by Jill Shalvis
Mel’s brain had been racing since Greg’s call, pounding with what if’s—if Bo hadn’t gone into the military, if he’d gone through his father’s things sooner, if, if, if…
In any of those scenarios, she and everyone here would have been gone years ago.
The implications of that staggered her. All this time she’d never been in charge, not of her life, not of this place…
Ernest was in the parking lot, and as she came out he looked at his watch. “You’re punching out early.”
“It’s five thirty.”
“Early for you.”
“I wasn’t the one who wasted two hours this afternoon napping in the storage closet.”
“Maybe you’ve been napping with your eyes open.”
A more real truth had never been spoken. “You ever trace that e-mail?”
He took off his cap, scratched his greasy head, then narrowed his beady eyes on her. “I told you I was working on it. Why?”
“I got another one.”
“Hmmm.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m glad I’m not you,” he said.
“Can you trace it or not?”
“I’ll look,” he said, and hitching up his pants, moved toward the building. “But it’d be helpful if you stopped doing whatever you’re doing to get them mad in the first place.”
Yeah, she’d just stop what she was doing—except she didn’t know what that was.
Then it hit her—she did know. It was that she was tracing the deed—looking for Sally.
Feeling more fragile than fine china, she got into her car. She picked up a pizza, then drove to Dimi’s.
Dimi opened her door, took one look at the box, and blew out a breath. “You know how I feel about carbs.”
“It’s thin crust.”
“Well, all right, then.” She made a show of looking around Mel. “At least you didn’t bring him.”
“Who?”
“Him. You know, bastard Bo.”
“Dimi—”
“Sorry.” But she didn’t sound like it.
Dimi wore a pale, pale yellow sundress that revealed her willowy lean form. They sat on the beach, bare toes in the sand, watching the waves pound the surf while they consumed the pizza and a beer each.
Light for Dimi.
Not light for Mel.
Dimi daintily sipped her beer as if this was high tea, the bracelets on her wrists jangling, a frown on her mouth. She brushed the nonexistent crumbs from her fingers. “Well. The evening is still young. I’ve got to go live it.”
“We should talk about it, Dimi.”
“Why?”
“It’d be the mature thing to do.”
“Damn. I hate it when you’re grown-up.” She played her toes in the sand. “I don’t get it, Mel. Why would she do this to us and never say a word about it? Why would she let us think everything was status quo?” Her voice thickened with tears. “Hell, we were sending her money. Money that wasn’t even hers.”
Mel shook her head. She felt sick about it, too.
“The only thing I can think is, she somehow lost the deed to him in an unfair bet or something, and by letting us send her money, she was trying to get back what Eddie had stolen from her.” Dimi looked up at her, hopeful once more. “That has to be it, Mel.”
“Then why didn’t she return my call? Why did she change her number?”
Dimi closed her eyes, shook her head stubbornly. “Something’s wrong.”
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
“We have to help her.”
Mel made a pained sound. Help Sally? She’d have loved to. Only Sally didn’t want their help and they both knew it. “Dimi—”
“Don’t say it.”
“She crossed the line. She stole money. She had us steal money.”
“But there’s a reason.” Her voice shook. “I know it.”
Mel reached for Dimi’s hand. “Listen to me. I don’t know what’s going on. Like you, I want to believe there’s been a mistake. Okay? We’re together in that. We’re together in all of it. No matter what happens.”
Dimi squeezed Mel’s fingers. “I know. You’re my family, Mel. But things are going to change. It’s going to suck. You know that.”
“Maybe Bo won’t—”
“Honey, you’re the smartest woman I know, don’t go stupid on me now.”
Mel blew out a breath. “I’m going to talk to him.”
“Talk to him? Or do him?”
Were Mel’s nightly dreams all over her face? It didn’t help that she hadn’t actually seen Bo since the other night, when she’d had to strip in front of him and let him hose her off. Since she’d let him put his hands all over her…God. “I’m not doing him.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m still a virgin.”
“I’m not.” But she wanted to be. What did that say about her, that she wanted the man who was poised to tear apart her entire world?
“Okay, maybe not yet, you’re not doing him,” Dimi allowed. “But the signs are there.”
Mel pushed up and stalked down to the ocean. “Signs. There are no signs. What signs?”
“Well, that right there,” Dimi pointed out dryly. “The defensiveness is a dead giveaway, hon.”
Mel kicked the wave at her feet. “Damn it.”
“No one can blame you. I mean the guy’s a walking, talking fantasy. But honestly, if you’re looking to dip your toes into the testosterone pool, then let me help you pick a better one.”
“Uh, no offense, but I’ve seen your choices.”
“Yeah.” Dimi sighed. “True enough.”
“Look, I’m tired.” So damned tired. “I’m going home to bed.”
“I vote for Madigan’s.”
Madigan’s was the local bar, where no doubt she’d find Kellan and Ritchie, and a whole host of others looking for a good time. Normally Mel would consider it, for no other reason than to keep Dimi out of trouble, but tonight it seemed exhausting. “Not tonight.”
“Suit yourself.” Dimi picked up the box of pizza.
“Dimi? We’re going to be okay.”
Dimi’s smile didn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah, I know.”
Mel nodded.
But they were both lying through their teeth.
The next day, Mel brought Bo’s shirt into North Beach, washed but not ironed, and went in search of him. Time to face the music. She passed Kellan and Ritchie in the employee’s break room playing darts, then Danny sprawled on a cart beneath the aircraft tow truck in the maintenance hangar, swearing up a storm.
In the back of that hangar Ernest was talking to a spider in the supply closet.
“Where’s Bo?” she asked him.
Ernest carefully coaxed the spider into a jar, which Mel knew he’d take outside. “Tie-down.”
Right. He was on the tarmac, either conducting a tie-down or getting ready to. The lingo had been a part of Mel’s vocabulary for years, and was second nature. So why she got another image altogether—one of Bo Black physically tied down, possibly naked (okay, definitely naked) shocked her into immobility.
Ernest frowned, peering into her face. “What’s with you?”
Her mouth had gone dry. She cleared it. “Nothing.” Whirling around, she marched to the tarmac.
Bo stood there doing a preflight check on his plane, consulting a clipboard. Taking a deep breath, she refused to note how good he looked in shorts and a clean white T-shirt. She stalked up to him, slapped his other shirt against his chest, then took a big step back and a bigger mental one.
Bo looked down at the shirt in his hand, then back at Mel. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
He hooked a finger in the neckline of her top and pulled the neck out to take a peek inside.
“Hey!” She batted at his hand.
He stepped back with a smile. “Just checking your skin. No burns.”
“I told you!” In disbelief she felt her nipples harden.
Noticing, he wa
ggled his eyebrows, and still smiling, walked away.
Bastard. “Hey,” she called after him.
He turned back.
“There’s, um, something else.”
“What?”
“I heard from my attorney.” God, she hated this. “Your deed is legit.”
“I already knew that.”
“Yeah.” Damn, pride tasted like shit. “So. What now?”
He paused, then walked back to her. “I told you. I want to see Sally. I want to see her face and hear her say she screwed over my father.”
She had to ask, but it took her a moment. She stared at his throat, then lifted her gaze. “Are you going to prosecute?”
“You? No.”
“The others.”
He looked at her for a long moment, making her suffer. “No,” he finally said.
“Sally?”
“I want to talk to her,” he said, making no promises there. “I’ll take it from there.”
He still didn’t know how long Sally had been gone. Oh, God. “Bo. Since the deed’s legit, and you’re now holding it, why do we have to do that and drag Sally and her name through the mud?”
“To clear my father’s name.” He said this in a voice of steel and arguing against it would be like butting up against a stone wall.
She let out a shaky breath. “We should tell everyone…”
“What, that I don’t hum when we f—”
“You know what I mean.”
“That I don’t have a teeny, tiny d—”
“We should tell them that this place is yours now,” she grated out. “That you’re their boss. Our boss. That our fate here is in your hands.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then looked away and let out a long breath. “I just want what was my father’s. I’m not trying to hurt anyone here, you know that.”
When she didn’t say anything, he let out a rough sound and turned and walked off the tarmac.
Yeah, she ought to bottle up these incredible people skills of hers. Blowing out her own breath of frustration, she followed him into the lobby. He’d vanished, and she didn’t want to face the necessary staff meeting without him, so she wandered toward the café, needing food.
“Hey, good mail news,” Dimi called from her desk, and waved some checks over her head. “I’ll run to the bank with the deposit. By tomorrow, Anderson Air will be flush again!”
“Thank God.” She went into the café. There were two customers eating there, with Al entertaining them with the stories of his photos as he hung up some newly framed ones.
“Finally,” Char drawled as she flipped something at the stovetop. She jabbed a spatula in Al’s direction. “I’ve been asking you to get those up forever. Watch it, that right one’s crooked—”
“Yes, dear.”
“And that center one should really be on the left—”
“Yes, dear,” Al said again.
“And—”
“Babe.” Al shot her a laughing glance. “You can either ask a man to do something, or tell him how you want it done. Not both.”
“Yes, but—”
“If you already knew how you wanted these arranged, why didn’t you do it yourself?”
Char put her hands on her hips. “Because it’s the Southern way to simply boss you around.”
Al laughed. “Back off or else, woman.”
Back off or else…Mel blinked as once again an odd sense of déjà vu came over her. Another unfortunate choice of words?
Or something else.
“Fine, I’ll just back off,” Char said with a laugh, giving Al a smacking kiss on the cheek. She went for his other cheek as well but he turned so she kissed him right on the lips. He hugged her hard, then patted her ass.
Easy affection. No long, furtive looks, nothing to suggest their words were anything other than easy banter and Mel told herself to shake it off. “Hey, we’re having a staff meeting later, okay?”
“Oh?” Char smiled. “Raises?”
They all laughed, but Mel’s was hollow. She accepted a sandwich from Char, and though she’d been hungry, now it stuck in her throat.
So did her next bite when she caught sight of Bill Watkins coming in the front door, frown in place, eyes cold.
She’d written his check, it was on Dimi’s desk, but that didn’t mean she had to see him. She looked up into Char and Al’s knowing glances.
“Quick,” Char said, pulling Mel through the kitchen. “Out my back door.”
Al waggled his brow at Char and murmured in her ear, “I’ll take your back door, baby.”
Mel rolled her eyes but ducked beneath the counter and through the tiny kitchen toward the door that opened onto an alley behind the row of leased hangars. She blinked into the bright sunny day, running down the alley across the way and into the maintenance hangar, where she stopped to huff and puff for a moment. She really needed to exercise more.
“What are you doing?”
With a gasp, she whirled, and faced Ernest, who stood there with a scowl and a broom.
Great, now he was cleaning. “Nothing,” she said defensively.
“Ah, Jesus.” He took off his baseball cap and scratched his head. “You running from Bill again?”
“No, I—”
“Pathetic,” he grumbled, slamming his hat back on. “This never happened when Sally was here.”
“Really?” she answered a little hotly, but then again she was hot. “Because I remember lots of times having to wait for a paycheck, something you’ve never had to do with me in charge.”
He sighed. “I’m guessing you don’t want to be found.”
“No,” she admitted, expecting him to say “too bad” and call Bill in here, exposing her for the fun of it.
Instead he jerked his head behind him. “Go on.”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“You hard of hearing now? I said go.”
Didn’t need to tell her twice. She took off.
“And don’t run like a girl!” he called after her.
She kicked it into gear, heading back outside, straight for the next hangar, where they kept their overnight clients’ planes. With no one waiting on their plane, the hangar would be dark, cool, and blessedly empty except for boxes and boxes of old records they kept there, and probably lots of the spiders Ernest loved.
The door was locked. Fumbling with her key ring, she finally got the door open and slid inside, and then carefully locked herself in.
Then she turned to eye the space around her and crashed right into a hard, impenetrable chest.
Chapter 14
Mel opened her mouth to scream but a hand clamped over it. An arm held her immobile. And in that beat of time, she recognized the wall of lean, hard strength, and gritted her teeth.
Bo.
“Well, now, look at what I have here, all nice and breathless for already…”
She bit his palm, and with a hiss, he pulled his hand away from her mouth. But he didn’t let go of her. With both of the hangar’s big rolling doors closed and no lights on, she couldn’t see him clearly, couldn’t see anything but his tall, solid outline. In the still, musty air, she could smell oil and fuel, and something else. Something just as unfortunately pleasing.
Man. Her face was inches from his throat and she thought about biting him there as well but then he bent his head, putting their mouths a breath apart.
From deep inside her came a quiver, a little hopeful surge as her body said, Oh, please, let’s have him. “Let me go.”
“You sure say that a lot,” he noted.
“You have your hands on me a lot.”
“Know what I think? I think you like me. In fact, I know it. So let’s admit the rest. You want me. And as luck would have it, here I stand, ready and willing to let you take full advantage of my body.”
To go with that outrageous statement, he turned them both, pressing her back against the door, holding her there while his hands glided her up sides, grazing her ribs, th
e outside curves of her breasts, and just as she sputtered with his audacity, he slid his fingers in her hair, palming her head, holding her still as he lowered his mouth.
“Don’t,” she whispered, still panting, from her run—or so she told herself—grateful now for the dark because he couldn’t see her face, and the longing surely plastered all over it. She didn’t understand that about herself, how she could want him of all people. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Oh, I’m thinking,” he assured her in that honey of an Aussie voice, the voice that even now was coaxing her right out of her comfort zone.
“And more than thinking,” he warned her.
She shivered, then locked her knees. “Do anything, and you’ll be walking funny tomorrow.”
Cocky to the bone, he laughed, then pressed that long, rangy, tough body even closer. “You sound all whispery and needy. Why’s that, darlin’?”
“I was running!”
He gave a slight shake of his head and his nose grazed her jaw. “You want me. You want me bad.”
She went for a laugh but it sounded more like a moan. Damn it. She locked her weak knees. “You are so delusional.”
Now his lips actually skimmed her throat, and goose bumps rose over every inch of her body.
“Admit it,” he said.
“I have no idea how you fit inside any door with your big head.”
“You think that head is big…” He nudged his hips closer, rocking another part of him against her, right in the vee of her thighs.
Oh, God. Her knees wobbled again but she lifted her chin. “You are such a boy.”
“There is nothing boy about what I’ve got for you,” he assured her. “It’s all man.”
“And it’s all one-sided, you know.”
Another soft, knowing laugh. “Okay.” Another brush of his lips over her throat, then the spot where her neck met her shoulder. “You keep telling yourself that.” He stroked a hand up her ribs and cupped a breast. A thumb rasped over her nipple. A little sound escaped her lips before she could stop it, an unmistakable sound of desire that floated in the air between them.
