PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF CHANEL CLEETON
“A sexy fighter pilot hero? Yes, please. For anyone who’s ever had a Top Gun fantasy, Fly With Me is for you.”
—Roni Loren, New York Times bestselling author of Off the Clock
“A sexy hero, strong heroine, delicious romance, sizzling tension, and plenty of breathtaking scandal. I loved this book!”
—Monica Murphy, New York Times bestselling author
“A sassy, steamy, and sometimes sweet read that had me racing to the next page.”
—Chelsea M. Cameron, New York Times bestselling author
“Fun, sexy, and kept me completely absorbed.”
—Katie McGarry, author of Nowhere But Here
“Scorching hot and wicked smart, Flirting with Scandal had me hooked from page one! Sizzling with sexual tension and political intrigue[...]Cleeton weaves a story that is as complex as it is sexy. Thank God this is a series because I need more!”
—Rachel Harris, New York Times bestselling author
“Sexy, intelligent, and intriguing. Chanel Cleeton makes politics scandal-icious.”
—Tiffany King, USA Today bestselling author
Titles by Chanel Cleeton
Capital Confessions
FLIRTING WITH SCANDAL
PLAYING WITH TROUBLE
FALLING FOR DANGER
Wild Aces
FLY WITH ME
INTO THE BLUE
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
INTO THE BLUE
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2016 by Chanel Cleeton.
Excerpt from On Broken Wings by Chanel Cleeton copyright © 2016 by Chanel Cleeton.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY SENSATION® and the “B” design are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
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eBook ISBN: 9781101986998
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / July 2016
Cover art by Claudio Marinesco.
Cover design by Danielle Mazzella di Bosco.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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To the fighter pilots who dedicate their lives
to serving something bigger than themselves . . .
and one in particular . . .
Thank you to my wonderful readers and all the bloggers who signal boost my work. Your passion for books makes our community a wonderful place to be. You’re the best!
Thanks to my fabulous agent Kevan Lyon and editor extraordinaire Kate Seaver for making my dreams come true. Big thanks to the team at Penguin and Berkley for all their hard work, including my publicist Ryanne Probst, Jessica Brock, Katherine Pelz, and the AWESOME art department for giving me such amazing covers.
I couldn’t do this job without the support and encouragement of my family and friends, especially the amazing people I’ve met in the book community who make me laugh throughout the day, are always there when I have a question or need a sounding board, and keep me sane.
And as always, thank you to my husband, my heart and my best friend. You’re incredible.
CONTENTS
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF CHANEL CLEETON
TITLES BY CHANEL CLEETON
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
EXCERPT FROM On Broken Wings
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ONE
BECCA
I walked into the bar, already feeling about ten years past my prime. Columbia was a college town, especially the closer you got to the University of South Carolina campus, and while Liberty Tap Room managed to straddle the line between students and young professionals fairly well, tonight the place was packed with fans celebrating the Gamecocks’ latest football win.
I pushed through the crowds wearing garnet and black, my gaze peeled for my friend Rachel’s distinctive red hair. I neared the bar, spotting a flash of red through the crowd. Rachel and her friend, Julie, sat on bar stools, locked in conversation with three guys.
Whoa.
Two of the guys had their backs to me, but the view was pretty spectacular. They were both tall with impressive muscles that tapered down to lean waists. The third was something out of a magazine ad—tall, blond, tan, panty-dropping blue eyes, and a shit-eating grin with a body to match. He leaned into Rachel, whispering something in her ear, bracing his muscular forearms on the back of her chair.
In all the times we’d come to Liberty, we’d met some cute guys, had our fair share of successes, but this was something else entirely. This was like an alternate reality. This was karma making up for one failed engagement that resulted in my heart as emotional road kill and the series of less-than-spectacular relationships that followed.
Rachel spotted me, her lips transforming into a wide smile that gave me a pretty good indication of how the night was going.
I lived in my hometown of Bradbury, South Carolina, population twenty-five thousand, and while I loved it there, most of my friends had married long ago and started families. At thirty-one, I was one of the few singles left, so when I needed a night out, I made the hour-long trek to Columbia and Rachel. We’d met at a law school alumni mixer a few months ago, and she and her friends had adopted me into their group.
She waved me over, the guys turned, and my ovaries exploded a bit as three sexy smiles flashed back at me. Rachel closed the distance between us, leaving the hottie behind at the bar. She wrapped her arms around me in an enthusiastic hug that suggested I had some catching up to do.
“Ohmigod, Becca. You got here just in time. We hit the jackpot,” she hissed in my ear.
I grinned. “So I noticed. Which one isn’t taken?”
“The dark-haired one in the blue sweater.”
/> I pulled back slightly, studying the guy who was apparently “mine” for the night. Cute, and not in the same intimidating way the blond was cute. The dark-haired guy shot me another friendly smile and my heartbeat kicked up a notch.
Rachel led me over to the group, making the introductions, her voice nearly at a shout to be heard over the conversations around us and the pop music blaring from the speakers.
The blond guy introduced himself as Easy, the other one as Merlin, and the dark-haired guy who was “mine” told me his name was Bandit between pulls of beer.
I blinked.
Boy band? Professional wrestlers? Guys reliving their high school years?
My gaze swept from Rachel to Julie and back again, wondering why I seemed to be the only one concerned about the fact that a group of thirty-something-year-old men had just introduced themselves by such bizarre monikers. Were they part of some preppy motorcycle gang?
“They’re fighter pilots,” Julie announced with a grin, her body angled toward the one called Merlin.
Oh, hell to the no.
Considering Shaw Air Force Base was only an hour away from Columbia and two hours from my hometown, I’d always considered it a stroke of good fortune that I’d managed to avoid meeting any of the F-16 pilots who called South Carolina their temporary home.
Apparently, my luck had changed.
I’d known one fighter pilot in my entire life, and since that experience had left me completely and utterly fucked—and not just in a screaming orgasm sort of way—once had been enough.
“Why don’t you sit next to me?” Bandit asked, patting the seat of an empty bar stool.
Rachel and Julie flashed me encouraging smiles. One of the great things about making new friends was the fact that they didn’t know your every failure or all of your flaws. But that meant they also had no clue that this was basically my own personal version of hell.
One night. I’d just wanted one night to go out, have fun, meet a cute guy, and maybe get laid. Okay, so sex was definitely off the table considering lady town had gone into lockdown mode at the term “fighter pilot,” but that didn’t mean I still couldn’t have a good time. I mean, it wasn’t like Eric was here. And how many F-16 pilots could there be in the world? Maybe they didn’t even know him.
I climbed up onto the bar stool, a lead weight settling in my stomach. I’d stay for a drink. Then all bets were off.
“Can I get you something?” Bandit asked.
“That’s okay. I’ll get it.” I turned and caught the bartender’s attention, ordering a glass of wine for myself, feeling like I’d brought the group’s mood down. Everyone was in full-on flirt mode, the couples clearly paired off for the night, and I felt badly for the one they called Bandit for getting stuck with me.
I turned back to face the group while I waited for the bartender to pour my glass of wine, pasting a smile on my face.
“So how long have you guys been stationed at Shaw?”
“I’ve been there for a year.” He gestured toward Easy and Merlin. “They’re visiting from Bryer Air Force Base . . . here for a buddy’s bachelor party last night . . .”
I heard Bryer and my world came to a crashing stop.
Motherfucker.
The world really was way too small.
I wasn’t one of those girls who kept in touch with her exes—not the ex, at least—the one who took my heart and shattered it, then ran over it with his car, and for an encore set it on fire. We weren’t friends on social media, everyone who knew me from before, who’d known us, knew better than to bring him up with me. But at the same time, we were both from a small town, and even though he hadn’t come home for the better part of a decade, he was the local boy who’d hit it big, the troublemaker who’d turned it around, joined the military, and become an officer and fighter pilot. So I’d heard that Eric was living in Oklahoma. That he flew F-16s there. And despite all of my best intentions not to keep tabs on him, he was frequently in the back of my mind. I’d waited for years, my heart in my throat, wondering when someone would mention in passing that he’d gotten married, mentally steeling myself for the inevitable blow that never came.
Then again, he’d made his choice clear a decade ago when I’d lost out to a hunk of metal. Maybe he didn’t wear a wedding band on his finger, but he’d promised ’til death do us part all the same.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if they knew Eric—I figured the fighter community was pretty small, the F-16 community even smaller, and Bryer its own little world—but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer. On the one hand, didn’t everyone want to win the “who’s doing better” contest after a breakup? I didn’t want him to be suffering or anything, but if he was desolate in my absence, had developed a weird fetish where he’d stopped clipping his toenails, and had lived a hermit’s life for the last decade, I wouldn’t exactly shed a tear.
“We were going to head over to Tin Roof and see if there’s any music playing. Want to come?” Bandit asked.
“Yeah, maybe I’ll come for a bit.”
I could just casually mention him. No big deal, right?
“We’re just waiting on our buddy, Thor,” Bandit whispered in my ear, a flirty smile on his face. I had to give the guy some credit—I had the personality of a wet mop tonight and he was still looking to score.
“Okay.” I took a sip of my wine, making an effort to smile, feeling a little guilty for ruining this guy’s shot at getting laid. Would it be weird if I casually mentioned that nothing was going to happen? It would give him a chance to find someone else for the night, at least.
But what should I say? “I’m already in a relationship” was a blatant lie that Rachel and Julie could easily debunk. And I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and make him think it was something wrong with him. And, “Sorry, but you have the same job as my former fiancé who I have not managed to get over in a decade,” sounded really fucking sad.
“Listen—”
“There he is,” Bandit interjected.
I would later appreciate the irony as Taylor Swift filled the bar, singing about a guy being trouble, at the exact moment—
I swiveled in my chair, my world stopped, and my wineglass hit the ground.
Eric—heart-crushing, would-rather-slide-inside-a-jet-than-me, one-that-got-away Eric—stood in front of me, his arm draped around the shoulders of a stunning blonde.
He was just as tall as I remembered—tall enough that it was an effort to look up at him. His reddish blond hair was the same—or was it just a touch lighter? His blue eyes seemed more intense than I’d remembered, which was just stupid because of course they hadn’t changed—maybe it was just me and my reaction to him. Or that the way he looked at me had changed. Before, his gaze had been heated and affectionate; now, it just looked . . . I didn’t even know. His shoulders were broader, his body much more impressive than I’d remembered, but I figured that came with the territory and his job.
He looked good. Really good. Better than the mental image I had kept tucked away in the recesses of my mind, which was a pretty impressive feat considering I’d had some vivid memories to keep me company in his absence.
His hair fell over his forehead, his gaze boring into me, and his teeth sank into his bottom lip—a lip I’d sucked over and over again—and a little wave of light-headedness hit me. Or maybe it was the sexual drought finally hitting me full force, or the wine, or the loud music, or the fact that my heart hammered in my chest.
More likely, it was the force of Eric. Six-feet-two-inches of Eric.
Fuck me.
THOR
No fucking way.
I blinked, convinced I’d somehow hallucinated her, that Becca Madison couldn’t possibly be here, standing a few feet away from me, Bandit’s arm brushing against her side.
The sound of breaking glass shattered the haze, everyone around us
scrambling to pick up her dropped wineglass. We didn’t move; it was like time stood still for the two of us while the world went on.
“Becca?”
I had to say her name, as though somehow that would confirm that this wasn’t a case of mistaken identity or a dream, that she was really here, in front of me.
She looked different and somehow the same—maybe that was the effect of ten years. Her dark hair was up, exposing the curve of her neck and highlighting the deep V between her breasts. Glasses perched atop her nose, dark frames that somehow complemented her deep brown eyes and made her even more beautiful. She’d never been in-your-face sexy; instead, she’d cornered the market on the sexy librarian fantasy, the good girl you wanted to play with until she turned bad.
And considering how many times I’d had her naked, my body sliding into hers, drowning in her tight, wet heat, I knew just how mind-blowing the sex could be.
“Do you guys know each other?” the girl next to me—Mandy or something—asked.
“Yes.”
“We used to,” Becca answered at the same time.
I took a step away from Mandy, still feeling like I was in a dream.
“I can’t believe it’s really you.”
She didn’t answer me, her gaze unwavering, assessing. I struggled not to flinch under the weight of her stare, the measure of all that I’d lost.
“How have you been?”
Had it really been ten years? Did it feel like less because there hadn’t been a day when I didn’t think of her? When I didn’t wonder where she was or what she was doing?
And now she was here, looking up at me with those big brown eyes that I was helpless in the face of, her presence a punch in the gut and a knee to the balls as she knocked the wind out of me.
Finally she spoke, her voice making me ache.
“Good. Great, actually,” she squeaked.
“Good. Good.” I swallowed, losing a bit of myself as I stared at her. “You look great.”
A flush of color spread across her cheeks. “Thanks.”
Into the Blue (A Wild Aces Romance) Page 1
