Texas Stand-Off: The Omega Team Novella (Kindle Worlds Novella) (2 page)

His edict didn’t seem to require a reply, so she gave him none.

“What’s your background? What type of training have you had?”

His voice seemed tired. Taz didn’t know if it was just because he was frustrated with her presence or if something more was troubling him. Fortunately, she enjoyed a mystery. “My background is Russian. I have no formal training. My father was my teacher.”

This same meager amount of information Gray had shared told him volumes. She wasn’t qualified. “What gives Holden the idea you are Omega material? Do you have special talents that would make you worthy to be on the team? Do you shoot? Fight? Speak a dozen languages–what?”

“Yes.” She gave one answer to all of his questions. “Test me. I am well-rounded.”

“With pleasure.” He gave her a quick raking glance up and down. The woman wasn’t lying–she was well-rounded in several areas. Breasts. Hips. As he stared, Natasha Levin didn’t bat an eye. She certainly was a cool little cucumber. For a moment he wondered if she’d be cool in bed or a hot little wildcat. Stop. He didn’t need to know. “Tomorrow we begin. I’ll put you through your paces. Endurance. Combat readiness. Intelligence.” 

“I look forward to it,” she said simply. It was a shame this man was off limits to her, she found him to be very appealing. He stood, so she stood also.

“Grey didn’t give me much notice. In fact, I didn’t know you were coming until you were already here.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t seem like a man who’d like surprises. Too bad. She certainly intended to surprise him.

“So, I guess we’ll begin tomorrow at first light.”

“All right.” She stood there as if waiting for something, so he gave her a hard, questioning stare with one eyebrow raised. “Am I supposed to drive back to Austin, stay here in the house with you or sleep in my RV?”

There was that frown again. “Stay in your RV, I guess.”

He looked so lost and confused, Taz didn’t even bother to ask if he had hook-ups. She’d tackle those details with him tomorrow. For tonight, she’d make it. There was sufficient water in the tanks for a couple of nights, and she had food and an extra quilt. The only light she’d have was a battery powered lantern, but Taz had suffered worse. Much worse. “All right. Thank you.” She started to walk away, then stopped. “I can tell this isn’t your choice. You’re doing a favor for Mr. Holden. I just want you to know that I really want this job and I’ll be good at it. I appreciate you for giving me the chance.”

Deacon tried not to notice those big dark eyes or the completely feminine shape she just couldn’t hide. “Don’t thank me. You won’t make the cut. As far as I’m concerned, this is a total waste of my time.”

She gave him a curt nod. The man was entitled to his opinion. Her job was to prove him wrong.

*  *  *

Just knowing Natasha Levin was nearby worried Deacon down to a nub. He was used to being alone. He’d been alone since his wife walked out on him after he’d lost his leg. Alone was the way he liked it. If he needed sex, he had porn and an able right hand. Yet tonight, all he could do was lie here and imagine all of Levin’s soft curves beneath him as he…hell! Just knowing that sexy woman was under his roof was nearly driving him around the bend. Well, she wasn’t actually under his roof, he’d sent her back to her RV…

To her RV, which was parked in the garage. Without electricity. Did she have a generator? Or lights? Or running water? Dammit! He didn’t want to feel remorse or guilt. He sure as hell didn’t want to feel desire. “Of all the ridiculous…” He’d just gone to bed and now he couldn’t rest. Who the hell knew he still had a conscience?

Rising, he pulled on his prosthetic and his pants, then opened the nightstand to grab a flashlight. Padding across the hall, he walked down the stairs and out to the annex. With the push of a button, he entered the garage. Instantly a chill hit him. Damn, it was cold in here. All concrete, northern exposure, no heat. No wonder.

Switching on the flashlight, he shone it at the RV. Total darkness. She must be asleep. Should he wake her or leave his unwanted house guest where she was until morning? He hesitated, thinking, his inborn sense of decency getting the best of him. “Damn.” Going over to the door, he banged on it.

Bam! Bam!

The harsh sound woke Taz instantly. She levitated from her bunk, bumping her head on the railing, instinctively going for the gun she kept under her pillow. For a flash, she didn’t know where she was or what was happening. But only for a second… 

“Levin! Get out here!” her host bellowed. Knowing the work of the group she was auditioning for, Taz assumed something was wrong. In a rush, Taz rose from her cubby hole, ripping the top sheet from the narrow mattress. This was a second hand RV and she used the bigger bedroom for storage. Everything she had in the world was contained in this rattletrap. Holding the cotton material in front of her, she dashed to the front.

“Levin!”

Throwing the door open, she asked. “Yes? What’s wrong? How can I help?”

Deacon promptly forgot what he was going to say. When she’d arrived her hair had been pulled back in a tight ponytail. Now it hung in bouncy waves past her shoulders. The stark, albeit snug jeans and plain shirt were gone and a lot of touchable creamy skin was showing–shoulders, arms, the top swell of her breasts, the side of her hip. She held up a sheet, but it covered only the very bare necessities. Before he got a really good look or lost what was left of his mind, he lowered the light, leaving only her silhouette visible. Deacon had a great imagination. He had no trouble filling in the blanks and wishing he could check his answers. “It’s almost freezing! Where in hell are your pajamas?”

“I don’t wear pajamas,” she answered simply. “I prefer to sleep in the nude. I’m naturally hot.”

Deacon almost choked. Truer words had never been spoken. The woman was a knock-out. “Put on some clothes and get outta here.” He turned and began to walk back the way he’d come.

This woke Taz up the rest of the way. “Are we going on a mission?” Then, the obvious struck her like a brick. “You’re making me leave? Now?”

Deacon huffed out a resigned breath and called over his shoulder. “No, to both questions. I’m merely moving you up to the house. You can sleep in the second bedroom. I don’t call it a guest room because I don’t like guests. While you’re here, you can use it.”

Taz smiled. Now, this was headway. “Okay. Just a moment, please.”

“Well, hurry up. I don’t have all night.”

She could hear more grumbling outside. He was truly the grouchiest man she’d ever met. For a moment Taz wondered why. She’d had sorrows in losing her mother and father, suffered at the hands of a man intent only on hurting her, bore more fear than a small child should ever have to do. And yet, she’d managed to keep a positive outlook on life for the most part.

When she’d filled a small knapsack with everything she thought she’d need for the next day, Taz joined him at the door dressed only in a thigh length T-shirt, her temporary concession to nightwear. “I’m ready. Thank you.”

He didn’t speak, just grunted, leading the way. When they were upstairs, he pointed down the hall to the left. “First door on your right. Bathroom is across the hall. Don’t make a lot of noise. Breakfast is at six-thirty. Don’t be late.”

“Thank you. Goodnight, Mr. Jones.”

“Nothing good about it, Levin.”

*  *  *

Morning came early. Taz was excited. She beat Deacon downstairs and had breakfast waiting for him. When he joined her, he didn’t smile, just cut his eyes from her to the stove to the table.

“This is pretty presumptuous.”

Taz felt her heart sink. She’d wanted to gain a bit of ground with him. “I’m sorry. Try it, please. I promise it’s good.”

Again, her accent slipped. He grimaced. How could Holden trust her? Their unit had been betrayed by one of their own. The grenade that stole his leg was tossed by a kid, but at a traitor’s direction. A traitor who’d masqueraded as a friend. After being betrayed by his wife and a friend–no wonder he had trust issues.

She held his chair for him with a smile. If Taz thought it would work, she would try to influence him with her feminine wiles. Not that she had much, Sokolov had seen to that. Deacon Jones really was quite appealing. Pity he didn’t like women.

“Pass the salt,” he muttered, pulling his chair to the table at the same time she tried to scoot it up. What the hell was she doing? He felt like he was on a damn date and she’d done the asking. “Levin, I have a gun in my boot. If there’s poison in this food, I promise I’ll shoot you dead before my head falls in my plate.”

“There is no poison, and I have a weapon also.” Taking a seat across from him, Taz watched him solemnly. “If you try to harm me, I’ll protect myself.”

Deacon snorted. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. You’re not my type.”

“I know.”

She took her first bite, completely unfazed. Deacon frowned. He’d lied–there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with her as far as he could see.

They ate without exchanging another word. He looked at the coffee pot and she poured him a cup. She stared at the pepper and he passed it. He cleared his throat and she gave him the last of the bacon. Taz was pleased, they’d only been together a little while and they already had a system!

Once they were finished, she cleared the table as he put the dishes in the dishwasher. “Hand me the skillet, I think it’ll fit in the top rack.”

“Let me rinse it first.”

When she handed it to him, he noticed there was something wrong with her little finger. He didn’t get a really good look, but it was obvious she was missing half of it. “Accident?”

Natasha glanced at him. “What?”

“Your pinkie.”

“Pinkie?” She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry, I don’t know very much American slang.”

He wiggled his smallest digit at her. “Your little finger. Part of it is gone. Accident?”

She balled her fist up so her deformity was less evident. “No, he did it on purpose.” Finishing as quickly as she could, she wiped her hands.

Deacon was curious as to who would hurt someone so small and beautiful, but that was what happened when they let themselves be put into dangerous situations. He waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. It didn’t matter, he’d find out all he needed to know in the interview–if they got that far. “Did you bring running shoes?”

“Yes, I’ll have to go get them from the RV.”

“Do it quickly, then meet me out front.” He stood there, watching her leave, unable to prevent himself from staring at a very nice looking ass. While she was gone, he replaced his daily prosthetic leg with the more light-weight flexible model he used for exercise. At least with his connection to the military he had access to the best available. Deacon chose to conceal his handicap with long pants, socks and tennis shoes. There was no reason for Levin to know. He hoped Grey or Athena hadn’t revealed his secret. They knew how he felt about it.

When he was ready, he left the house, just taking time to check the perimeters of the property on the monitors and to grab his whistle. When he joined her, she was waiting patiently, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. Despite her attempt at taming the wild mass, a few delicate tendrils hung down her neck tempting him to kiss the soft skin they were caressing. The temptation made him uncomfortable. “Why don’t you cut all that hair off? Doesn’t it get in your way?”

“No, my father liked it. I don’t know if I’ll ever cut it,” she answered simply with no emotion on her face.

“If you say so.” Deacon grunted. “Let’s go.” He set off at a trot, leading her several hundred yards behind the house to where a steep path dropped down to the water. There were steps cut into the stone, almost perpendicular to the river bed. When he was building up his strength, he’d run this course over and over again. He liked to think of it as productive torture. “Let’s see how you run this for fifteen minutes. Anything less and you leave today.”

He expected an argument–but to his surprise, she merely nodded and set off. The first couple of times she made the run, she did it fairly slowly. He smirked. This would be over before he knew it, there was no way she’d last. He stood at the top and let his eyes follow the movements of her graceful body. But instead of slowing down, she hit her stride–and then she sped up. It was as if she’d adapted and was now letting muscle memory take over. Folding his arms over his chest, he watched her. She hadn’t worn shorts as he expected. Even in this weather, running could heat you up until you were ready to tear the clothes from your body. Natasha had chosen to don yoga pants and a long sleeve T-shirt which was now sticking to her body and molding a beautiful pair of high, round tits. He swallowed hard. Unlike him, her clothing was obviously not chosen to hide a defect in her body. To his discontent, Deacon noted his dick had perked up and taken notice.

When she showed no signs of slowing down, the little demon which had sat on his shoulder since Afghanistan whispered for him to see how long it would take her to falter. He’d lost count of how many times she’d run the course, but her allotted time had been over for at least five minutes. Not once did she ever raise her head to meet his eyes, nor did she voice one word of complaint. After thirty minutes she stumbled, not falling but catching herself, only to continue on. Hell. Raising the whistle to his lips, he gave a short blast. “Enough.”