by Beth Ciotta
“The point is,” she said, staring straight ahead, face flushed, “he lied to me. He risked harming innocent people. Wrecked his body, his plane, his pride. That was bad enough. But then he pointed the finger at me. Said I misjudged my altitude, branded me an inferior pilot. He not only got me fired but also spewed trash about me to a reporter. And since he’s a man and, by nature, a superior aviator, they took his word over mine.”
“Bastard. I don’t blame Mick for ruining his marriage.”
“I didn’t ask him to. He infuriates me when he does these stupid things . . .”
“Like asking you to marry him?” He needed to know, for sure, how she felt about Mahoney.
“He knows I hate the idea of marriage. First you lose your identity, then you lose your mind. Married people get . . . crazy.”
“I’ve seen marriage make people do many stupid things,” Rufus agreed. “Though Tuck might take the cake.”
“I’m never getting married,” she said, and from her tone, the toughest skeptic would believe it. “What about you? You don’t seem the marrying kind.”
He felt the words in his throat, raw and unformed. He’d never told anyone his story. But as she looked up at him, waiting, the words spilled out. “My father crashed his car after dropping hot coffee in his lap on the way to the racetrack. My mother sat in the hospital by his side every night for a month, gripping his hand. As though she could keep him from slipping away. I’d never seen them hug or touch, let alone hold hands. All they’d ever done was fight or ignore each other. All those bitter days followed by all those sad nights.”
“At least they had each other in the end.”
“I guess.” He smiled wryly at her. He supposed, maybe, in the end, having someone hold your hand was all that mattered. His father hadn’t died alone. But then, was that really enough? He’d never thought so before, but maybe it was part of something he’d never really understood. He imagined having someone as strong as Grace by his side, and suddenly the idea of dying didn’t seem so gloomy.
She looked at him now, determination in her gaze. “So, we agree that marriage turned Tuck into a moron. Are you going to help me or not?”
He stared at her, feeling as though something inside him had shifted. Then her words sank in. Grace “I Don’t Need Anyone” LaRue, had just asked for his help.
“Yes,” he said with the same determination. “I’m going to help you.” Spinning some creative tales to reporters might not have the same impassioned flair as Mick’s revenge, but it would be worthy of Amazing Grace, just the same.
She leaned in, cupped the sides of his face, and thanked him with a sizzling kiss. A kiss that made his heart thunder in his ears and his blood boil in his veins. A kiss that jolted every part of him awake.
Some passersby whistled; others huffed. He eased her away before someone called a cop.
She gazed up at him, her lips moist and swollen. “If you want to help, have sex with me.”
He felt as though she’d punched him in the gut. He’d thought she wanted more. Friendship. A partnership. A meaningful relationship.
She wanted sex.
Karma was a bitch. If one believed in Karma.
He dropped his forehead to hers. “You’re killing me, Grace.”
“I could say the same,” she said in a husky, tentative voice. “Do you or don’t you want to have sex with me?”
“I do.”
“Then why are we here?”
“Because I want to know more about you. Because I don’t want to rush something you might not be ready for.”
“Trust me,” she said. “I’m ready.”
“Well, I’m not.”
She sighed a long breath and leaned back against a bench. “I can’t believe this.”
Neither could he. Maybe Bookman was right. Maybe he was in love. Could fate be so cruel? No, not fate but a frigging angel. An angel had done this to him. He’d been sent here to help Izzy, yet he’d just promised to help Grace. Had he screwed up? Had he pissed off Newborne or, worse, Newborne’s boss? Was this his punishment—to fall for a woman with whom he could have no future?
He stared straight ahead, at the most impressive of the elegant hotels lining the boardwalk’s west side, a multistoried marvel with a large center dome stationed atop the U-shaped main building. Flanked by two smaller domed towers and twin monoliths, the façade glistened with turquoise and crème accents. In a few decades this architectural wonder would be demolished to make room for a nondescript casino. In a few decades the gilded Royal Theatre would be replaced by a drab multiplex movie house. The majority of the amusement piers would disappear. Visitors would spend more time in front of slot machines than out in the fresh air. Simulated thrills over the real McCoy.
Suddenly the future, his future, held little allure. Suddenly it didn’t feel so bad being stuck in 1923.
“That’s the Marlborough-Blenheim,” Grace said, her voice tight.
“What?” He turned to her, admiring her strong profile, the clean scent of soap wafting from her skin.
“That hotel you’re staring at. It’s pretty famous. One of the first to be built with reinforced concrete. One of the first to have a private bath in every room. Around the turn of the century, a parachutist jumping from a balloon accidentally fell through that big dome.” Her lips twitched. “A definite first.”
He shuddered. “Ouch.”
She sighed. “This place changed my life forever.”
“Because a guy crashed through the roof?”
“Because Pop Pop brought me here to watch an air carnival. July 1910.” She pointed high above the center dome. “Glenn Curtiss flew a single-engine biplane over the Marlborough, setting a fifty-mile speed record in one hour and fourteen minutes.” Her eyes softened. “I was in love.”
He smiled. “With Curtiss?”
She raised an eyebrow. “With flying. Pop Pop held me up on his shoulders so I could see over the crowd. I held my hands over my eyes to shield them from the sun. That plane thundered over us, so powerful, so free. I watched it soar over the ocean, and I said to Pop Pop, that’s what I want to do. Later that day he bought me a ticket for a ride. Two years later he bought me a plane.”
“Your grandfather really loved you.”
“He tried his best after I lost my parents. He did a swell job as far as I’m concerned. He was convinced that after their lives turned out so miserably, my parents would want me to follow my dream, to become an aviatrix. My mother wanted to be a concert pianist, but instead she married my father. My Dad gave up his dream of circling the world in a hot-air balloon to be a good husband. When my mother died in childbirth with me, Dad stayed on the farm with Pop Pop. A tractor accident killed him when I was seven.” She looked away. “Pop Pop taught me life is short. Grab it and never let go.”
She slid him a heated glance, a pointed challenge, which he resisted. If he grabbed her now, kissed her now, he might never stop. He sure as hell didn’t intend to make a spectacle with her. She wasn’t Barbie the Chopper Chick. She wasn’t like any woman he’d ever known.
Her gaze returned to the glittering dome. “I don’t know who I’d be if I wasn’t a pilot,” she said softly. “I can’t imagine devoting my life to anything else. If you’re going to do something, do it because you’d shrivel up and die if you don’t. One’s life should be fueled by passion.”
He leaned against the boardwalk railing, a hollow feeling in his gut. He’d always considered himself a passionate man. Ask any of his female acquaintances, and they’d testify that Rufus Sinclair was indeed fueled by passion. Only Grace wasn’t referring to that kind of passion. Did he love being Marcus Van Buren’s personal assistant? Did he find joy in overseeing the details of another man’s professional and personal life? Was he fulfilled?
She frowned. “What else do you need to
know?”
“What?”
“You said you needed to know me better. I told you about my family, how I became interested in flying, what happened with Tuck. You know more than most people,” she said sounding annoyed. “What else do you need to know?”
That she had feelings for him. That she cared for him. Burned for him. That she wanted to have sex with him and only him, not because it would get him out of her system but because she couldn’t get enough of him. “Why’d you risk a death dive with me this morning? You said it yourself—it’s something you’ve never done.”
She blinked at his change of subject. “I wanted to impress you. You were making me feel things, and I wanted to make you feel things. Not necessarily in a good way. I was scared. I wanted to scare you. You’re always so confident.”
“You know Izzy feels the same way about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“This morning, at breakfast, she tried to make you feel inferior. You intimidate her, Grace. There’s something you have that she wants, and I don’t mean me.”
She processed this for a second. “Purpose.”
“I think so.”
“And what is it you have that I want?” She rolled her eyes at his raised eyebrow. “Besides that.”
“To touch someone without losing yourself.”
“What makes you so smart?”
“I know the feeling.”
Moonlight bathed her sun-kissed features in a soft, romantic glow, and Rufus felt himself slipping, falling . . . Waves crashed against the shore. The crowd’s chatter faded away, and phantom music filled his ears. “I’m heart over head, head over heart, out of my mind, c-c-crazy for you.” Izzy’s favorite song. The one she’d sung to him as a ghost while cooking his favorite breakfast. Ignoring the memory of his less-than-heroic reaction, he cupped the back of Grace’s head, threading his fingers through her soft curls. “Is this your first date, Grace?”
She swallowed hard, her voice a whisper. “What do you think?”
“I think we’re going to work up to the death dive.” He watched her lips part, and his composure slipped. He kissed her. Slow, deep. He felt his limbs grow heavy as his blood heated. When they finally drew apart, they both trembled. He stared into her eyes, her desire and innocence torching his heart.
He was a goner.
And so was she. He knew women. He knew that look. No one could accuse him of taking advantage of Grace LaRue. He’d tried to take it slowly. He’d tried to consider history and that she might marry Mahoney. But one thing he’d learned from this adventure: nothing was for certain. He could only follow his intuition, and intuition told him she belonged to him, if only for the night.
“Grace, I—”
“You’re not going to say anything mushy, are you?” She poked his chest, pushing him back.
He frowned. “What if I was?”
“I don’t want mushy. I don’t want love.”
He’d said something similar to his last four girlfriends. He could only hope he hadn’t sounded that cold. “Who said anything about love?”
“Just making sure.”
“So after this date . . . after that kiss . . . you still want to sleep with me but nothing more.”
“You got it, Ace.”
They could be ripped apart tomorrow, but tonight didn’t have to be meaningless. “How can you be like that?”
“What? You mean like a man?”
He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. “Pop Pop really turned you off to men, didn’t he?”
She whirled on him. “How dare you. How dare you say anything about my grandfather.”
He tempered his expression, his tone. “I’m sorry, Grace. I know he was wonderful, which is why you’re wonderful. But maybe—”
“No. I told you how it is. I want to have sex. Tonight. Take it or leave it.”
He stared down at her, clenching his fists at his sides to keep from grabbing her and shaking some sense into her. For a smart girl she didn’t have a clue about carnal relations, Kama Sutra or not. Sex wouldn’t cure what burned between them. On the contrary, sex could doom their souls.
“Fine.” She threw up her hands, misinterpreting his silence, and turned on her heel.
“Where are you going?”
“To find Mick.”
A sick feeling wrenched his heart. Furious, he reached out and nabbed her wrist. “The hell you are.”
Chapter Sixteen
GRACE HELD ON to the dashboard as Rufus raced the Pierce-Arrow down Albany Avenue. He weaved through heavy weekend traffic, leaving a trail of angry horns and shaking fists. His own fists clenched the steering wheel, his body taut as his dark eyes focused on the road. Hot. Intent. Furious.
She didn’t know for sure why she’d said she was going to Mick. She’d had no real intention in mind. Perhaps she’d simply known he’d be the only one happy to see her.
It frustrated her not to have her own wheels or wings to get away. She didn’t want Rufus to drive her home. It wasn’t as though he’d want to come in anyway. Why make it more awkward? God, she sounded like Izzy. She understood now why her friend sometimes acted crazy around men. They did make you crazy. Especially Rufus.
Aside from tossing her into the Pierce, he hadn’t glanced her way the entire ride home. She didn’t understand his anger. He’d made it clear he didn’t want to have sex. So why was he so upset about her going to find Mick? She wanted to ask, but every time she opened her mouth, the words stuck in her throat. Beside her, in rigid, stony silence, sat a stranger.
By the time he gunned the car up her drive, she knew she’d ruined their partnership.
By the time he walked her to the door, she knew she’d never see him again. The thought upset her more than she liked. Her hand stilled on the doorknob, and she waited for him to say something. Anything. Her heart pounded against her chest. Her stomach turned. Was this it?
Her own temper flared, and she whirled to blast him and his annoying behavior. Instead, he backed her over the threshold, into the house.
“If we’re going to be partners,” he said, “we should both know what we’re getting into. No secrets. No surprises.”
She fumbled for a light switch. “I don’t need to know—”
“Yes, you do.” He hooked his fingers under her suspenders, sliding them off her shoulders. “I don’t have amnesia.”
She stumbled back, then flicked on a table lamp. Her heart skipped at the feral gleam in his eyes, the determined set of his jaw. “No kidding,” she choked out.
“No kidding.” He slipped off his crisp new jacket and tossed it over the back of her worn sofa.
She tried not to focus on her faded and sagging furniture. Tried not to compare the modest, mismatched décor to the royal splendor of Laguna Vista. Tried not to wonder what he’d think of her narrow twin bed. If they made it to her bed. He’d removed her suspenders and his coat, his gaze never moving from hers. She’d become acutely aware of everything, from her dusty Victrola to her cotton underwear. She stared back at him, forcing herself not to balk. Even though she feared the answer, she couldn’t resist asking, “Where are you from?”
“Brooklyn.” He loosened his tie, took it off, then draped it over his jacket.
She swallowed hard as he shrugged off his own suspenders. “Is your name really Rufus Sinclair?”
“Yes.”
“Are you really a pilot?”
“Yes.”
She sucked in a breath with great relief. “Are you married? Engaged? Promised?”
“No on all counts.” He cocked his head. “I thought you wanted to have sex.”
“I did. I do!”
“Then why are you standing way over there?”
She cringed as she realized she’d backed her way toward
the kitchen. She’d pursued him like a hungry predator all night, and here she was, fleeing like a scared rabbit. Her words came back to haunt her. “Once I make a decision I stick to it. No hesitation.” She cocked a thumb over her shoulder toward the cupboard. “I thought a glass of wine might be nice.”
“You don’t drink.”
“Maybe on special occasions.” She turned and hurried into the kitchen, heart pounding. It was as though she were preparing to do a death roll, the wild gust of the unpredictable, the flesh-tingling bite of anticipation. She stood on tiptoe to reach the bottle of table wine that Pop Pop had stashed on the shelf. She swiped two glasses.
“Let’s skip the wine,” Rufus said, coming up behind her.
She started, barely suppressing a squeal.
“Unless you think you need to be drunk to do this.”
She spun on her boot heel and glared. “Are you saying I’m scared?”
“Are you?”
“What do I have to be afraid of?”
“Exactly.” He relieved her of the glasses and the wine, set them on the counter, then leaned in and kissed her. Wave after wave of delicious ecstasy rolled over her as he explored her mouth with his tongue. His deep, lingering kiss left her breathless, senseless. Her knees weak, she nearly sagged when he stepped back.
“I can’t promise you forever, Grace.”
She blinked up at him, her eyes glazed, her blood rushing in her ears. “I told you. I don’t want forever. I want tonight. That’s it.”
“That’s it.”
One question, however, rose in her gut. “Are you in danger?”
He paused, his dark eyes unreadable. “Danger is a subjective word.” He unfastened the top three buttons of his shirt, then raised a challenging eyebrow. “Am I moving too fast?”
His seductive words flared beneath her skin. She caught her breath. “No,” she lied. Wasn’t this what she’d wanted? No soft-spoken words. No mushy stuff. Just get the first time out of the way, so she didn’t have to feel so vulnerable. But Rufus had warned her it was more personal than she thought, and she was beginning to think he was right. She could smell the thinner she’d used that afternoon to clean the paintbrushes, and she wondered if it wasn’t time to let somebody close to her, let somebody adore her, maybe make some new memories in her old family house.
