Accidentally in Love with the Pilot

by Teri Anne Stanley

  “I’ve got to get ready to go to the theater,” she said, or tried to say. It might have come out more along the lines of Gotta geh ready. “I have to make sure everyone’s in the right place at the right time.” She pointed at the binder on the counter, where she kept each night’s script. Every show was unique, and they couldn’t just repeat everything from a previous night. Could they?

  “No, you don’t,” he said, firmly. “You’re going to stay here and sleep or watch TV and eat soup. Sew something if you have to be productive. I’ll go to the theater.”

  His words were so shocking she sat up way too fast. “No! Ow. Owowowowow.” Her head tried to explode, and she lay back down. No way could he go to the theater and do her job. “You don’t know what to do.”

  He smiled, picking up the binder. “I’ll figure it out. I bet we’ll manage better than you expect.”

  Dear Lord. She tried to struggle upright, but her illness dragged her back down. She must have been really sick, she thought as darkness took her under, because she could have sworn he was smiling and whistling as he got ready to dive into the pit of vipers she imagined her family represented to him.

  Chapter Twenty

  While Megan moved from the couch to her bed and back again, with an occasional break at the kitchen table and her sewing machine, Ben spent the second week of his vacation learning the ropes of variety show management.

  This was his fourth night subbing for her, and making sure the Waltzing Wallaces hit their marks, in the right costume with the right props, was getting to him. It was easier to pilot a seventy-million-dollar aircraft at a thousand miles an hour. At night. Without a guidance system. On empty.

  Megan’s family was entertaining, as long as he didn’t expect anything to make sense. With his military need for rank, he’d tried to reorganize the prop room, putting items on shelves in order of use in the show, but that just confused everyone. After two days, they went back to keeping things grouped by color. He’d suggested the magicians use the dressing room while the clowns warmed up to juggle instead of the other way around, but was met with blank stares.

  He did his best to keep a brave face for Megan when he got home at night, but it was obvious she was getting antsy. Ben had played the “if you’re pregnant, you need to take extra care of yourself right now” card as many times as he could, and she was getting better. Even though she was still miserable with sinus pressure and a sore throat, she checked in with her family every day and had a cold beer waiting for him when he walked in the door at the end of the night, which Ben greatly appreciated. Then she’d grill him about the show and listen intently for any sign he wasn’t able to fill her shoes.

  She was a little edgy. He felt bad. She resented her other boyfriends who’d insisted on hanging around at the shows, and the fact that he was there and she wasn’t must really make her nuts. It made him tired. She had an interesting job, but there were way too many people going in no particular direction.

  Tonight, thank goodness, was his last tour of duty at the Masquerade Casino’s Waltzing Wallace Theater.

  “Okay, it’s time for the big finish,” one of Megan’s brothers said, coming with the other to stand side by side. Ben couldn’t tell them apart without makeup. When they were in full clown garb, he was at a complete loss. The good news was that he didn’t have to call anyone by name.

  For their grand finale, the guys would throw their sister into the air, she’d grab a line that ran over the stage, twirling herself onto it, while the clowns threw burning sticks at her, which she would catch and throw back at them, as more and more items were added to the conflagration. The danger factor was way past Ben’s Chevy Traverse comfort level, but he trusted that the Shuttlekrumps had rehearsed their act as much as he’d practiced on a flight simulator.

  Finally, the last torch was extinguished, and the crowd gave a standing ovation. Ben began to look forward to that cold beer Megan had waiting for him.

  From backstage, he watched audience members gather their belongings, corral kids, and cradle little ones who had fallen asleep in their parents’ arms. Cute little families. Ben wondered what Megan’s and his kid would— No, that was a bad idea.

  He’d gone from terrified of becoming a parent to half hoping there was a baby so he could maintain a connection to Megan—but that was a terrible reason to have a kid. He’d never considered having children, both because his job kept him far away for long stretches of time and because his own dad had been such a lousy role model. He had very little concept of what a dad did, unless he’d seen it on TV.

  “Hey, Ben!”

  He was roused from his musings by Clown One, who grabbed Ben’s arm and pulled him from behind the curtain to the stage.

  The theater was arranged so that the stage was lower than the tiered seats, and a few remaining patrons milled about, chatting with the performers.

  “I want you to meet my cousin Quinn,” Clown One said. “And his fiancée, Kellie.”

  Ben was introduced to a massive man with longish dark hair and a lot of tattoos, standing next to a pretty blonde.

  Clown One was dragged into another conversation, leaving Ben to try to make small talk with his not-really cousins-in-law.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, shaking the couple’s hands in turn, hoping his own weren’t too sweaty.

  “You, too. Sorry we couldn’t make it for dinner last week. We were invited to meet the surprise husband, but had a book signing to go to in Reno.”

  Ben nodded, remembering Megan telling him that her cousin Quinn, the motorcycle shop owner, was engaged to a romance author.

  “Hopefully we can get together soon,” Kellie said. “We’ve been pretty busy prepping for the bike show, but after that, maybe we can have dinner and get to know you.”

  “That would be great. And maybe we’ll see you at the bike show. Megan’s entering a design.”

  “No kidding?” Quinn laughed. “She always said she’d do that one day. She used to make all kinds of cool stuff, but then I guess she got too busy.”

  “She does do a lot,” Ben agreed. Always putting her family before her own dreams. He hoped the little nudge he’d given her by signing her up for this contest would convince her to grab her own brass ring, but he had to remind himself that he wasn’t going to be around to witness her success.

  Megan’s parents and Clown Two joined the conversation, saving Ben from saying anything else, and freeing him to get home and check to make sure that motorcycle jacket was going to be ready by next weekend.

  …

  Megan snipped a thread and hung the jacket on the back of a kitchen chair to admire her work. It looked pretty darned good. Of course, everything else in the show would be amazing, too, which was why she’d done her best to add some extra Vegas flair.

  The front door opened, and Ben came in.

  She loved to watch him enter a room, loved the way his eyes immediately found hers and the smile that told her he was glad to see her in spite of how miserable and exhausted he was. He always said he’d had a good time, but she could see it wore him out to be around the Waltzing Wallaces for so long.

  “Hey,” he said, pointing at the jacket. “You got it done.”

  “Just about.”

  He closed the door and crossed the room to where she sat, put his hands on her shoulders, and bent to kiss the top of her head. He smelled, as always, of clean laundry, and she wanted to drag him down to kiss her on the lips, now that she was no longer contagious and feeling better.

  “What do you still have to do?” he asked.

  “I’m making a jumpsuit thing to go under it, and I’ll probably tweak the jacket itself until the last minute.”

  “It looks perfect.” He picked it up and slid his arms into the sleeves, shrugging it over his shoulders.

  “It’s totally you,” she said, laughing, because it was totally not Ben. Her reserved, cautious fighter pilot was solid-color shirts and spotless cargo shorts, not glitter and neon leather. An
d definitely not the outfit she was making to go under it.

  Her brother-in-law had no shame, however. He’d strut this biker outfit across the stage with perfect flair.

  “Did you ask Beth’s husband about modeling next Saturday?”

  “Not yet, but my voice is getting back to normal, so I’ll give him a call tomorrow.” That was as good as excuses numbers one and two, which were No, I’m terrified about entering this contest because my project is so out there, and After taking an entire week off to recover from the flu, my family will think I’m trying to leave them for a new career.

  “Why are you hesitating?” he asked, raising that one eyebrow the way he did when he was calling her on her bullshit.

  She went with the next reason on her list, which was, “I don’t think it’s good enough. Almost everyone else who enters is already in the business, and their craftsmanship is going to be so much better…”

  Ben looked down at the front and examined the zipper running diagonally across it. “I don’t see a stitch out of place.”

  She snorted. “With my luck, Ron will get out there and the sleeves will fall off.”

  “Then he’ll pretend that was supposed to happen.”

  She was being ridiculous, but the closer the day came, the more insecure she would get.

  “Well, I appreciate your confidence,” she said, rising and going to the fridge. “Do you want a beer?”

  “Sure.” He followed her to the kitchen and stood next to her as she found an opener and popped the top. “You are going to do this contest, right?”

  He’d been supportive to the point of pushing. Not that she minded—sometimes she needed a prod, but, “Why is this so important to you?”

  He didn’t look at her when he said, “I don’t want you to miss an opportunity and then regret it for the rest of your life.”

  “What do you regret?” she had to ask, immediately adding to her own regret list when she saw the flash of pain that crossed his features. “Never mind. Not my business.”

  He gave a quick shake of his head. “No big deal. I should have asked my dad to stick around more. I was a really shy kid, and I guess he thought I wasn’t interested in hanging out with him.”

  Her heart bled for the little boy Ben had been, but she was angry for him, too. “Your dad should have tried harder. Parents should try.”

  He nodded and stroked her hand, loosening her death grip on the bottle of beer.

  Her birth parents hadn’t tried. They’d given up.

  “I’m sorry,” he told her, putting the beer down and pulling her into his big, strong arms. Against his big, strong chest.

  She gave herself ten seconds to wallow, no more, then she said, “Okay, okay. I’ll call Ron.” At some point in the next week. And if he can’t do it, then it will be okay, because I’ll still have my amazing job with my amazing family who do try hard to be there for each other.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, pulling back to look down at her.

  “A lot better,” she said, truthfully. “I’m ready to go back to work.”

  He frowned. “That’s good.”

  She bet it was. He’d suffered an entire week with her family, and had to be exhausted—both physically and emotionally. She fed off the crazy; it energized her, but for an introvert like Ben, the constant yammering and squabbling had to be draining. He’d be glad to get back to the middle of the uninhabited ocean.

  As though to validate her point, he yawned. “What do you say we call it a night?”

  Even though they’d probably both drift right off to sleep, she thought it sounded pretty darned good.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Megan woke slowly Monday morning, warm and secure with Ben’s arm around her waist. She was so used to waking that way—to feeling that feeling—she might have to build herself a Ben pillow after he was gone, just so she could wake up with his arm around her waist.

  It probably wouldn’t be the same, though, if it wasn’t warm and breathing and attached to that morning wood poking her in the back.

  Their month would be up in twelve days. Twelve more mornings to wake up with Ben, twelve more nights to spend with Ben in her bed, or on the couch, or over the kitchen table…

  The clock on the bedside read 10:00 a.m. Ugh. She should get up and help him with the list of wedding chapels, the elephantine list they’d ignored all week while he did his best Megan impression. And if that didn’t give him Temporary Husband of the Universe status, she didn’t know what did. The flu last week had hit her hard, but she’d probably still be sick if he hadn’t been there doing her jobs and feeding her chicken soup and tea at every opportunity, encouraging her to keep working on her jacket, making her dream.

  The jacket taunted her from its padded hanger on the back of her bedroom door, its cheerful colors garish in the morning light, even next to her already overly bright decorating scheme. Just looking at it made her feel guilty for wanting more than she already had.

  The Shuttlekrumps had given her so much. Taken her in, given her their name, loved her… There was no way she could do this contest, because even imagining she’d betray her family made her stomach clench. They would think she wasn’t happy, wasn’t grateful. Even if she won and got a chance to explore her ideas professionally, somehow managed to cut back her Waltzing Wallace hours to showtimes only, she’d feel like she was shortchanging the people she needed most in the world.

  She wouldn’t win, anyway. Her entry sucked and she sucked, and…damn, she was waking up on the wrong side of the bed. Except with Ben warm and hard behind her, how could anything be wrong?

  Because she’d come to rely on him, and he was leaving. He had his nice, ordered, Shuttlekrump-free life on a ship somewhere in the middle of nowhere, where women didn’t insist on his participation in their crazy lives. Sheesh. When they’d met, he’d commented that he didn’t like to date women who wanted him to go to parties, and he’d wound up married to one whose entire life was a carnival.

  Wow. She really had the blues this morning. Maybe it was time to get up and start on today’s list, but she was feeling too muzzy-headed. Hopefully it wasn’t her cold coming back. But no. Just a little headachey and tired.

  Ben sighed softly and tugged her closer into his body, his lips nearly touching her neck, right behind her ear.

  Heat bloomed from there, spreading over her chest, down to her abdomen, between her legs, and she squirmed.

  “G’morning,” he muttered, and that little warm trickle became a full-fledged steam blast.

  Without a word, she put her hand over his and guided him up to cup her breast, which felt full and aching under his touch. He pressed her nipple between his fingers, tugging and making her gasp.

  His breathing hitched, and she knew he wasn’t unaffected—as though the redwood poking her in the backside weren’t signal enough.

  She needed to turn toward him, to touch him, kiss him, let him know with her body, if she couldn’t do it with words, how much she loved having him here.

  Instead, he held her firm, whispered, “Shhh,” into her ear, and moved her leg to slide his own between hers. His hand moved between them, tugged the gusset of her thong aside, and Oh God, slid into her from behind. The angle was odd; he wasn’t very far inside her, so she couldn’t move lest she dislodge him, and she wasn’t going to have that.

  But something about the way he was inside her…the angle, the tiny movements he made with his hips, thrusting just slightly…had her whimpering, the rising tension in her body almost enough, just…almost…

  “Touch yourself,” he told her, and she slipped her fingers between her legs, finding the right spot instantly, but then stilling, not sure she could push herself over the edge just yet, because she wanted to stay right here, poised on the brink with him, forever. But it didn’t matter, because she was coming, pulsing, throbbing, crying out, as he groaned against the back of her neck, and she knew no matter where they were together, it was exactly right.

  “
Oh hell,” he said as she caught her breath.

  She laughed. Okay, it had been exactly right for her, anyway. “What’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t— I forgot a condom.”

  “Oh.” The words didn’t send particles of ice into her heart as they might have, had anyone else in the universe said them.

  “I think we’re past the danger zone.” As a matter of fact, the way her lower stomach ached at the moment, she was nearly certain they’d soon have the proof they both swore they’d been waiting for—they weren’t pregnant.

  No point in telling him until she was sure, and if she knew her body as she did, she’d be sure in the next couple of days.

  She rolled out of bed, but before she left to clean up, looked back at her man lying there replete, smiling sleepily up at her. He was going to leave her soon enough, and she ached at the idea of spending any time away from him, yet she couldn’t make him endure another endless dinner with her family this week. She loved him too much to put him through that. She had to cut him a break.

  “Hey, I know you didn’t get to do any more wedding chapel searching this week, since you were playing medic for me,” she started.

  “Corpsman,” he told her, the smile replaced with a slight frown.

  “Huh?”

  “They’re called corpsmen in the Navy.”

  “Oh.” She shook her head, trying to force herself back on track. “Anyway, you can work on that today instead of dealing with the family dinner, if you want.”

  Say no, she begged in her mind. Say “I want you to stay here in bed with me until the very last possible minute.”

  The frown disappeared, but wasn’t replaced with a smile. “Okay,” he said, “That’s probably a good idea.”

  …

  Ben lay in Megan’s bed with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, contemplating as little as possible. For a minute there, he thought she was pulling away from him. They had two more weeks together.