by Jill Shalvis
“We’re not taking off until ten.” He reached for her, slipping his fingers between her legs. “Let’s have breakfast.”
“I can’t!” She batted him away. “I have to work.”
“Come on,” he cajoled, pulling her back against him. “We clicked so well last night, let’s continue the fun.”
How much clicking could there have been if all she remembered was him scratching her? “Sorry. Breakfast isn’t my style.” Her bra was in his loafer. She shimmied into that and began the hunt for her skirt and top—there, on the back of the pilot’s seat. “Where do you usually go when you tie down here for the night?”
“A hotel, but—”
“Good. Great. Take the rental car I arranged for you yesterday and come back in a few hours.”
He came up behind her, again tried to hold her. “I had fun,” he whispered, nuzzling her jaw.
The sun had come up, and for all Dimi’s worldliness, she never had sex in the light of day. Never.
“We have a connection,” he said.
Uh-huh. A connection. He couldn’t be more than twenty-four, and she knew men. At that age, the biggest connection they had was to their own penis. Mostly, she figured, he just wanted to get lucky again. “Get dressed.”
He pulled on his pants, his shirt, and began hunting for his shoes. “How about next weekend? Are you—”
“No.” She softened her voice. “I’m sorry, no.” She put her hands on his shoulders and tried to turn him toward the door to shove him out, because damn it, if Mel caught her with one of the clients, she was going to skin her alive. “Go,” she said.
“This first.” He leaned in to kiss her but she shifted, giving him her cheek instead.
“Hey, I want a kiss.”
“Well, I don’t.” She never kissed her lovers. Like getting naked in the light of day, it seemed too intimate, too real. Putting her hand to her head, which was threatening to leap off her shoulders, she tried to smile. “Look, I’ll call you, okay?” Standard line, of course, used only to avoid a scene.
He saw right through her, and went from pout to something else, something darker and much closer to anger. “You don’t have my number.”
From the radio in her skirt pocket she heard Kellan say something. Shit. Indeed, the crew had arrived, probably all in the lobby macking on donuts, hangover free. Damn it.
Danny would look at her with that combination of disappointment and regret, like it was her fault she sometimes tended to use sex as her Prozac, and Dimi would feel like crap. “I’ve got to run—”
But Gorgeous Guy grabbed her arm and held on with a shocking strength. Just last night that strength had been incredibly arousing. Now, not so much. “Let go of me,” she said very carefully.
“You can’t just run out on me.”
She went from guilty to mad without passing GO. “Look, I can do anything I want.”
“So that’s it?” he asked, eyes narrowed, definitely annoyed. “You got off and now you’re done with me?”
She looked down at the hand still wrapped around her arm, at his fingers digging into her skin, and felt a frisson of unease. “Let go of me. Now.” To ensure he did, she shoved him back and then hopped down from the plane, racing out of the hangar.
Asshole. Why did men have to be assholes who ruined everything?
The bright morning sun nearly blinding her, the cool air burning her lungs, she turned toward the lobby. With any luck, she wouldn’t see a soul, and indeed luck appeared to be on her side as she entered the side lobby door and found the room empty.
Even the café was quiet, which meant that everyone had dispersed and gone off to begin their day. Whew. Bypassing her desk, she headed straight for the restroom to freshen up, thinking ha! she’d made it, she was in the clear—
“Dimi!”
Previously Gorgeous Guy. Yelling for her, damn it. With a wince, she turned back, and from across the expanse of the lobby, saw him heading right for her. Gone was any trace of the soft, sexy smile he’d exhibited last night, and in its place was a determination to have a scene.
Yep, she was still a jerk magnet. Good to know. She debated about just dodging into the bathroom and letting him pound on the door, but before she could, he was right there in front of her. Okay, no problem. She’d just knee him in the nads if it came to it, then drag him back to his plane and leave him there for his friends to find—
“Don’t walk away from me.” His brows were furrowed together, assuring her that she wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of a pounding hangover. “Don’t ever walk away from me.”
Was he kidding? She opened her mouth to blast him, but someone stepped in front of her.
Danny; tall, rangy, and lanky, with his blond surfer-dude hair sticking out of his baseball cap, falling to his shoulders. Not handsome, not even take-another-look cute, but he had a pair of clear blue eyes that could cut right through a soul, which she hoped they were doing right now to Previously Gorgeous Guy. Danny held a wrench in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other, which he casually lifted to his lips to blow away the steam before taking a sip. “Problem?”
“Do you mind?” Previously Gorgeous Guy gestured to Dimi. “I’m trying to have a conversation here.”
Not budging—in fact still blocking the view of Dimi entirely—Danny bent his head and took another sip of his coffee. “Oh, yeah,” he sighed. “Charlene can make a cup of coffee. Want one?”
“No,” Previously Gorgeous Guy said through his teeth. “I don’t. I want to talk to her.” He pointed to Dimi with one jerky motion.
Danny nodded, then slowly shook his head. “Unfortunately for you, she doesn’t seem to be that interested in having a conversation.” Without taking his eyes off him, Danny cocked his head. “Dimi?”
“No,” she said to Danny’s back. “I’m not interested in having a conversation.”
Danny nodded and spoke in the same easy voice, though she could hear unbendable steel beneath it. “You okay?”
“Fantastic.” She’d never stood behind Danny before. He was bigger than she’d thought, sturdier. He had himself a set of broad shoulders, and buns of steel, too. All that surfing, she supposed—
“Dimi.”
Lifting her gaze, she realized Danny had craned his neck to look at her. “Give us a moment?”
He was telling her to go into the restroom, that he’d take care of the issue, meaning he’d escort the guy out of the lobby and either back to his plane or off the premises. “Right,” she said, and gratefully made her escape.
Inside the bathroom, she caught a look at herself in the mirror, and stared. Her hair had gone on a party without her permission, she wore no makeup, both an absolute crime in her book. She was pale enough to scare herself, but worse, her skirt and top were wrinkled. She also had four paw-print bruises on her arm where the guy had grabbed her, not to mention a scratch on her inner thigh.
She definitely looked a little rough around the edges, like she’d been rode hard and put away wet, like she didn’t care about herself and where she’d been.
And as that sank in, her eyes filled. Idiot. What she’d done last night had been stupid and careless and dangerous. And it could have had an extremely unpleasant ending.
Yet she’d known all that and had done it anyway.
The restroom door opened and she turned her head, expecting Danny, expecting to have to put a smile on her face and pretend all was well, that she was “fantastic” as always, knowing she needed to thank him.
But it wasn’t Danny at all. Mel stormed in, and Dimi prepared for a lecture, to be berated about her bad choices, to feel an inch tall.
But Mel didn’t even glance at Dimi. She went straight to a sink, cranked on the cold water and bent. Dimi watched in surprise as Mel closed her eyes and slapped water on her cheeks. “Mel? What’s the matter?”
She didn’t answer for so long that Dimi thought maybe she wouldn’t. Finally, she straightened, water dripping off her nose. “Men suck.”
/> Dimi laughed. “Well, I agree with you there.”
Mel stared at herself in the mirror, then at Dimi. And it was a huge testament to how upset she must be that she didn’t mention Dimi was still wearing yesterday’s clothing and looked like shit. “It’s possible I’m going to kill him.”
Dimi blinked. “Who?”
“Bo Black. Who else?”
Dimi pushed Previously Gorgeous Guy far out of her head and went from pissed to panic. Again. “What did he do now?”
“You mean besides being born?” Mel closed her eyes. “He kissed me.”
This was so far from what Dimi had expected, it took her a moment to process. Mel hadn’t kicked Bo Black’s most excellent ass out, but she’d kissed him. “Okay, you win the bad-morning award.”
“Gee, thanks.” But Mel didn’t look like it’d been bad at all, and Dimi took a closer look. “You really let him kiss you?”
“It wasn’t a planned thing, believe me. It started out this stupid dare—”
“What? He got you on a dare? Jesus, Mel, the guy wants to take over our world and you let him goad you into—”
“Did I start out this story with ‘hey, a great thing happened to me this morning?’” Sounding extremely grumpy, Mel reached for a few paper towels to dry her face. “And anyway, he’s busy now, looking at some Stearman.”
“He’s got the money for that?”
Mel shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“So…” Dimi had to ask. “Are the old rumors true? Can he make a woman orgasm with a single touch?”
Instead of laughing, as Dimi had expected, Mel turned away. “It was just a kiss.”
Which didn’t answer the question, Dimi noted. More panic. It jangled inside her belly. “You going to turn into me now, Mel, and fall for the wrong guy?”
“Okay, repeat after me,” Mel snapped. “Just. A. Kiss. And believe me, it won’t be repeated.”
“I don’t know…” Dimi watched her oldest friend pace, which didn’t make her feel any better. “They say that once he kisses you, it’s like a drug. You have to have him again. And again.”
“Whoever ‘they’ are, they’re wrong.”
“Good, because he’s a Black, Mel.”
“Yeah.” Mel rubbed her temples. “I know.”
“He’s been making himself at home, working from here.” She let some of her panic show. “Acting like he has the right. He really believes that deed is real.”
“I know.” Mel closed her eyes. “He has got to go far, far away.” She tossed the paper towels into the trash.
If Dimi had had herself together, she’d have opened her purse and offered moisturizer, but as things were, she didn’t have either her purse or her wits.
“Okay, let’s try this again.” In the way that Dimi had admired for years, Mel drew herself up straight and tall.
“Try what again exactly?”
“The whole damn day. And trust me, if Bo so much as looks at me, he’ll regret it.” With that, Mel stormed out of the bathroom in much the same way she’d stormed in.
Dimi looked in the mirror. “She’s going to need you,” she told herself. “Which means you have to be the strong one for once.”
Her reflection looked worried.
Mel worked her tail off, struggling to stay one step ahead of North Beach’s needs, their customers’ needs, her employees’ needs.
Of Bo Black.
But everywhere she turned, things seemed to go wrong. The morning after the kiss—she refused to think in plurals when it came to the incident, though it had been plural kisses, heavenly plural kisses she’d dreamed about all night long—she came into work and found the front door of North Beach unlocked. Dropping her things, she rushed through the airport, but nothing looked touched. Nothing missing. Nothing bothered.
And yet later, sitting at her desk eating a donut from Char, she’d have sworn someone had been through her things.
Paranoia?
Or reality?
With nothing missing, she had no idea. And still nothing from her attorney on the deed.
At least her e-mail box remained empty of vague threats.
The next morning, the fourth since Bo had shown up, they had a scheduled five thirty AM incoming. Mel had come in early—tired from still dreaming of Bo’s body buried in hers—only to find herself devoid of linemen. Pissed, Mel called Ritchie, and got no answer. She dialed Kellan.
“Yo, dude,” he said groggily. “This’d better be good.”
“Yo, dude,” she shot back, with some sarcasm added in because it was early and she hadn’t had any caffeine yet. “There’s an incoming, and you’re not.”
“Ah, shit.” This was followed by a rustling noise, probably the kid falling out of bed. “Shit,” he said again, breathless.
“Shit on your own time.”
“Yeah, Mel—I’m sorry—”
She hung up. He was sorry, and so was she because she could hear the plane now. Once again she dropped her own job and found herself racing through the lobby, grabbing an orange vest and directing the aircraft herself, a beauty of a Raytheon King Air. She handled the tie-down, greeted the pilot and his guests, then stayed on the tarmac for a moment, enjoying the sun rising in the chilly, purple-blue dawn.
“So do you do every job in this place by yourself?”
She turned and faced the outline of a man as he came toward her, the sun in her face. Didn’t matter. She’d have recognized him from the way he walked, confident, of course, with a carefully banked bad-assness in every line of his tough body, a body he’d pressed against hers. The taste of his kiss came back in a flash, hot and sweet. The feel of his hands on the skin of her back, where he’d skimmed beneath her shirt and—
Stop. Don’t think about it…Try not to think about it every living moment of every single day…
Was he thinking about it, too?
Unable to see Bo’s expression, she lifted her hand to block her eyes and watched his long, sleek shadow move closer. His face seemed to have as many strong lines and angles as the rest of his tough, lean form. His hair had been finger-combed at best. Against the early chill, he wore jeans, and a soft, worn leather jacket, and looked a little rough, a little edgy.
And a whole lot sexy.
“You work too hard,” he said gruffly. “And half the time, it isn’t necessary. You have linemen.”
Nope, he was definitely not thinking about The Kiss. “Kellan overslept.”
“Slacking off,” he said and shook his head. “You should have his ass for breakfast.”
A little flicker of panic. If the deed turned out to be real, would he fire all of them? Sell? “It was a mistake, Bo. We all make them.”
“Like yours?”
“What are you talking about?”
He crossed his arms and looked down at her. “The lie you told me.”
Oh, God.
“Trying to remember which lie, aren’t you?” he asked very softly.
Now, see, she hated that he was right nearly as much as she did the twist in her gut.
“This place is sinking,” he said. “You’re a great pilot, but business clearly isn’t your strength.”
True enough, but how would he know unless…“So it was you. Snooping through my files.”
He frowned. “What? No. Ernest likes to talk.”
“Ernest? Are you kidding me?”
“I saved a spider, and now I have a friend for life. That’s how it works, Mel, a little give and take.” He ran a finger over her hairline. “So you ready for the big reveal? Because I am. You know, where you tell me what’s going on.”
She stared into the gorgeous morning, feeling the fist around her heart tighten a bit more. “I called Sally.”
His eyes met hers for a long moment, a little intense, a little intimidating, and a whole lot exciting, giving nothing away. “Is that right?” He stepped closer, so that now they were nose to nose. Or her nose to his fabulous chest. “What did she say?” He’d shaved, the scent of
his shaving lotion or soap floating to her on the breeze. Citrusy. Woodsy. Inherently male.
His eyes held hers prisoner, and there were things in them, a barely banked heat, and…yep, the memories of their kiss.
He was thinking about it.
And right there in the morning chill, she began to overheat from the inside out. “She’s swamped.”
“Ah. Too swamped to talk to me, right?”
She couldn’t do this. It was one thing to lie when she believed one hundred percent in the cause, when she was doing what was right, in the only way she could. But it was another entirely when she felt lost and alone and afraid, very afraid. She turned away, but he pulled her back around, putting his hands on her arms as if he had a right, as if he was comfortable enough with her to do whatever he wished.
In defense, her hands came up and settled on his chest, where she could feel the rock-hard strength of him—just in case she hadn’t seen it along with sheer determination blazing from his gaze.
He wasn’t going to just go away. He couldn’t. And he wasn’t going to take her word for anything.
He wasn’t ever going to give up.
“Just talk to me,” he said. “It’s all I’m asking.”
“Maybe it’s not any of your business.”
“It was my father’s business. With him gone, it became mine.”
“Your father didn’t earn that deed fairly.”
His jaw tightened. His eyes went to ice. “You don’t have any proof of that.”
“And neither do you.”
He stared at her. “One of these days you’re going to eat those words.”
“Take your hands off me.”
“Funny, that’s not what you said the other day.”
Shoving free, she took a step backward. And then another, because with him, she needed distance, lots of it. Whenever he looked at her, strange things happened; she could feel the sexual pull, like a relentless, unchanging tide, and damn if she didn’t actually feel a hint of that old painful, unrequited crush she’d once had on him.
