by Jill Shalvis
“Well…yeah.”
North Beach was Mel’s home, her life, and no, she’d never ever thought about going away and never coming back, and she’d always figured Dimi felt just the same. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
Dimi lifted a stack of mail. “Just the usual. Here’s your incoming pile. Bills and more bills, if you’re wondering, though what’s the point of opening them, we still can’t pay last month’s.”
“Officially no one can even bug us until…” She glanced at the desk calendar. July ninth. “Tomorrow, the tenth.” Oh, God.
“Also we need fuel for the pump, and they won’t deliver it without their bill being paid.” Dimi leaned over and lit the three candles lining the front of her reception desk. The crystals on her wrists jangled, as did the ones dangling from her ears. The scent of vanilla began to fill the air, joining the incense she’d already lit on the credenza behind her.
“You’re going to make people hungry,” Mel said. “And the oven’s down.”
“I’m going to make people feel warm and cozy and at home,” Dimi corrected, and smoothed her skirt. “Helps our karma.”
Mel wanted to say that she didn’t believe in karma or fate, that they each made their own, but the sound of a plane coming in ended the conversation. “They’re early.” She understood early, she herself was always compulsively early, but it meant she had to run through the lobby, grabbing an extra orange vest off a hook as she went, slipping into the lineman’s gear as she moved quickly across the tarmac to greet the plane.
The Gulfstream was a beauty, and her pilot’s heart gave one vivacious kick of envy as the plane swept in for a honey of a landing, perfectly controlled by a pilot who was clearly a master of his craft.
When the engine shut off, Mel moved in, squinting against the early chill and wind, using the tie-down blocks to hold the plane steady, her mind wandering as she worked. The oven had gone out twice this month. She needed to look into the cost of a new one. The linemen clearly needed another ass chewing regarding responsibilities, specifically theirs. And then there was the little matter of fuel. She’d have to find a way to pay that bill pronto.
God, her brain hurt.
Finished with the tie-down, she straightened, patted the sleek side of the airplane just for the pleasure of touching it, and blew a stray strand of hair out of her face, wishing she had put on an extra layer of insulation beneath her coveralls because despite it being summer, the early-morning wind off the Pacific cut right through her.
From the other side of the aircraft, the door opened. A set of stairs released. A moment later, two long legs emerged, clad in dark blue trousers, clean work boots, and topped by a most excellent ass. Not averse to enjoying a good view, Mel stayed in place, watching as the rest of the man was revealed. White button-down shirt, sleeves shoved up above his elbows, tawny hair past his collar, blowing in the wind.
Yep, there were a few perks to this job, one of them catering right to Mel’s soft spot.
Pilots. This one looked more like a movie star pretending to be a pilot, but you wouldn’t hear her complaining. And just like that, from the inside out, she began to warm up nicely.
The man held a clipboard, which he was looking at as he turned, ducking beneath the nose of the plane to come toe to toe with her, a lock of tawny hair falling carelessly over his forehead, his eyes shaded behind aviator sunglasses.
And right then and there, every single lust-filled thought drained out of Mel’s head to make room for one hollow, horror-filled one.
No.
It couldn’t be. After all this time, he wouldn’t dare show his face.
His only concession to the surprise was a raised brow as he lifted his sunglasses, his sea green gaze taking its sweet time, touching over her own battered work boots, the dirty coveralls, the fiery, uncontrollable red hair she’d piled on top of her head without thought to her appearance. “Look at you,” he murmured. “All grown up. G’day, Mel.”
Yeah, he’d grown up, too. He was bigger, broader, and taller than the last time she’d seen him, but she couldn’t mistake the smile—of pure, devilish, wicked trouble.
Australian accent, check.
Heart-stopping green eyes and long lashes to match the long, thick tumble of light brown hair falling in said eyes…check and check.
Curved mouth that could invoke huge waves of passion or fury…CHECK. “Bo Black,” she whispered, getting cold all over again.
Cocking his head, he let out a slow smile. “In the flesh, darlin’. Miss me?”
Miss him? Yeah, she’d missed him. Like one might miss a close call with a hand grenade. “Get off my property.”
As if he had all the time in the damn world, he leaned back against his plane, slapping the clipboard lightly against his thigh. “No can do, mate.”
“Oh, yes you can.” Staggering at a strong gust of wind, she planted her feet more firmly as she pointed to his plane. “You just get your Aussie ass back inside that heap of junk and fly it the hell out of here.”
“Heap of junk?” Instead of being insulted, he laughed good over that, the sound scraping at her belly because it’d been a long time since she’d heard it.
Of course, she hadn’t seen him in ten years, and the last time she had, he’d been eighteen to her sixteen, all long and lanky, not yet grown into his body.
He was grown into it now, damn him, and how. Reaching back, he lovingly stroked the steel of the plane, making the entirely inappropriate thought take root in her brain: did he stroke a woman like that?
Clearly she needed caffeine.
And a smack upside the head.
“You know exactly what kind of plane this is,” he noted easily. “And how valuable.”
“Fine,” she granted. “Your toy is bigger than mine, you win. Now you can go.”
Tossing his head back, he laughed again, and she made no mistake—he was laughing at her.
Nothing new.
The first time she’d ever laid eyes on him, he’d been swaggering through the lobby, having arrived in town with his father, Eddie Black, an antique plane restorer and dealer. Tall and teenage rangy, Bo had smiled at Mel and said, “Hello, mate,” and she’d fallen—both figuratively and literally—as hard as her tender sixteen-year-old heart could, tripping over her own two feet, landing in a potted palm, amusing everyone in the lobby but her.
The second time she’d seen him had been when she’d opened a stock closet to grab something for maintenance, and had found him in there, leaning back against a shelving unit, a pretty blonde customer wrapped around him like a pretzel, straddling his hips. Bo had had his hand beneath her short skirt, doing things Mel had only been able to imagine.
In fact, she’d done just that for many, many uncomfortably sweaty nights afterward.
He’d been so cool, so typically laid-back. When she’d only stood there at the storage door, frozen in shock, Bo had lazily lifted his head, eyes heavy and sexy-lidded as he’d smiled that killer smile. “No worries. Just lock the door for me, darlin’?”
No worries. Right. She’d just lock the door. Only everything inside her head wanted to stay, wanted to beg, “Can I be next?”
That had so shocked her, the unexpected longing, that she’d lost it.
Completely.
Lost.
It.
Which was her only explanation for why she’d blindly reached out, grabbed the first thing her fingers closed over—an air filter off a shelf—and…and beaned him on the head with it.
Not her proudest moment, but she blamed her red hair and the temperament that went with it. Dimi had always been warning her that someday the temper would catch up to the fire in her hair and that she was going to piss off the wrong person.
Only Bo hadn’t gotten pissed, he’d laughed.
Laughed.
Which in turn had made her feel stupid. God, she resented that.
The last time she’d seen him had been several months later, on the day his thieving, conning father had v
anished.
The day her life had changed forever.
“Get out,” she said now.
That sexy little smile still in place, Bo slowly pulled out a folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of his white shirt.
She tried to read it but he held the document just out of reach, forcing her to lean in. As close as she was now, she could see his eyes weren’t a solid sea green, but flecked with gold specks. This close she could draw in the scent of him—one hundred percent male. This close she could read the paper:
Quit Deed.
A quit deed to North Beach. Her stomach dropped. “How did you—”
“I recently found a box of my father’s things, with a safe deposit box key.” His eyes were no longer smiling. “This was in there.”
“My God.”
He nodded curtly. “Yeah, that’s right, Mel. North Beach, and everything in it, is mine. Guess that means you, too.”
Chapter 2
Bo watched the very watchable Mel Anderson fume. This involved cinnamon eyes flashing, lush mouth frowning, emotions racing across her face, with fury heading the pack.
“Sally did not deed the airport over,” she said.
“Ah, but she did.” Bo rocked back on his heels. Waited.
Mel crossed her arms over her chest, which was a shame, but the action did plump up her breasts nicely. Even in those coveralls she was quite the unit. Mel had grown up and grown out, in all the right places.
“You forged this,” she accused.
Some of his amusement over seeing her again vanished. “Nope.”
“Prove it.”
Now the last remnants of friendliness went as well. “How am I supposed to do that, Mel?”
“I don’t know. But I prefer you do it from far, far away.”
Given that he’d just found out that his father had been royally screwed right before he’d died, Bo wasn’t going anywhere. “I want to talk to Sally.”
Mel’s eyes iced over. “She’s not here.”
“I’ll wait.”
“I’ll call you.”
Clearly, she wanted him gone. Too bad for her. “Where is she, Mel?”
She rolled her lips inward, her eyes suggesting she’d like to see him in hell. Too bad he was already there. But her attitude did give him some pause because he knew bugger well why he was pissed. He just honestly had no clue why she’d be. He’d have thought she’d be a bit more welcoming, actually, even offer to help him out, especially when she heard what he had to say.
But she did not want to hear anything from him. In fact, she snatched the deed out of his hands, then whirled off.
“Oh, hell no you don’t.” Entangling his fingers in the back of her coveralls, he tugged her back.
“Don’t touch me.”
But he wanted answers, and he wanted them now, so he held good and tight, clearly infuriating her. She was stronger than he remembered, and in the ensuing struggle, her hair fell from its precarious hold, smacking him in the eyes and mouth. She smelled like some complicated mix of shampoo and plane oil, and he shook his head to clear the silky strands from his vision, firmly taking her arms in his hands.
“Back off,” she snarled, struggling against him in a way that had him enjoying this little tussle far more than he should. “Let go, or I’ll kick your balls into next week.”
“Easy, now,” he murmured, just barely managing to hold on to her. “I kick back.” Wrapping an arm firmly around her, he held her squirming body close while with utmost care pried the deed out of her fingers. “I’ll just take this.”
With a muffled growl, she yanked free of his grasp, the radio and phone at her hip clinking, as well as the various tools she had in her pockets.
Always prepared, Mel was, and it amused him some that so little had changed. Then he watched her nicely rounded ass as it sashayed off. He took a second to appreciate the view, thinking too bad he was here for one thing and one thing only, because she might be fun.
That is if she’d ever learned the meaning of fun, which he seriously doubted.
He followed her from the tarmac into the lobby, nearly losing his nose in the door that she tried to shut on him. “Look at that,” he said in her ear. “As sweet as ever.”
The only sign she’d heard him was her hand curling into a fist at her side.
She wanted to deck him. Seems Little Miss Hot-Head was still quite…well, hot-headed.
Not to mention, just plain hot.
Thrusting her nose high enough into the air as to actually endanger her to a nosebleed, she strutted her stuff across the lobby floor toward the front door, tools clinking.
Once upon a time she’d barely come up to his shoulder, and had been a cute thing with guarded eyes and a slow-to-surface smile. She was still barely up to his shoulder, and he watched with appreciation as she quickly and efficiently moved across the floor with enough attitude for ten women, those coveralls hugging her hips and legs, the radio on one hip and a cell phone hanging off the other, and a wrench in her back pocket, slapping against her ass as she moved…
He rubbed his jaw as she stalked right up to the reception desk, perched a hip on the corner and leaned over the beautiful woman sitting there, whispering something in her ear.
The woman immediately swiveled her head and leveled a shocked gaze on Bo.
Bo recognized her, and could tell by the effort it took her to even out her expression that she recognized him as well. By the time he got over there, Dimi was staring at him with cool eyes that gave nothing away. “Bo Black,” she said as if his name left a bad taste on her tongue.
He hadn’t expected a red-carpet welcome, but this hostility was getting old bugger quick. “Okay,” he said easily. “Let’s get this out in the open.”
Twin glares.
“I don’t have a beef with either of you,” he tried calmly. “I just want to see Sally.” Or wrap his fingers around her neck and squeeze…
“Sally isn’t available,” Dimi said.
Mel had one leg swinging jerkily from her perch, revealing her irritation. As if he couldn’t see it all over her face.
Irritated himself, Bo put his hands on the desk and leaned in closer. “When will she be available? Tomorrow?”
Mel blinked once, slow as an owl, and didn’t answer.
Dimi stared down at her fingers, which were fisted and white-knuckled.
“In a week?” he asked with what he thought was great patience.
Nothing.
Shit. He took a deep breath. “A month?”
Neither woman moved, just Mel’s leg swinging, swinging, swinging. He eyed them both a long moment, then forced himself to relax, because he had two things on his side. One, a boatload of patience, and two, nothing else was more important than this. “I can wait as long as it takes,” he warned.
“You don’t have a job?” Mel asked.
“At the moment, I’m doing a bit of chartering.”
“With the Gulfstream.”
“Yep. And I’m getting back into antique-aircraft restoration.”
“Like Eddie.”
The mention of his father’s name never failed to deliver a rush of memories and nostalgia, and now was no different. Bo found his voice softer when he answered this time. “Like my father, yes.”
Dimi bit her lower lip, looked at Mel. Mel gave her a slight shake of her head, telling Bo what he needed to know.
Mel was the one in charge.
“So what are you going to do?” Mel asked. “Stand around and watch us run the place until Sally shows up?”
Bo made a show of looking around, at the decided lack of customers, at the slightly shabby look to the interior of the lobby, at the nerves leaping off of the two of them that could together provide enough electricity to run a small Third World country. “Seems to me you could use some help around here.”
“We’re fine,” Mel said tightly.
“Fine? Maybe. But who’s got the deed, Mel?”
Myriad emotions crossed thei
r faces at that: horror, dismay, frustration.
“Yeah, think about that,” he suggested, then whistling beneath his breath, he straightened and walked away.
Mel stared at his strong, sleek back as he headed across the lobby toward the hallway that led to the private offices in the back and felt her stomach sink.
“What is he doing here?” Dimi hissed.
Mel leaned in and grabbed the phone. “You heard him.” Her gaze was still locked on Bo as she punched in the number she’d memorized years ago: Sally’s cell. “He wants to talk to Sally. He’s not sure the deed is authentic any more than I am.” While she waited, listening to the phone ring God knew where, Ernest walked by again, sans cart this time. Mel felt like growling at him, but that would serve little purpose other than to tweak his curiosity, so she managed to control herself.
Sally didn’t pick up the phone, but then again, she rarely did. In fact, it had been nearly a year since they’d last talked, not that anyone knew that, because Mel and Dimi had perpetuated the image that they’d talked to Sally a lot more often. It kept the calm, and Mel liked calm.
She got Sally’s voice mail. “Sally,” Mel said at the beep. “Call me.”
Dimi shook her head. “Is he going to tell everyone?”
“Not if I have a say.”
“How did he get that deed in his name?”
“It wasn’t in his name. It was in his father’s.”
“Eddie Black.”
The man never failed to thrust Mel back in time, to the summer after freshman year. She’d been learning her way around an airplane engine, thanks to Sally and her mechanic at the time, Don, a cankerous old guy with a cigarette always hanging out one corner of his mouth and a beer at the ready. For whatever reason, he’d taken to Mel, maybe because she’d made it her business to know the difference between a Beech and a Piper, and he liked that in a kid.
Dimi had filed and answered phones in between flirting with the linemen and any customer who happened to possess a penis. She and Mel hadn’t exactly been friends; Mel having come from the trailer park across the tracks, while Dimi ran with her rich-bitch crowd. But that summer they’d shared one catastrophic event that had changed things forever: Mel’s mother running off with Dimi’s father. The remaining parents soon vacated as well, each by different means. Dimi’s mom had chosen prescription meds, which ended up killing her. Mel’s father’s escape of choice…booze.
