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An Excerpt From:

Alias Smith and Jones

by BJ McCall

Smith Wilding scanned the crowded airport bar. Thanks to a sudden snowstorm, his morning flight to New Orleans had been delayed. Odds were he’d be stuck for the rest of the afternoon, perhaps the night. His gaze caught and held on a shapely pair of nylon-clad legs. Ever-so-slowly he assessed the woman sitting alone at one of several tables lining the floor-to-ceiling windows. The runways were barely discernable, and the woman’s attention remained on the swirling snow. Her conservative gray suit and simple hairstyle told him she, like the hordes of business-class travelers mingling around the gates and concourse, had been caught off-guard by the fierce storm.

Thankfully all the barstools and tables were occupied. Every single seat, except one. Focusing his gaze on the woman’s long legs, he headed for the empty chair which just happened to be the molded plastic seat at her table.

“Excuse me,” he began. “I could use a drink. Do you mind?”

She gave him a brief nod, then turned her attention back to the storm. Although her face wasn’t knock-down gorgeous, something about her intrigued him. Perhaps her eyes. Large, slightly tilted, dark brown and seductive. Bedroom eyes.

“It looks like we have a bit of a wait,” she said, without looking at him.

He’d barely taken his seat when a barmaid hustled over. He noted the empty glasses on the table, ordered a martini for himself and another white wine.

“How’d you do that?” she asked, swiveling around in her chair. Her knee bumped into his. “I had to wait so long, I ordered two. That waitress hasn’t been within ten feet in the last hour.”

“Should I call her back?”

After a long assessing stare, she grinned. “No, I have a feeling she’ll be around. Come here often?”

“Only when there’s a blizzard.”

She pushed aside the two wineglasses. “Lucky me.”

“I’m Smith —”

The grin disappeared. “Sure you are. I guess that makes me Jones.” Abruptly she turned her attention back to the falling snow.

Surprised by her rudeness, Smith considered returning to the first-class lounge and the complaining gaggle of elderly couples who’d driven him to the public bar. “Would you rather I left?”

Those big brown eyes locked with his just as the waitress delivered their drinks. While the girl took her time removing the empty glasses and crumpled cocktail napkins, Smith enjoyed the amused expression on his new companion’s face. The fine lines about her eyes told him she had recently slipped into her thirties. She wore little make-up, giving her a fresh, no-nonsense look he liked. Her mouth bordered on seductive, but her stubborn chin guaranteed she wasn’t easily impressed or conquered.

Swinging her long legs around, her skirt slid several delightful inches up her thighs before she stood. “You stay put… Smith. I need to brave the line at the ladies room.”

Sexy and bossy.