CHAPTER TWO
Picking up Paris from the airport hadn’t been on Jett’s to-do list. Neither was dealing with their history, her cranky mood, or waiting two hours for a delayed flight on Christmas Eve. Shit happened. He’d learned a long time ago that sometimes fate put mountains in his path as a means to better himself. But damn, how was facing a hurtful past good for him in any way?
So instead, he planted a smile on his face and stared at the blonde turning toward him from several feet away. When he’d seen her last, she wore her hair short. Now it hung halfway down her back with a slight curl, and she no longer resembled the tomboy he remembered. The new style suited her. She’d blossomed into a woman, an incredibly gorgeous one at that.
And her presence stole his breath. Was he ready to face her and deal with the past? Standing so close to her, his defences crumbled. Her appearance might have changed, but her eyes—pale blue like the skies on a summer’s day—were the same. Behind them lay the vulnerable girl from his hometown who rode horses bareback, who never backed down from an argument, who stole his heart.
Getting Paris into a dress had been close to impossible in her teens. Now, she wore a long floral dress with a low V-neck and a split up the front of her skirt. With the brown cowboy boots sitting just below her knees, she grabbed every bloke’s attention. And she still had those sexy curves. When she stepped closer, her milky legs peeked out.
Jett was doing this as a favour to her uncle, but he wouldn’t deny staring at her made him all kinds of happy. Yet with the frown planted on Paris’s face, he wondered if he made a mistake agreeing to chauffeur her home.
“Listen, Jett,” Paris began, the bridge between her eyes creasing. It drew his attention to the tiny beauty mark at the corner of her brow. “I appreciate you offering me a lift, but my uncle said he was picking me up.”
“He ain’t coming, and he asked me to pick you up. So, you’re stuck with me.” Her uncle owed Jett a huge favour now, because it seemed as if Paris would rather swim home than ride with him.
Her gaze narrowed, and her lips pinched to the side. Despite her filthy glare, all Jett thought about was hugging the stubbornness out of her. Maybe more. He grinned to himself. Hell. He doubted she’d appreciate that.
Yeah, he had fucked up years ago and chosen a potential AFL career over Paris. He and Paris had a huge argument the morning he left for the city because he hadn’t consulted her. He regretted his harsh words about not needing to check in with her. Paris wasn’t blameless either. Yet now in her presence, a familiar emotion stirred inside him, insisting a possibility of picking up where they ended was in his grasp, except he was kidding himself. With the wall she’d planted between them from the first time they exchanged glances, it was crystal clear where she stood on the matter. He shoved the longing aside. Nope, he wasn’t going there again. He would give Paris a lift home and suck it up for the next few hours.
She glanced outside the windows, and Jett followed her line of sight at the charcoal storm clouds spreading closer. It was after midday, but it might as well be evening by the darkening outside. The festive carol coming through the speakers would normally cheer him, but it wasn’t working today.
“I’m sure you have more pressing things to do than bother with me,” she said. “I’ll catch a bus.” She slung her bags over one shoulder and headed to the transport desk.
Stubborn as always and independent to a fault. Not like he’d expect anything different. He didn’t tell her the buses weren’t travelling today due to the impending threat of heavy hail and flooding, so he strutted to a nearby bench and took a seat, waiting for her to come around. Jett knew another route to get them home and avoid the areas prone to flooding.
His preferred method to deal with someone like Paris was to swing her over his shoulder and shove her into the car. Still, that would only delay things as Paris would make a scene. While he waited, he ought to call home and check up on things.
Paris leaned over the counter, perching on her toes as she gawked at the man’s computer screen. Persistent gal.
In all honesty, he had no idea how he’d fill the three-hour drive home in her company. His failed attempt to get into the AFL was demoralising enough, but when he’d discovered Paris moved to Melbourne, the news killed him. He had called her on many occasions, yet she never once returned his calls. His mum had said to give her time. Yeah, well, five years was plenty, and he was done missing her.
When she shuffled toward him, she dragged her bags, saying nothing.
He grinned. “Can we go now?”
Paris huffed and blew a lock out of her face. “No buses today. I could try a cab…” She lifted herself on tippy toes and stared through the windows. “Can’t see any taxis.”
Jett rose to his feet, standing so close to Paris, he inhaled her floral and vanilla scent. Damn if it wasn’t her old fragrance, the one that drove him insane. For those few seconds, his mind flew back to their first kiss behind the basketball court. She had pulled him into a corner and pressed herself up against him. Her lips were soft and honeyed. He adored the way she had trembled against him. A girl making the initial move awakened something inside him, and he knew then he had to have her and keep her.
He ran a hand through his hair, glancing down at Paris who studied him, intrigue in her eyes. “We better go before we end up stuck here.” He reached over and grabbed the straps of the bag from her hands.
She resisted against him and refused to let go. “I’ve got it.” She squared her shoulders.
He laughed, not in a hilarious way, but because her headstrong ways frustrated him to no end. So he leaned close to her, took hold of the bag once more, and whispered, “Paris, if you’re going to fight me at every step, I can give just as good. Trust me. Don’t push.”
She gasped, and he wrangled the bag out of her grasp. He lifted it and strutted through the main hall. As tempted as he was to look back, he resisted. He’d played her game long enough; now they were doing things his way.
When she caught up with him, he swung right toward the exit. “Thanks,” was all she managed and stayed by his side, her chin lifted. Her heels clicked the tiled flooring.
“Why are you wearing those cowboy boots?” he asked as they exited the building, engulfed by a wind buffering against him. This was going to be one helluva storm.
Paris glanced down, her hair blowing sideways as if being sucked by a vacuum. “I like them. They’re comfy. Why?”
He licked his lips and studied her for any reaction, but aside from the slight twitch at the edges of her mouth, she kept her stoic expression. “You know why.” He couldn’t believe she still had them.
Jett continued toward the parking lot with few cars. He made a beeline for his pickup truck all alone at the rear against the wire fence. He’d parked far as he needed several car spots to accommodate the trailer he’d borrowed from a mate that he’d hitched to his ute.
Paris hugged herself against the wind. “I picked out these shoes, so technically—”
“Technically, I bought them for your birthday, so they were a gift. Why do you still own them, anyway?” Figured she would have thrown away anything from him years ago.
She shrugged and fought the lashings of hair across her face. “Well, I wanted to wear them since I was heading home. It seemed appropriate.”
“How?” He fished out the keys from the pocket of his jeans.
“Because it’s a country town. Why are you giving me shit about my boots?”
“Just curious, that’s all.”
The horizon lit up in an array of zigzagging lightning bolts, and the skies growled.
“So you haven’t been home for five years, but you held onto the boots for when you would come home?”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “For your information, they are part of my wardrobe all the time in Melbourne.”
An involuntary chuckle fell from his mouth. She stormed past him toward a blue sedan, identical to the one he used to own.
“That’s not my car.” He approached the rear of the trailer, and with the doors unlocked, he stuffed her bags inside.
She stepped next to him. “What’s in all those boxes?”
“Toys that arrived on the mail plane.” The first trickle of rain hit Jett’s nose, so he shut the doors and rushed to the driver’s side. Once inside, he belted up, as did Paris. The cabin filled with her floral fragrance, resurrecting more memories, ones involving both of them making out. Okay, I can do this.
“Are the locals still doing the toy drive?” she asked, her feet pushing aside the tools he’d dumped there yesterday.
“I’m helping them out.” Jett reached for the tools. “Sorry about the mess in the ute. I was assisting a mate with his car the other day.”
“It’s cool, leave them there.”
With his shoulder pressed up against the side of her thigh, he ignored the heat crawling through him and the desire to touch her skin to see if she still felt as soft as he remembered. What was wrong with him? He grabbed the wrench and hammer and tossed them in the back seat.
Without another word, he turned the key, and the engine roared to life, and they departed from the airport.
“That’s cool about you aiding with the toy run. I was thinking of doing a similar gig on a grander scale at work.” She cleared her throat and turned toward the window. “What crappy weather. It’s going to suck if it rains over Christmas. There goes the annual cricket game.”
Quickest change of topic in the world he’d ever seen. Fine by him. He suspected Paris hadn’t planned to share anything with him, anyway.
“Your parents tell me you’re a hotshot event planner. What does that mean?” he asked, figuring if he got her chatting, it might help pass the time.
Paris shifted in her seat, running her hands down her thighs and pulling the split in her skirt between her legs. “Actually, the company is Ziggy’s, the biggest elite planner in Australia. Celebrities hire them to arrange parties, weddings, perfume launches. Pretty much anything. And event planners coordinate everything from hiring the venue, ordering flowers, special guest speakers, and even the client’s clothes sometimes.”
“Hmmm. So you’re like a hired servant.”
She twisted to face him. “Excuse me! It’s a well-respected industry and requires years of training and experience.”
Jett nodded and sped along the main road leading out of Geraldton, passing several cars. “And you enjoy this job?”
Paris swallowed loudly. “Yep. Everything is hunky dory.” She folded her arms and hit the radio button before slouching in her seat. A Christmas jingle played.
For someone who loved her job, or at least from what her mum had said, she sure went quiet fast, and the fact she used the words hunky dory meant she lied. She always used that saying when something pissed her off but was refusing to talk about it. Well, maybe her glorious life wasn’t so stupendous in the city. Instead of gloating, he couldn’t help but remember how raw and empty he felt after failing the AFL trials and losing his placement. Facing defeat was a bitch. He got over it eventually, realising years later the decision was the best thing to have happened to him.
He stole a look at Paris, who didn’t move while watching the landscape pass them by. He’d agreed to give her a lift home, and at the time, he was hoping for a more positive meeting than what he got. Part of him had played over a scenario where she’d hug him and tell him how much she missed him. Idiotic dreams on his behalf. If she had missed him, she wouldn’t have stayed away for the past five years.
While he wanted to reach over and tell her everything would be all right, he’d lost the privilege long ago. Now they were strangers with a crapload of tension between them, and what she was going through was none of his business.