Free Omega (Alpha #3) by Jasinda Wilder

here.”
    “Oh shut your fucking mouth, Mister Unflappable.”  
    “You first, Miss Blowjobs-for-Everyone.”
    “Oh…shit,” I murmured.
    “I didn’t mean—” Layla started, and then shut her mouth on her words so fast her teeth clicked. “You know what? I don’t owe you dick for explanations. That’s not what I meant and you know it.”  
    “That’s what it sounded like to me.” Harris was speaking as calmly as ever, but there was something in his voice, a hint of ire, a note of irritation…something I’d never heard before.
    “I was making a point.”  
    “About how much you love blowjobs. Point taken.”  
    Layla hissed. “About how my decisions are mine to make and I won’t be judged for them!”  
    “I’m not judging. I have not uttered a single word in judgment. I haven’t said one syllable that could be construed as negative towards you in any way, Miss Campari—Layla, I mean.”  
    “It’s the way you’re looking at me. Or not looking at me.” She sounded petulant, and less sure of herself, somehow.  
    “Then you’re misconstruing the way I’m looking at you. And, honestly, my focus has been on the road, not you.”
    “What, you can’t divide your attention?”  
    Harris let out a breath, a very frustrated breath. “Oh for fuck’s sake. You’re impossible.”  
    Layla had no reaction to this. She just crossed her arms beneath her prominent breasts and stared out the window at the rural New York State scenery.
    I glanced at Roth as this exchange occurred. We traded looks, both of us surprised at our respective friends.
    I’d never seen Layla interact with anyone this way. She dominated conversation simply by virtue of being louder and talking faster, by being in your face and unapologetic and rowdy and bawdy. She was beautiful, tall, strongly built, had curves for days, and a personality that naturally took up all the attention in any given room. Every guy she’d ever dated or slept with or whatever she wanted to call it, they’d all just gone along with her, because trying to buck her need to control and trying to steer her at all never worked. Not for anyone. She was the epitome of the no-fucks-given mentality, not because she genuinely didn’t care about how she came across, but because she refused to be cowed or dominated or controlled by anyone.  
    But Harris, with his quiet, calm, unassuming mannerisms, had somehow taken her down a few pegs without even trying. He’d gotten under her skin. No one— nothing —ever got under Layla Campari’s skin. Her skin was so thick it was like armor.
    This interaction with Harris had me thinking. Combine this with the overly quick denial that anything could ever happen between her and Harris…
    The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

4
    THE SYSTEM

    We were going to the Turks and Caicos islands.  
    Population roughly 33,000 people. Geographically, it was an archipelago of forty islands, governed by the UK as a “British Overseas Territory”. Their currency was the US dollar.  
    It was a paradise with turquoise water, white sand beaches, tiki-hut bars on endless beaches.  
    I couldn’t wait to get there.
    After transferring from the limousine to a small twin-engine jet, Harris took a few minutes to go over his flight plans and to make final arrangements for the trip. Within a few short minutes he had us airborne, flying us several hours south to the Caribbean.  
    Layla spent much of the flight ignoring Roth and me, her earbuds plugged in, music blaring, reading a book on her Kindle. Then, partway through the flight, without explanation, she went forward and knocked on the door to the cockpit. Harris let her in, and the door closed, and we didn’t see her again until after landing.
    As the islands of the Turks and Caicos came into view, I watched with interest as we began our descent. It truly was a special kind of paradise. Under perfect blue skies, Harris made his approach to the Providenciales International