All I Want

by Jill Shalvis

  of the soft footsteps that had come down the hall and stopped in the doorway of the living room behind him.

  “And a smart-ass,” Sharon added.

  “Aw, now you’re just trying to sweet-talk me,” he said.

  She shook her head and ended the call.

  Parker shoved the phone back in his pocket and turned to face Zoe, who was unabashedly eavesdropping.

  She had the good grace to look apologetic, nibbling on her lower lip, which reminded him of how sweet that lip was. He’d enjoyed her kiss, short as it had been, but it was messing with his head in a very different way than Sharon ever had.

  Work had been his priority for so long he’d neglected his own personal needs. It had been months since he’d been with a woman. He’d have liked to say that would change now that he was on “vacation,” but he knew it wouldn’t.

  At least not until he caught Carver. All his concentration was going toward catching that fucker, and maybe then he’d take a badly needed real vacation. Maybe somewhere in the South Pacific after all, for some surf and turf.

  Maybe Alaska for some fishing.

  Hell, maybe he’d actually go home.

  But he knew the truth. He’d do none of those things. He’d jump into a new case, like always. Because his life was his work.

  “Sorry,” Zoe said. “Thin walls. Sound carries in this old house.”

  “Something to remember.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes somehow both sharp and yet vulnerable at the same time, her sassy mouth slightly curved.

  Damn. He loved a sassy mouth and was a complete sucker for sharp yet vulnerable eyes.

  Not interested. You’re not interested, you don’t have time to be interested. . .

  And maybe as long as he kept repeating that to himself, it might actually have a chance at being true.

  Four

  The next morning Zoe opened her eyes and blinked blearily at the clock. Seven thirty. “Oh crap!” she gasped, and leapt out of bed.

  She’d forgotten to set the alarm.

  That was what she got for staying up late working on the damn kitchen sink—which she’d only made worse. Even more demoralizing was the fact that Parker had stayed up just as late, working at her kitchen table on his laptop, a witness to the whole debacle.

  He’d been watching when she’d pinched her finger between a pipe and her wrench. He’d offered to play doctor and patch her up and fix the sink.

  She’d declined both offers with far more reluctance than she’d ever admit to.

  He’d been watching when she’d broken a pipe and had ended up with a gallon of water in her face—and though he’d made a clearly superhuman effort not to laugh, she’d caught the small smile around the mouth she couldn’t stop thinking about.

  Which really ticked her off because he’d been talking to a woman on his phone yesterday, one he was clearly close to. For all she knew, she’d kissed another woman’s man. Good going, Zoe.

  So she’d again refused his help with yet another terse “I’ve got this,” which if anything seemed to amuse him all the more. He’d still been watching when she’d finally sworn the air blue, shoved clear of the sink, and stalked off to bed.

  Now she was late for work on top of grumpy. She was giving a flight lesson and then had a flight scheduled. Kicking it into gear, she raced out of her bedroom. Oreo was right on her heels with an excited bark, hoping the rush was to breakfast. They both ran down the hall and straight into the bathroom, belatedly realizing the shower was running.

  She’d forgotten she was sharing a bathroom with her houseguest.

  She’d never forget again. He stood in her shower, the glass steamed but still plenty clear enough to see him—every single inch of him as his hands ran over his lean, hard body, water and soap sluicing in their trail.

  Good sweet baby Jesus . . .

  Slow and calm as you please, Parker turned his head, those deep green eyes meeting hers where she stood frozen in place.

  “Need something?” he asked, casual. Calm. Like it was an everyday occurrence to have a woman walk in on the middle of his shower.

  God. God, he was so beautifully made, and now that the soap had vanished into the drain at his feet, she could see him even more clearly. His entire right side was a bloom of fading bruises, the colors of a kaleidoscope. Heart pounding in her ears, she took a step back and right into the doorjamb, hard enough to scramble her wits.

  Or maybe that was just him; maybe he scrambled her wits. “Sorry,” she managed, covering her eyes. “My alarm—I’m late—The door wasn’t locked.”

  “The lock’s broken,” he said.

  “Right.” She knew that. It had been broken forever. “I’ll get it fixed right away,” she said, nodding like she was a bobblehead. “I’m really sorry. I . . . forgot.”

  He smiled. “Just remember, paybacks are a bitch.”

  Oh God. She took another step back and tripped over Oreo. Catching herself, she whirled and ran out of the bathroom. For a minute she stood there in the hallway, torn between horror and another emotion that took a second to process.

  Sheer, unadulterated lust.

  “Woof,” Oreo said, nudging her toward the stairs, reminding her that he believed he was starving, wasting away to nothing.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “We can recover from this.” She had no choice. Running back into her room, she shoved herself into clothes and raced downstairs, needing to get out of the house before Parker came down. She hurriedly fed Oreo and then stopped and stared at the kitchen sink.

  It wasn’t dripping.

  She’d actually fixed it?

  “Woof!” Oreo had gobbled up his food in about a nanosecond and wanted more.

  “Sorry, Wyatt said I had to put you on a diet.”

  From upstairs she heard the shower go off. Oh shit. She shoved Oreo out the back door. “Hurry! Do your business!”

  Oreo stared at her.

  “You know what I’m saying!”

  Oreo looked out at the yard. There were no adventures in the yard. No mailmen to terrorize. No new bushes to anoint. He let out an unhappy whine.

  “We don’t have time for a walk,” she told him. “I’ll make it up to you later, I promise, just hurry!”

  With a huge doggy sigh, Oreo loped off to do his morning constitutional.

  Zoe grabbed a bagel and a Slim Jim left over from Darcy’s stash and deposited them in her purse for later, got a bummed-out Oreo back inside, and left.

  She went straight to Wyatt’s empty house, let herself in, and used his and Emily’s shower, the whole time picturing how Parker had looked in hers. Which was amazing. Gah. She stole a new toothbrush from Wyatt, dressed from a go bag she kept in her car for unexpected overnight flights, and left for work.

  And still, every other second or so she felt her face heat up as she remembered walking—no, racing—into her bathroom, interrupting Parker’s shower.

  Which meant she had a semipermanent blush on her face. Not that Parker had seemed all that bothered—unlike her; she was very bothered. As in hot and bothered.

  She hoped he’d been kidding about payback. Maybe he would laugh it off. Maybe he would forget it.

  And maybe pigs could fly.

  She didn’t know much about Mr. Mystery yet, but she doubted he forgot much. Still, she’d talked herself into feeling slightly better by the time she parked in the airport lot.

  The fixed-base operator she flew out of had three hangars. One for the business front, one for maintenance, and one for plane storage. Services provided at the FBO were the usual located at such regional airports; fuel, charts, maintenance, hangar services, lounges for pilots between flights with TV, WiFi, comfy recliners, and even a private room with a bed if needed.

  What made the Sunshine Airport different from most of the other small airports around the country was the altitude and the fact that the airport was situated in a mountainous bowl surrounded by the rough and jagged Bitterroot Mountain peaks. Unique wind a
nd weather patterns created a challenge for all types of aircraft and required special skill and training—which she taught.

  “Looking real good today, babe.” This from Joe Montoya, operations manager of Shell Corp., which owned and operated the FBO.

  Zoe wore her usual flying uniform—black pants and blazer over a white cami. Nothing special and certainly nothing even remotely va-va-voom, so she gave him a knowing look. “What do you want, Joe?”

  “Now that hurts,” he said, clapping a hand to his heart. In his midthirties, he ran a tight ship. This was most likely thanks to his two tours overseas, courtesy of Uncle Sam. The guy could bark orders like a drill sergeant. And the airport wasn’t the only thing that was run tight. Joe was so cheap he squeaked when he walked, and was known for understaffing and then getting everyone to work harder than they should have had to.

  So if he was complimenting her on a day when she knew she looked rough, then he most definitely wanted something. She went hands on hips.

  He grinned. It was the I’m-irresistible smile from his repertoire of a wide variety of smiles including his two personal favorites: the gotta-have-me-now and you’re-going-to-do-this-for-me-cuz-I’m-cute.

  Long immune from five years of working together, she arched a brow.

  “Tough crowd this morning,” he said. “You forget your Wheaties?”

  “Spit it out, Joe. I’ve got a lot to do today.”

  “All right, all right. I need a little favor, that’s all. I need you to go out with me.”

  She stared at him. “What?”

  “Yeah,” he said, and grimaced. “My sisters signed me up for this stupid online dating service. Have you ever tried one of those?” He lowered his voice. “Those chicks are scary as shit. But then my sisters got my mom and grandma in on it, so I lied and said I didn’t need a dating service because I already had a date for Friday night. So now, I need you to go out with me.”

  “Why me?” she asked.

  “Because you’re looking for dates, right?” At the look on her face, his smile widened. “Yeah,” he said. “Word’s going around that you want to be set up. So I’m setting us up.”

  This was all her own fault.

  “I’ll pick you up at six,” Joe said.

  “No way.”

  “Oh come on, I’ll even splurge for dinner,” he said. “Fair warning, they’re going to spy on us, I can guarantee that, so all you need to do is look like you’re really into me.”

  She blew out a sigh. “For how long?”

  “An hour tops.”

  “And you’re buying dinner?” she asked dubiously. “You never buy anything.”

  “This will be worth the price. And after, you can dump me if you’re not having a good time. But I gotta warn ya . . .” He flashed a trouble-filled grin. “You’re going to have a good time. You like steak?” he asked. “Most women like steak, right? The bar and grill does steak. I’ll even do the whole bring-you-flowers bit, whatever you want, just please do this for me.”

  “So this is a pretend date, right?” she asked.

  “Well, I’d rather it be a real date but I’ll take what I can get. You’re a hard one to catch.”

  This caught her off guard, which after the morning she’d had was really saying something. “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “It means you wear a sign on your forehead that says back the fuck off.” Joe laughed a little. “Don’t get me wrong, I like it. You’re tough as hell, babe, and it’s good for business. It’s just hard to get inside you. And I don’t mean it in a dirty way—well, unless you want me to,” he said with a brow waggle. “So . . . whaddaya say?”

  “I say I’ve got to get going.”

  “So that’s a yes, right?” he called out as she headed down the hall toward the side exit to get to the other hangars.

  She stopped and turned back. “Joe, I’ve got a bunch of paperwork to finish, weather to check, flight plans to file, and I need to check on the Cessna Caravan. I’ve got lessons and a flight.”

  “Actually, you’ve got two flights,” he corrected. “And the Caravan’s still grounded.”

  It had been grounded for a month for repairs and maintenance, way longer than either of them had expected, but she’d been told it would be done today. “Still?”

  “Yeah. You’ve got the—” He flipped through the schedule. “—Cardinal today.”

  “How much longer on the Caravan?” Zoe loved the sturdy single-engine Cessna.

  Joe shrugged. “I’ve lit a fire under maintenance.”

  Dammit. There was nothing wrong with the Cardinal, which was also a perfectly capable single-engine, but the Caravan had a turbine engine, so it had more oomph and was way more fun to fly. “And what do you mean two flights?” she asked. “There’s only one on the books.”

  “I added a new one last night and moved your schedule all around, delaying your lessons. Sorry, I forgot to text you.” He flashed his smile again. “Okay, so I guess I need two favors. But hey, you’re going to get paid for the flight.”

  She hated when he messed with her schedule. She actually made more money on the flight lessons she gave, which helped her pay off her loans. Getting a pilot’s license and keeping it was incredibly expensive. “You do remember the last time I did you a favor?” she asked. “I ended up flying your mother to Breckinridge and we got snowed in? Do you have any idea what it’s like to spend three days with your mother?”

  “I’m familiar,” he said with a shudder. “Which is why I paid you to do it.”

  “It was her seventieth birthday,” Zoe said, “and she was meeting—and I quote her here—her boy toy.”

  Joe laughed. “Yeah, you probably deserved double time on that one.”

  Zoe looked around, suddenly worried. “She’s not my additional flight today, is she?”

  “No. He is.” Joe gestured to the man walking in the front door, his long legs eating up the space, his every movement exuding an easy confidence.

  Parker James.

  Completely of its own volition, Zoe’s gaze ran over him from head to toe. He was of course fully dressed now, but that didn’t matter. She could still see him as he’d been in her shower earlier, the room steamy and humid, his long, lean, hard body slick with water and soap running in rivulets down it.

  She stared at him, doing her best to hold back all the tumbling mass of emotions hitting her at once. Normally she was good at that, really good, but naturally her one really good life skill deserted her, leaving everything she felt all over her face. Annoyance. Embarrassment.

  And let’s not forget the very reluctant lust.

  Parker stared at her right back. Not annoyed. Not embarrassed. As for what he was feeling, he kept his own counsel.

  Damn him. And then Joe’s words sank in.

  Parker was her first flight?

  “Zoe,” Joe said. “This is—”

  “You,” she said to Parker.

  He smiled. She didn’t know all of the smiles in his wheelhouse yet, but she labeled this one The Big Bad Wolf.

  Five

  Joe divided a look between Zoe and Parker. “You two know each other?”

  “Little bit,” Zoe said.

  Parker said nothing.