Flying High

by Barbara Dunlop

  It was a little, old plane, sure. But it still had to cost thousands of dollars.

  She went up on her toes and leaned close to his ear. “How can you afford this?”

  “I have a good credit rating,” he whispered back.

  “Are you sure this is such a good idea?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Striker…”

  “Erin. I’m not impoverished.”

  Well, maybe not. But there was a lot of real estate between impoverished and impulsive airplane purchases.

  Maybe this was why Striker hadn’t made it very far in life. Maybe he blew all his money on impulse.

  “Sure do appreciate this,” said Roger to Striker.

  “Not a problem,” said Striker. He let go of Erin and headed over to a sink to wash his hands, speaking over his shoulder while he scrubbed. “Like I said, I’ve got to get back to the mainland,” he said to Roger. “But I’ll come over again next week. Maybe we can install the engine before summer ends.”

  “Looking forward to it,” said Roger, beaming.

  It was obvious that Striker had made the older man very happy. But at what cost?

  Striker dried his hands on a paper towel and crossed the garage to Erin, taking her hand. “You want to hang out in town for a while?”

  Tell him you’re busy. Tell him you have to get back to the beach house.

  “I thought we could take a walk through the park, maybe stop at a café?”

  She tried to shake her head, but somehow she couldn’t get it to move. “Uh, sure,” she said instead.

  “Great.” He led her through the open door.

  “When do you have to leave?” she asked, hoping it would be soon.

  “I figure I’ve got about three hours. You want to get some lunch? Walk on the beach? Sit in the park and kiss a while?”

  Okay. Three hours. She could do three hours. It didn’t really matter where they went, as long as she kept her dignity about her and let him know she was sophisticated enough to handle the goodbye.

  “What about windsurfing?” he asked.

  “Windsurfing?”

  He pointed to the beach. “Ever tried it? We can rent them. It’s a perfect day.”

  She stared at the colorful sails flapping atop wobbly surfboards with figures clinging precariously to crossbars as they careened through the waves. “I don’t think…”

  “You’ll love it.”

  “Are you trying to kill me?” Now that would be a neat end to their relationship. No uncomfortable letters or phone calls. Nothing to remind him that he’d met and slept with a girl in Pelican Cove. Not that she had any intention of contacting him after this weekend.

  He tugged her across the street towards a beach access path. “Of course I’m not trying to kill you. I’m trying to help you have fun.”

  She wasn’t touching that one. “I don’t have a bathing suit,” she said.

  “You can go in your shorts. Come on. Live a little. You know, Julie thinks you work too hard.”

  “Who says?”

  “Julie says.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  The paved path gave way to fine, white sand. It packed into Erin’s sandals as she took the first few steps. “Well Julie doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “Sure she does.” He gave her a cajoling smile. “Come windsurfing with me. It’ll make a new woman out of you.”

  “What’s wrong with the old woman?”

  Striker suddenly stopped, pivoting around to face her. His eyes darkened and she got a funny hollow feeling in her stomach. Oh, boy.

  He rubbed his hands up and down her bare arms. “Absolutely nothing.”

  He wasn’t serious, she reminded herself. He said these kinds of things to women all the time. If she valued her sanity, she’d simply ignore him.

  But he smiled again, and her heart fluttered, and her soul felt as though it was melting for him.

  Oh, boy. Crashing through the waves at a hundred miles an hour was probably one of the smarter ways to spend the rest of the morning.

  At least then Striker wouldn’t be staring at her. Or touching her. Or saying things that made her swoon.

  Now that she thought about it, windsurfing looked perfectly safe.

  11

  STRIKER HAD HAD a blast teaching Erin to windsurf. She was awkward at first, spending way more time in the water than on the board. But her sense of humor and an unexpected zest for adventure saw her through. By the end of the two-hour rental, she was zipping along the surf like a pro.

  Striker had enjoyed every minute right along with her. It didn’t hurt that he needed to get up close and personal helping her on the board. He loved touching her, loved laughing with her, loved the way she looked in her wet shorts and T-shirt.

  As they headed through the front door of the beach house, damp and tired, he found himself wondering if he could get away with spending another night on the island. She was planning to present Allan with the offer tonight and fly back to New York tomorrow.

  If he blew off the Reeves-DuCarter shareholders meeting, he could spend another evening with her, not to mention another night. Maybe he could help her with the offer to Allan. He had to admit, he was curious to find out if she’d succeed.

  He truly wanted her to succeed.

  He shut the door behind them, gazing at her wet hair plastered against her head, her glowing cheeks and her long, soft lashes. The drowned rat look worked on her.

  “Think you might try it again someday?” he asked.

  “Maybe after I recover,” she laughed. “I can hardly move my arms.”

  He leaned forward and grasped her elbow, moving her forearm up and down. “Better think about some weight training to go with the butt master.”

  “Hey, I’m—”

  Julie appeared at the top of the stairs.

  Striker let go of Erin’s arm and took a step away. “Hi, Julie.”

  “Where’d you take off to this morning?” asked Erin, smoothing back her damp hair.

  Julie didn’t answer, but her gaze darted to the bottom of the stairs. Striker followed it. One of her suitcases was packed and waiting.

  As she came around the end of the railing, he realized she was carrying her other bag.

  Erin started toward her. “What on earth—”

  Julie lifted her chin and tossed her hair back as he walked purposefully down the stairs. “I was thinking maybe I’d just take off.”

  “Take off?” Erin asked blankly, blinking.

  Striker wondered if they’d somehow offended her by leaving her alone for the entire morning.

  Julie got to the bottom of the stairs and gave a shrug. “Yeah. You know, all you have left to do is present the contract. You don’t really need me anymore.”

  Erin took a couple more steps toward her, eyes narrowing. “Why would you leave early? I thought you were having a great time?”

  Striker had to admit, he’d thought the same thing. He also had to admit the thought of having Erin all to himself was very appealing. Not that he wanted Julie to cut her vacation short.

  Still, if it was just Erin tonight…

  “I’m a little bored,” said Julie.

  Erin’s voice rose an octave. “Bored? You’re living an all-expense-paid lifestyle, working on your tan, hanging out with a diamond mine owner who’s showing you rare emeralds. How on earth can you be bored?”

  “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “What’s not all it’s cracked up to be?”

  Instead of answering, Julie turned to Striker. “Can I catch a ride with you today?”

  Striker hesitated. He wasn’t ready to commit to going back to Seattle this afternoon. Though, if necessary, he supposed he could drop Julie and then return to the island.

  “Julie, what is going on?” asked Erin, moving directly in front of her friend.

  “Nothing,” said Julie with a little shake of
her head, but she didn’t look Erin in the eye.

  “Will you quit lying,” said Erin. “You’re really not all that good at it.”

  Julie met Erin’s gaze. “Yes, I am.”

  “No, you’re not. We just humor you.” Erin smiled, in an obvious attempt to break the tension.

  Julie’s expression didn’t change.

  Erin sobered, her eyes suddenly going wide, voice changing to a worried rush. “Did you have a fight with Allan?”

  Julie flinched. “No.”

  Erin touched Julie’s shoulder. “Yes, you did. Tell me what happened.”

  “We didn’t fight, okay?”

  “Then, what…” She stared intently at her friend. “Oh, my God. Julie.”

  Striker glanced from woman to woman, wondering what the heck he’d just missed.

  “It’s nothing,” said Julie, looking away.

  “I can’t believe it,” said Erin.

  Julie’s lips thinned and she put her hands on her hips, shifting out to one side. “Okay. So I can’t sleep with a man and lie to him at the same time. Surprise, even Julie has her standards.”

  Striker straightened in shock.

  Allan had slept with Julie?

  He’d slept with her.

  Why would he sleep with her?

  “Of course I’m not surprised you have standards,” said Erin evenly. “And you’re not lying to him.”

  Striker opened his mouth to ask Julie for clarification, but she cut him off with another question to Erin.

  “What would you call it then?”

  Erin hesitated. “Okay, so I’m lying to him.”

  Julie bent down to pick up the second suitcase and Striker quickly stepped forward to help her. He took them both from her hands.

  “I gotta go,” she said.

  Erin held up a hand to stop her. “Wait a minute. If there’s something happening between the two—”

  “Damn it,” Julie grimaced. “Nothing’s going to happen between us. He’s a rich, successful guy and I’m a con artist.”

  Striker clamped his jaw, struggling with what to keep quiet and what to give up. Allan already knew about the contract. He’d turned the tables on them. And Striker was a party to it.

  Erin jumped in. “You’re not—”

  “I feel like crap,” said Julie. “I don’t want to face him. Okay?”

  Erin’s voice went soft. “Maybe he’ll understand.”

  Julie shook her head. “He’s not going to understand.”

  “I can talk to him,” said Erin. “I’ll explain that you had nothing to do with—”

  “No. Don’t change the game plan. There’s too much at stake for you. I’m fine.” She scrubbed a hand across her cheek. “Striker, just…I gotta…“ She shook her head. “Excuse me.” She turned and trotted up the stairs.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Erin called after her.

  “Don’t,” Julie called back.

  “Maybe he’ll—”

  “Don’t,” Julie repeated firmly, disappearing into her room.

  A sinking feeling slid through Striker’s stomach as he set the suitcases down. He had to tell Erin the truth. But what truth, and how much?

  “This is a disaster,” she said, shoulders slumping. “My boss was so sure it would work. But every time I turn around it gets more complicated.”

  She didn’t know the half of it. Striker was about to make it even more complicated.

  He cringed. “Uh, Erin?”

  “What?” she sighed.

  He took a bracing breath, his chest tightening, his stomach clamping. She was not going to be happy about this.

  “Allan knows,” he said.

  “Allan knows what?”

  “He knows you and Julie are after a contract.”

  Erin froze. Her jaw went lax. “You told him?”

  “No, I didn’t tell him. As soon as he found out you were from Elle Jewelers, he put two and two together.”

  She took a pace toward Striker, peering intently into his eyes. “You knew he knew?”

  He shifted his glance. “Yeah.”

  “And you didn’t tell us?”

  “I didn’t think it was my place.”

  “Not your place? You’re a member of the team. We’re paying you.”

  He was also Allan’s friend. And his own ethics with Erin were on shaky ground. “I quit, remember?”

  “Oh, and that makes everything okay? Why would he take advantage of her? Was it some sick form of revenge?”

  “Of course not. Allan’s—”

  “I can’t believe you let him do it.”

  “I didn’t exactly let him…”

  Erin’s eyes took on a purposeful glare that made Striker nervous. “Well, I don’t care who he is.” She squared her shoulders and marched for the front door. “He’s messed with the wrong women this time. I’m not going to let him go around—”

  Striker realized with a sudden horror that she was going to confront Allan. “Erin, you can’t—”

  “Can’t what?” She turned. “Can’t defend my friend? Can’t hold Allan accountable?”

  “You can’t throw away your career like this. Walk away from the contract if you have to, but—”

  “And let him get away with it?”

  “You’re not thinking clearly.”

  “Clearly?” She folded her arms across her chest. “This is the clearest I’ve been thinking in days.”

  “Erin, please—”

  “Patrick was wrong. Business is business and friendship is friendship. I don’t know why I ever thought I could blur the lines.”

  “Wait a few minutes, at least until you calm down.”

  “I am calm.”

  If this was calm, Striker sure didn’t want to experience upset. “Let me talk to him,” he said.

  “And say what, hound-dog Striker? You mean to tell me you’re going to take the moral high ground?”

  “Are you?”

  Hurt flashed through her eyes, and Striker immediately cringed. He hadn’t meant that the way it sounded. “Erin, I’m—”

  “Forget it.”

  He shot for the door to cut her off. As a last resort, he’d physically stop her from confronting Allan until she calmed down. “You want me to beat him up for you?” he joked.

  Erin shook her head, reaching for the doorknob. “I don’t need your help. It’s my company, my deal, my mistake.”

  “So you’re going to beat him up?”

  She didn’t smile.

  He sidled a little closer, lowering his voice. “Erin, you have to be professional about this.”

  She blinked up at him, determination shining from her eyes. “Professional is what I should have been all along. I let my boss convince me schmoozing was okay. He was wrong, and I was wrong to believe him.”

  There was a passion behind her words that Striker couldn’t help but admire. She was misguided, and she’d understand that eventually, but he couldn’t help but respect her determination to stick to her principles. He should take a lesson.

  He put his hand over hers, preventing her from opening the door. “Stop and think about this before you do irreparable damage.”

  “Haven’t you heard a word I said?”

  There was a sharp knock from the other side of the door.

  ERIN JUMPED BACK in shock.

  But when she peered through the opaque window and saw that it was Allan on the front porch, her momentary shock turned to anger. She reached for the knob, but Striker stopped her.

  “Erin.” His tone was a warning growl next to her ear.

  “Let go of me,” she said.

  “No.”

  “I don’t want to pull rank.”

  “You can’t pull rank. I quit yesterday.”

  Allan knocked again, harder this time.

  “He can see us through the window,” she pointed out.

  “I’m not letting you do this.”

  His attempt to save her was sweet, but misdirected.

 
She composed herself and stared directly into his eyes. “I’m calm. I’m reasonable. I’m fine.”

  His brows knit together. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. Now please let go of my hand.”

  He slowly, hesitantly withdrew.

  Finally.

  She swung open the door and glared at Allan. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are.”

  “Erin!”

  Her voice vibrated. “But nobody treats Julie like that and gets away with it.”

  Allan blinked, looking stunned.

  Striker jumped in. “Allan, they’re—”

  “Stay out of this,” she hissed at Striker, locking eyes with Allan. “Just because you have money and power and influence, doesn’t mean you can treat women—”

  “Where’s Julie?” asked Allan.

  Erin folded her arms across her wet shirt. “Nowhere that you’re ever going to see her again.”

  “I need to see her,” said Allan, shifting forward.

  “I don’t think so,” said Erin.

  Allan looked as though he might bodily move Erin out of the way.

  “You’ll still have to go through me.” Striker’s voice was deep and sure behind her.

  Allan’s gaze shifted to Striker’s and locked. After a few seconds he faded back. “Is Julie upset?”

  Erin let out a laugh of disbelief. “Why would she be upset? Just because you thought sex was part of the business deal.”

  Allan blinked. “Business deal?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me,” said Erin. “I know you know.” She poked his chest with her index finger. “She was here as a gemologist, not a—”

  Striker grabbed her wrist and pulled it away from Allan’s chest.

  She shot him a glare of disbelief. Here she thought he’d switched to her team.

  “Julie told you that?” asked Allan. “She actually told you I coerced her?”

  “Ye—” Erin paused. She flipped through the conversation with Julie.

  Well, no. Not exactly. Julie had said she felt guilty and wanted to leave the island…

  Allan turned his attention to Striker. “I am going to see Julie.”

  Erin frantically tried to piece things together.

  “She’s pretty upset,” said Striker.

  “Well, I don’t know why she would be,” said Allan, confusion growing on his face. “We just…It was…Oh, for the love of God, let me talk to her.”