’d only known him half a day.

Paige put her hands on her hips and looked up at the almost painfully bright blue summer sky. Joey waited patiently, looking so at ease, so comfy in his skin at this strange-to-him location, it infuriated her. And made her want to grab him and make a mad dash back to the airport.

A loud, happy-sounding screech from the festivities hit her ears. She recognized it as coming from Angelique Love, her sister’s BFF from high school. It affirmed the fact that there truly was no escape.

“Nothing. Let’s get this over with.” She squared her shoulders, ignored the lingering tingly sensation between her legs and ears, thanks to Joey’s earlier efforts, and marched toward the backyard.

Joey caught up with her and slipped his hand into hers as they turned the corner of the house and faced the crowd. It took about ten seconds for her mother to discover her presence.

“Oh honey, look,” the woman yelped, grabbing Paige’s father and making her somewhat wobbly way across the lawn. “It’s Paige!”

“Oh boy,” she muttered under her breath as she plastered on a smile and gripped Joey’s hand tighter. “Here we go.”

“You know, I think you’re building this up to be worse than it actually is,” he whispered.

She looked at him, then shook her head and let go of his hand. He draped his arm around her shoulders and put his lips near her ear. “Relax, DiFerrari. It’s only family.”

She shut her eyes. “Paige,” her mother drawled. “Finally. What a relief! I’m so happy you’re all right.” Her mother yanked her into a bony-armed hug then passed her over to her father. Both of her parents reeked of booze and stress.

Good to know some things never changed.

“And who is this fine looking young man?” her mother crooned as her father released her.

“Mom, Dad, this is Joey,” she announced, reassembling her ponytail. “We’re . . .”

“We’re engaged,” Joey blurted out.             

Paige’s mouth dropped open. He gave her mother his biggest, sweetest smile even as her father made a rumbling, disapproving noise.

“Uh, what?” she finally managed to splutter.

Joey dropped to one knee in the grass. Her mother shrieked with delight. Her father’s frown deepened. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Leslie and Angelique running toward their little tableau at the edge of the party.

“Pay-age!” Her sister turned her name into two syllables and a decibel above their mother’s drawn out squealing. Paige closed her eyes and let Joey take her hand. Then she was engulfed in hugs, perfume and booze, and a sort of sick familiarity she had forgotten how much she hated.

As she got dragged away by her sister and friends, she craned her neck over the tops of their heads to beg Joey to rescue her. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was accepting a beer from her father—who was smiling now and introducing him to Leslie’s fiancé, even as her mother twittered and hovered around him like a tiny, irritating bird.

“So, spill it,” Les demanded as she plunked a bottle of wine on the table in the middle of them all. “Details. All of them. He is amazeballs, Paige. How did you keep him a secret so long?”

Paige sighed and downed her first glass of Chardonnay in two gulps. Angelique refilled it with a nudge to Leslie’s arm. She smiled weakly at the two of them and took in that the party must be on the downslope by now. The food table looked decimated. A loud game of touch football was going on behind the tent. Some men were shooting hoops in the driveway. Groups of women her mother’s age were fanning themselves and getting steadily drunker.

“How is your mama?” she asked Angelique. The girl’s dark eyes flashed. “I heard.” She patted Angelique’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, she’s fighting it with everything she’s got. You know Lindsay Love. A little ole cancer isn’t gonna defeat her. She has way too much interfering to do and future grandbabies to spoil.”

Leslie gave her friend a quick squeeze. Angelique shook her head. Paige knew how fractious the girl’s relationship was with her mother—a woman who doted on her four sons.

“Hey, Paige,” a familiar voice called out from behind her. She glanced up in time to see the Love brother she’d gone to school with come up behind her and pull her ponytail. “Good to see ya, ugly.”

Dominic Love was the black sheep in the rambunctious group of brothers, and the one she identified with the most. She jumped up and gave him a big hug. She’d never made the mistake of falling for him, even though they had hooked up a few times their senior year.

He held onto her, and then gave her an ostentatious kiss on the lips before releasing her. His dark eyes seemed flat despite his enthusiastic greeting. “Taking your meds, right?” she asked, her hands on her hips.

He rolled his eyes and smacked her ass, then wandered off without answering. She glanced at Angelique and caught the girl staring after her brother.

Paige sighed and flopped back in her seat. She picked up her refilled wine glass and held it up. “Here’s to you, Leslie. Here’s to your weekend and your dream wedding.”

Leslie smiled and chose, Paige knew, to ignore the tone of her voice and clinked her glass. Angelique did the same. “So,” Paige said, after sucking back half the bolus of alcohol. “What’re my duties as maid of honor, anyway?”

Angelique and Leslie exchanged a glance. Paige felt her face heating up.

“Um, hon, since you never actually attended any of the planning weekends I invited you to—”

“Uh, hello? I was working?” Paige sipped, not willing to accept that she was mad over such a stupid thing.

“Anyway,” Leslie said, patting her hand, calm, cool, and collected as usual. “Angel’s my maid of honor, so you don’t have to do anything but show up at the brunch on time with that hot hunk of a fiancé, and make sure your dress actually fits. You know, since you never came home to try it on and all.”

Paige rose, fury filling her as she stared down at her always-better-at-everything little sister. The little blonde girl who’d been the apple of her mother’s eye, the pretty one to her smart one, the girl she loved and hated with equal measure in ways she couldn’t even explain to herself.

“Now don’t be that way,” Leslie insisted, sipping her wine. Her Mister Perfect Banker Hubby appeared as if sensing her stress. She leaned back into him when he put his hands on her shoulders.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of making a scene over something that I don’t really care about. Don’t worry. Hi, Robbie,” she said, acknowledging her future brother-in-law.

“Good to see you made it, Paige,” he said, his handsome face neutral.

“God, what part of ‘it was the fog’ don’t you people believe?” She stomped her foot, then winced at her own childishness. That was the thing about coming home, she mused. It always had the power to send her spiraling backward into her childhood, plunking her straight into old behaviors and bullshit. “Never mind. I don’t care.” She looked around for Joey, willing him at her side.

“I need to go find . . .” She backed away from the table, the sight of her sister and her wonderful future life represented by her amazing future husband making Paige’s throat close up with jealousy.

Leslie waved her away and leaned over to say something to Angelique. They both glanced at her with expressions that were both familiar and depressing.

Paige sighed and turned away, clutching her wine glass, her vision blurry. She swiped at her eyes. “I fucking hate it here,” she said under her breath as she wandered over to a table full of Love brothers and her very own fake fiancé. She put a hand on Joey’s shoulder. Without looking at her, he leaned over and kissed her knuckles in the sort of practiced way of long-time couples.

“Hey, we like this one, Paige,” Dom said, slapping Joey on the shoulder. “Nice choice.”

“Yeah, thanks,” she said, then emptied her wine glass again.

“Seriously,” Kieran Love, the tall, red-headed former NBA star said to her. She’d always thought Kieran was the sweetest of all the pack of brothers, each of whom could turn on the charm like a light switch most days. “Where’d you find him?”

She kept her grin plastered on her face, realizing they hadn’t actually concocted a meeting story.

“Online dating service. Paige here has a soldier fetish,” Joey said, grabbing her hand and yanking her around so she had no choice but to sit on his lap.

The Love brothers hooted with laughter. “That’s a new one,” Dom said, giving her butt an inappropriate pinch as she struggled to disentangle herself. But Joey kept a grip on her. When she glared at him, he laid an embarrassingly long kiss on her, bringing on wolf whistles and cat calls.

“Are you drunk?” she said, pressing her hands against his firm chest.

“With love,” he responded, his dark eyes twinkling, his grin making her melt in spite of her embarrassment.

“On that note,” Kieran said, unfolding his long, lanky form and stretching. “Gotta bolt. Mama’s looking tired. We should get her home.”

“I am really sorry about her,” Paige said, reaching for his arm.

“She’ll pull through,” Kieran said looking less resolute about that fact than the words indicated. “You know Lindsay.”

Paige nodded. She did know Lindsay Love and had many times wished her own mother were so funny and down-to-earth. The thought of her reduced by breast cancer was simply one that wouldn’t compute. She got to her feet, not willing to look at Joey, even though she could sense him staring at her.

“Paige,” her mother hollered all the way across the tent. “Come on over here now and let’s talk about sleeping arrangements.”

“Oh Lord, here we go,” she muttered under her breath. She noted that Leslie, Robbie, and Angelique had disappeared. She took Joey’s hand.

But within thirty seconds, she realized that Joey Preston had her parents under some kind of a spell.

“Caroline,” he said, using her mother’s first name with a sort of familiarity that made Paige simultaneously happy and nervous. “I’m sure whatever arrangements you’ve made will be just fine.”

“Well, now, I know these are modern times and all, but I can’t condone you kids sleeping in the same room, not until . . . you know.” Paige’s mother made a point to look at her naked left-hand ring finger.

“Sir,” Joey said, turning to her father, his face serious. “I want to apologize to you.”

“Please, son, call me Al.” Paige rolled her eyes as Joey’s smile widened.

“Al, sir, I had every intention of asking your permission for your daughter’s hand this weekend, but I guess I just wasn’t able to control myself. I hope you understand and will give us your blessing.”

Paige’s ears began to hum as she watched her father and the man she had literally met this morning at the airport shake hands, and then engage in a brisk man-hug. Her mother snuck an arm around Paige’s waist.

“He is just the sweetest thing. I declare, I don’t know how you, of all people, attracted him.”

She jumped out of her mother’s reach. “Mama, I’ll swan, that’s just rude.”

“No, no, honey. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”

“I’m going inside,” Paige said to the happy group, suddenly so exhausted the concept of her pink, frilly, teenaged bedroom sounded like heaven. “Y’all carry on.” She brushed past Joey without acknowledging him.

Leslie and Robbie were necking in the kitchen as she passed on her way to the stairs, dragging the suitcase she’d been schlepping all day up the steps with her. With a sigh, she opened her bedroom door and flopped face down on the puffy, eyelet duvet cover, too tired to even cry.

At some point, her sister came in and sat beside her. “I’m sorry about the maid of honor thing, Paige,” she whispered, pushing dark curls off Paige’s face and kissing her cheek. Paige smelled toothpaste and a whiff of Robbie’s banker man cologne. Paige rolled onto her back.

“You know I don’t care, right?”

“I know,” Leslie said with a smile. “But seriously, that Joey? He’s a keeper.” Leslie stood up and smoothed her perfectly smooth hair. “Mama’s getting him set up down the hall. He and Daddy are bonding over cars. I don’t think he even noticed you left him alone with them.” Her sister shot her a strange look.

“Yeah, whatever.” Paige dragged herself up and into the bathroom, still festooned with the pink fluffy rugs and toilet seat cover of her youth. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and pulled off the limp sundress. A flash memory of Joey’s lips, his tongue, and fingers, and what they’d done to her earlier made her shiver.

“A keeper,” she whispered to herself before she grabbed a pair of old shorts and a T-shirt from her dresser, knowing her mother kept them there in some kind of ongoing fantasy that her oldest daughter would come home from the big city jungle up north.