Mission Control

The door of the cabin slid open, and four men dropped easily to the ground. Others still inside began handing out duffel bags and HardBody cases to them. They stacked it all efficiently, duffels to one side, cases to the other, ready for loading into the pickup.

The pilot remained in the cabin, checking the controls, head bent low and face shielded by a baseball cap. For a nanosecond, he thought there was something familiar about the person, but then he gave himself a mental shake. He’d never met any of these people before. None of their names were familiar.

He tried to get a better look at the guy still in the helo and thought he saw a ponytail hanging through the opening in the back of the cap. Great. Was this some long-haired asshole he’d have to deal with? What kind of team leader was that? He couldn’t imagine Grey would send a guy whose attitude would get in the way of the operation. Especially as the leader. Well, he guessed it made no never mind to him. He just wanted him to get the job done.

He waited until everything was unloaded and everyone on the ground before stepping forward to introduce himself. He was pleased to see they were all hard, seasoned muscular men with firm handshakes and a no-nonsense look in their eyes.

“We’ll want to sit down with you as soon as we haul all this to the bunkhouse,” the man named Ted Hollister said. “Our team leader wants to get going on this as soon as possible.”

“Can’t be soon enough for me,” Mason agreed. “The quicker the better.”

“We have aerial maps of the ranch,” he added, “but we’ll take anything else you can give us.”

“I have those the appraisal district uses. They’re pretty detailed.”

“Good.” Hollister nodded. “We need to be as specific in locations as possible.”

Mason glanced toward the chopper. “I’m anxious to meet your team leader. Chris, right?”

A tiny smile teased at the corners of Ted’s mouth. “Yeah. Give it a minute or so.”

A faint thread of anxiety wiggled its way through Mason. What was that almost smile about? Was something wrong here? Had The Omega Team played some kind of big joke on him? For what he was paying them, they’d better not.

Finally, the door on the other side of the chopper opened. The pilot leaped down to the ground and came around to greet Mason.

Who nearly had a heart attack.

Holy fucking shit. This was the team leader? Was this a joke of some kind?

Standing in front of him was not the tough leader he’d expected, well-muscled and a hardened veteran of the battles in the sandbox. Instead, he stared at the woman who’d burned up his sheets in that hotel room a year ago. The one who wouldn’t stay out of his dreams or his memory. The one he considered his omen of bad luck.

Although her sunglasses partially obscured her face, there was no mistaking the delicate jawline or the body he’d explored every inch of. Lithe and slender, she came nearly to his shoulder. An Omega Team T-shirt fell softly against rounded breasts his hands had cupped and kneaded. Worn jeans clung to nicely curved hips and long, slender legs. High cheekbones highlighted an oval a face and a mouth with full lips—a face he knew he’d never forget and lips he could still taste, even after all this time. Aviator shade hid her eyes, but yeah, that was definitely a ponytail hanging from the back of her cap. Luxurious sable hair that he’d run his fingers through. Hair that had drifted over his belly when she—

Stop it!

Would she remember him? The sunglasses might have obscured any expression on her face, but he didn’t miss the way she came to an abrupt halt or the sudden stiffness of her posture. Oh, yeah, she knew who he was and was as shocked. For an endless moment, neither of them spoke.

Mason glanced at the other team members standing to the side, watching him with amusement on their faces. Apparently, this happened with regularity, that the man he’d been expecting was actually a female. They figured that was the cause of the sudden tension. To them, this was a joke, only the men had no way of knowing exactly how much of a joke. He had to fix this. No way could he be around her while the team worked to resolve his situation. Already, his cock was vibrating with the memory of her mouth and hands and the slick, wet heat of her pussy.

This couldn’t happen. He’d have to play the misogynist and let them chalk his reaction up to his distaste for women in lead positions.

“Okay,” he growled. “Prank time’s over. You can head on back to the office, little girl. I want to meet the real team leader.”

Hoots of laughter erupted from the men, but apparently the female in front of him didn’t think it was any funnier than he did. She yanked off her sunglasses and gave him a view of blue eyes that, at the moment, were as dark as the ocean in the middle of a storm. Eyes that had stared hard into his as the mother of all orgasms gripped them. The muscles around her jaw tightened.

“No joke, Mr. Rowell. And I don’t appreciate your comments.” She took a step forward and held out her hand. “Krista Gauthier. Everyone calls me Kris. That’s K-R-I-S. Not C-H-R-I-S. And, yes, I’m the leader of this team.”