by Kira Archer
“Yes, she is,” Oz agreed, picking his nephew up again and giving him a big kiss. Tyler squealed with laughter and tried to squirm away but Oz kept a firm hold on him.
“Fly me, Uncle Oz!”
Oz laughed. “You’re getting too big to be an airplane,” he said, but he hefted him higher, anyway. He was going to miss the little rascal.
Lena frowned. “Do you want us to wait with you?”
Oz knew the tone of her voice. She didn’t want to leave him alone, but the thought of keeping Tyler contained in a busy airport was enough to induce a panic attack in the strongest of mothers.
“No, you guys can go on home. It might take a while.”
“Okay,” she said, not bothering to hide her relief. “But you call the second you land.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She mock glared at him and he laughed. “All right, Tyler,” she said. “Give Uncle Oz a hug goodbye.”
Oz said his goodbyes, hoping like hell he’d come home with good news. He was tired of working three jobs just to make sure ends did more than just barely meet. And if he could support everyone doing something he loved, life would be pretty damn good. The desk editor job was a long shot. But it was one he had to take.
Maybe he’d get lucky for once in his life.
Chapter Two
Cherice switched her carry-on to her other shoulder so she could dig in her Louis Vuitton for some lip gloss. The line was moving very, very slowly. With every step she shuffled forward, her concern doubled. If she didn’t have high blood pressure by the time she got out of here it would be a miracle. Crap, crap, crap.
Every few minutes someone’s deep, baritone laugh would ring out, rippling through Cherice in waves of warmth and good naturedness. Really, who was in that good a mood stuck in an interminable line at the airport? And could he please share whatever he was on, because she could use a healthy dose of it.
The sound of a child laughing drew her attention to a small family a few feet away. The father, a ridiculously handsome man who could have graced the cover of GQ…well, maybe Popular Mechanics, she amended, taking in his worn jeans and scuffed boots, was holding a curly-haired blond boy in the air above his head. The boy shrieked in delight, kicking his legs, while his mother looked on with a beaming smile.
The man snuggled the boy in his arms for a moment, giving him a loud kiss on the cheek before handing him back to his mother. She wrapped her free arm around the man’s waist and hugged him, patting him on the chest with an encouraging expression. Pep talk? Maybe the guy was afraid of flying. Though Cherice didn’t see how anyone with the rock hard biceps of a Greek god could be afraid of anything.
The man gathered his family in his arms, giving them a lingering hug, and for a brief moment Cherice wished she were the one wrapped in that embrace instead of the bubbly-looking little blonde he was holding. Cherice tore her gaze away from the tender family moment, almost squirming in shame for ogling a married man. No matter how drool-worthy he was.
Another security guard opened up a second line and things finally started moving. The chiseled and very unavailable hunk got into line a few people behind her and struck up a conversation with whoever was next to him. Friendly, wasn’t he? Cherice looked down at her phone and sucked in a panicked breath. Her flight! She closed her eyes and sent up another quick prayer since the first one didn’t seem to have worked. If she missed that flight, she was toast.
Finally, she was a few people back from the checkpoint. She slipped off her shoes, and juggled them with her phone and id. As soon as she was close to the little trays on the conveyor belt she dumped everything in, pushing them as far ahead as she could get them. Maybe it would make the people in front of her hurry up. She was down to fifteen minutes until her flight departed.
She hefted her suitcase onto the conveyor and shoved it through the plastic square. Well, partly. Halfway through, the suitcase got wedged. Cherice shoved on the bag, trying to squish everything down so it would fit.
Finally, it popped through, nearly sucking Cherice in with it. Relief flooded her. Her mother always said to never check any luggage if you were flying commercial. You never know who could riffle through it on the way or if it would make it to your destination at all. Cherice shoved the rest of her belongings through the square and hurried through the metal detector, nearly swearing aloud when the damn thing beeped. A female guard pulled her to the side and asked her to empty all her pockets, while the people in line behind her sailed through without any problems.
“There’s nothing in my pockets. It was probably just my jewelry,” she said, removing the gold chain and bracelets. She’d give the damn things to her if the woman would just let her leave. “I didn’t think it was enough metal to set the detector off.”
“Sorry, ma’am, but we have to perform a search if the alarm is triggered.”
“Is that really necessary? I’m going to miss my flight. I’m sure it was just my necklace.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Just step over here please.”
Cherice stood rigid while the woman wanded her. She was quick, methodical, and totally professional, but Cherice was late and getting more so, by the second.
As soon as it was determined that Cherice was not, in fact, smuggling a weapon of mass destruction in her lacy underwire, she marched back to the screening area to retrieve her suitcase and handbag. Where yet another job-conscious security guard in plastic gloves was standing over it like a guard dog.
“I’ll need to search through your bag,” he informed her.
“Is that necessary?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry. Do you have anything sharp or liquid in here?”
“No. Not really. Just some lotion I think.”
He riffled through her bag, pulling out a few items as he went through it.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but these items aren’t allowed on board,” the guard said, gesturing to a growing pile of her belongings.
It had to be some kind of weird conspiracy. “It’s just some hand sanitizer and fingernail clippers. I assure you I have no intentions of using those for anything other than nail care,” she said, trying for a playful smile. “Wait. Why isn’t the lotion allowed?”
“I’m just doing my job, ma’am.”
“I know, and I appreciate that. I don’t mean to be a pain, but really? I can’t very well moisturize anyone to death.”
He ignored that remark. “Anything over three ounces isn’t allowed. Any other liquid items should be stored in a clear plastic baggie. Do you have any items in your suitcase that might be a problem?”
She didn’t want to answer that but they’d already scanned her suitcase and were opening it, so she nodded. “My shampoo and face wash. Some perfume.”
He nodded and looked at his fellow guard who was already removing the items.
“Okay, the rest is fine.”
Cherice focused on taking deep breaths and swallowing the snippy remarks that she couldn’t help thinking. She was seconds from missing her flight and this had just gone beyond ridiculous. If she missed that plane, she’d never hear the end of it. Her parents had wanted her to come out a full week before her sister’s wedding, but the prospect of facing that much time being constantly reminded of what a huge disappointment she was had been too much to consider. She’d insisted she was too busy and flying in the day before would be more than enough time.
Just the thought of hearing her mother’s smug I told you so was enough to make her skin crawl. She wanted to scream but the poor man clumsily shoving her jewelry and belongings back in her bag wasn’t at fault. She counted to five. Ten. It was her own damn fault she’d gotten there late and not checked the airline’s website for the rules. She wasn’t going to take her frustrations out on him.
He handed her phone back to her but in her haste to get moving again she grabbed for it too quickly, succeeding in knocking the thing from his hand. It landed neatly against the shoe of the man who’d just come through the metal detector.
The man from the sweet little family gathering she’d noticed before.
He bent down and picked it up, handing it to her with a smile that would have struck her speechless under normal circumstances. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t wrestle up a coherent thought at that moment if he paid her to.
“I think you dropped this,” he said, his deep voice sliding through her like warm honey. He grinned at her again. “Everything all right, miss?”
Well, my, my. Rhett Butler to the rescue.
The faint Southern accent that tinted his speech did interesting things to parts of her that had no business being charmed by a married man. But it was kind of hard to ignore. She’d always been a huge fan of southern gentlemen, part of the reason she’d picked North Carolina when making her escape from her mother’s clutches.
She gave him a careful smile. Grateful, but not interested. She didn’t want him to mistake gratitude for flirting. He exuded strength, good will, and all around happiness. And that was just wrong. How in the hell could anyone have stood in that line for the last hour and gone through the privacy invasion brigade and still be in a good mood? It was totally unfair. He was probably a morning person, too.
He had managed to distract her from her rapidly disintegrating mood, though. And the fact that he’d called her miss and not ma’am like she was some eighty-year-old biddy won him some serious brownie points.
Those sparkling blue eyes of his were still smiling into hers and she looked away. He handed the purse to her and led her away from the congested security area to where she could actually take a few deep breaths.
“I’m fine,” she said. “As good as anyone can expect to be, I suppose, when some stranger they don’t even know just got to third base in front of a whole line of people.”
He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that reverberated in her chest.
“Ah, they were just doing their jobs. You’re good now?”
She nodded.
“All right, then. You have a good flight,” he said, another flash of his pearly whites sending a tingle through her.
She fidgeted with the strap of her bag, vaguely ashamed of her reaction to him. He’s married! And definitely not the type of man who would fit in at her parents’ country club.
Just the fact she’d thought that made her cringe. Those were her mother’s issues running through her head. Not hers. Still, he was off-limits in every possible way. He didn’t wear a ring, which was odd. But then, some men didn’t. He looked like he worked with his hands. Maybe he couldn’t wear a ring for work reasons.
“Thanks,” she managed, mustering up a smile.
He nodded with another smile and turned to jog off toward his gate.
Shit! Her flight. She dropped her heels, slipped them on, and took off as fast as she could without actually running. Panic rushed through her and a lifetime of her mother’s exhortations for “proper decorum at all times” flew out the window. Cherice slung her bag over her shoulder and hauled ass.
She rounded a corner and passed a woman who had just dropped her bag. The woman had to have been in her eighties and was trying to juggle a rolling suitcase, a carry-on bag, and a purse. The contents of the purse were currently rolling in several directions.
Cherice stopped and went down on her knees to help scoop up the items.
“Oh, thank you, young lady.”
“My pleasure,” Cherice said, gathering the rest of it up.
“I’m in too big a hurry. My granddaughter is getting married this weekend. I haven’t seen her much since she grew up and went off to school. I must be a little excited.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Cherice said.
It must be nice to actually want to see your family. She shook that thought off and finished cramming everything back in the woman’s purse. The woman’s carry-on looked half empty. Cherice got the rolling suitcase upright and then asked, “May I?” holding up the purse.
The woman looked confused, but nodded. Cherice opened the carry-on and shoved the purse inside and then draped it so it sat on the suitcase with the straps over the handle.
“It should be a little easier to manage this way.”
“Oh, thank you, dear!” The woman patted her cheek. “I better go find my gate.”
“Oh crap,” Cherice muttered. “I’ve got to run. It was nice to meet you!” she called over her shoulder.
She didn’t dare look at her watch. She just ran for her gate like the walking dead were snapping at her heels.
Chapter Three
Oz had turned when he’d heard the old woman exclaim over her spilled luggage, but before he could go back to help, the attractive woman from the metal detector was already stooping to gather up the grandma’s belongings. He didn’t know why that surprised him so much. He didn’t even know the woman. She could be Mother Theresa for all he knew. But she certainly didn’t come across that way. Yet there she was, helping a little old lady and having a grand time chatting while she was doing it from all appearances, despite being late for her plane.
Shit! The plane. Assured that no one needed his help, he jogged to the gate, but shouldn’t have bothered. By the time he got to the gate, it was nearly deserted. The plane still sat there, but the doors were closed.
There had to be a way onto that plane. He sauntered over to the check-in podium and plastered on his most charming smile. He glanced at the attendant’s name tag.
“Becky? That’s a great name. My favorite aunt is named Becky.”
Becky’s cheeks flushed and she smiled shyly, not quite meeting his gaze.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“I sure hope so. I’m supposed to be on that plane right there,” he said, gesturing to where it still sat at the gate. “I know I’m a few seconds late, but the lines were killer. Is there any way I can go ahead and board? I’ve got my boarding pass and everything all ready.”
Becky’s smile faded around the edges. “I’m sorry, sir. But once the doors have closed we can’t allow any more passengers on board.”
Oz’s shoulders slumped but he wasn’t done trying yet. “Is it possible to make an exception just this once? I really have to get to New York. I can’t miss this flight.”
“I’m really sorry, sir, but as I just said, once the doors are closed, they can’t be opened again. Security rules.”
“Ah, I don’t look like a threat to national security, do I?” he asked, flirting so hard he was nearly batting his damn eyelashes. “I really need to make this flight. Isn’t there something you can do? I mean, the plane is still just sitting there…surely someone as sweet as you could…”
“Excuse me, I’m sorry.” The woman who’d been helping the little old lady elbowed her way around him. “I’m sorry,” she said again to him. “Do you mind if I butt in real quick?”
Oz opened his mouth but she didn’t wait for his response. “Hi, Becky?” She gave Becky a sugary sweet smile that didn’t quite reach all the way to her eyes. “Look, I absolutely cannot miss this flight. My sister is getting married tomorrow. The rehearsal dinner is tonight. My mother has invited half the city. If I’m not there she will, very literally, kill me. Are you sure there’s nothing you can do? Maybe there is a supervisor or someone who can help work this out…”
Becky shook her head. “My supervisor won’t be able to tell you anything different, ma’am. Once the gates are closed they do not open again. For anyone.”
The radio buzzed and Becky held up a finger like she was putting the other woman on mute and answered it.
His mystery woman’s jaw dropped at the rude dismissal and she sucked in some deep breaths, probably against the urge to scream if the look on her face was any indication. But the movement also forced a pair of very nicely rounded breasts against the thin silk of her blouse. They drew Oz’s gaze like an open can of soda drew bees. In fact, everything about her was very nicely rounded. Her well-tailored slacks revealed gently curving hips and a backside that just begged for attention.
Good God
, he needed a date. Come to think of it…how long had it been? He couldn’t even remember, which meant it had been far too long. No wonder he was drooling over some strange woman when he should be stressing over his flight. Of course, fixing his attention on her was far more pleasant than thinking about what would happen if he didn’t make his interview. So fix it he would. No matter how stuck up she might be, and her rescue of the little old lady a few minutes before seemed to throw a small wrench in that assumption, she was certainly fine to look at.
Of course, she chose that moment to glance over at him and he turned his head so she wouldn’t catch him smiling. The quick narrowing of her eyes, however, told him he hadn’t been quick enough.
Becky put the radio down and sighed. “It looks like the passengers have to deplane anyway. The flight has been grounded.”
“What? Why?” the woman asked, going back to ignoring him completely.
“Due to the weather conditions in New York, La Guardia is experiencing extreme delays. All the flights are being rerouted. Newark and JFK are also affected. I believe there is a hurricane warning in effect. Must be what’s causing our little storm here, too.”
“When will the flights be running again?”
“I’m not sure, ma’am. Right now, we’ve been told it will most likely be tomorrow morning.”
“What?”
She drew a breath to argue more, but Oz caught the commotion coming from the gate and pointed to the doors. “Here they come.”
Passengers started streaming out of the gate doors and scattering through the airport. A great many of them took up positions in line behind them. Becky paled and Oz could nearly see her pulling up her big girl panties to deal with the shit storm behind her.
But the woman next to him looked like she was about to cause another one. Oz jumped in before the shit could really hit the proverbial fan. “I think we are both anxious to get to New York today. Is there any possible way we’re getting out of here?”
