by JoAnn Ross
But he was human and prone to mistakes. Including the one that hadn’t stopped gnawing at him. Letting Tori Cassidy walk out of that suite at the Del.
Maybe he’d been given a do-over, he considered, as he flew a family of five over the mountains, swooping down near the five-hundred-foot FAA ceiling limit to give them an up-close view of a herd of about a hundred caribou, which was rare, since those animals tended to stick together in groups of half a dozen or less.
He’d been told that where you saw caribou, you tended to spot grizzlies, who preyed on them. His first day at Osprey, Yazz had told him about a time he’d gone low to show off a pack of wolves. Which had gotten everyone really excited, and boded well for a big tip, until he’d gotten close enough for his passengers to witness the pack tearing apart a downed dear, which, in turn, had resulted in a six-year-old girl bawling her pretty little blue eyes out about Bambi all the way back to the airport.
Not wanting to risk any Wild Kingdom drama today, Finn continued on, following the river back to the airfield.
“Unless you’ve got a last-minute booking, I think I’ll take off,” he told Mary after handing her the passengers’ performance survey cards and putting his tip in the coffee fund jar.
Finn always felt strange pocketing the tips tourists and even some locals gave him, but he couldn’t exactly explain that he didn’t need it, and even more, as the owner of Osprey Air, wasn’t entitled. He made his living by the company doing well. Which, thanks to his father’s investment several years ago, (which he’d only found out about when he’d inherited the airline), Mary’s expert management skills, and a crew of excellent, extroverted pilots, it was going gangbusters. Enough that he’d really have to go out of his way to screw it up badly enough to lose money.
“Taking the Subaru out to the runaway bride?” she asked as she flipped through the review cards.
“Barbara Ann did a good job of stocking the place, but she might like to come into town. Maybe go shopping.”
“Good plan. She probably couldn’t find herself one of those nifty souvenir moose antler hats back home on Rodeo Drive.”
“Or a mountain wedding cake.” Mary and Barbara Ann were thick as thieves. It would’ve been surprising for her not to have known about the decorating.
“I didn’t find out about that until it was too late,” she defended herself. “Barbara Ann wanted to keep it a surprise.”
“It was that,” he allowed.
She cringed. “Was it too terrible? Did she cry?”
“I think she was too stunned. But she handled it well and just said something about taking a shower and climbing into bed.”
Which had also been something he’d been thinking about too much today. When he’d found his mind wandering to a naked Tori Cassidy beneath that rain-shower spray, spreading bubbles on a body he could remember in his sleep, he’d lowered the steel gates in his mind and forced his attention on his job. The plane might be different, the Alaska Range the total opposite of a flattop, but the fact remained that a lack of attention could result in death. Not just his own but his passengers’.
“I figured I’d have a couple of the mechanics take the car over there in the morning,” she said.
“I don’t mind. And it’s not out of the way.” Another thing he hadn’t mentioned to Tori was that he lived on a cove not that far from the resort.
“Funny. For a pilot who’d rather fly mail than tourists, seems you’re suddenly keen on talking with this one.”
He shrugged and met that steady, knowing gaze that told him she could see right through him. “She’s had a bad day. And it’s not that far.”
“And she’s probably emotionally fragile right now.”
Okay. That warning came out of left field. He’d expected her to be up to some matchmaking. Ever since he’d arrived in Caribou, she’d offered to set him up with various women. Including one of her many nieces. And she wasn’t the only one. Barbara Ann appeared to have made it her personal mission to hook him up with someone.
“Is she pretty?”
There was no point in lying. “Yeah. She is.” Which didn’t begin to cover those glossy curls and dark eyes, but not being totally brain-dead, Finn didn’t give her even more encouragement by elaborating.
“I Googled her. She’s beyond pretty. As Barbara Ann would say, the girl’s a picture. Which means that as soon as she makes it into town, all the males in the valley are going to take notice quicker than a well digger’s ass.” Mary had many sterling qualities, but her language skills tended to slide into malapropisms that everyone in town seemed to take for granted.
“So,” she decided, putting the stack of cards away in her top drawer, “it’s good that you’re going to take advantage of the pole position. Get up there in first place.”
9
Finn had intended to simply switch cars and avoid waking Tori up since she’d probably crashed soon after he’d left. But as he pulled up in front of the house, he saw her move across the window. And despite the sun still being up after ten, it appeared she had every light in the place turned on. He also heard music coming from the high-tech sound system installed into all the rentals.
Huh.
The sun didn’t set until 11:53 tonight. And the weather was scheduled to stay clear. Maybe he’d take her up to share the mountain’s alpenglow. It wasn’t that he intended to hit on her, although Mary’s comment about all the other guys in town who’d be after her had continued to ring in his ears all the way around the lake from the airfield to here.
His job was to show tourists his adopted state. And, although he was off the clock, Finn couldn’t think of a better introduction to this land of the midnight sun that had already begun to feel more like home than California had been once the last of his brothers had left the ranch.
The music was loud enough that he had to knock three times before she opened the door. Her hair was a wild cloud of dark curls around her head, tumbling over her shoulders, and even without makeup, she was stunning. She was wearing a pair of pajama shorts printed with penguins and a white cotton tank that showed off a California tan. She was also holding a half-empty glass of champagne.
Alarm sirens blaring, he was prepared to tell her that he’d brought her car and take off, when she reached across the open doorway, grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt, and tugged him into the room.
“You’re just in time,” she said. “I was getting lonely. It’s no fun celebrating alone.”
“Why are we celebrating?” Damn. Her free hand shouldn’t feel so good splayed across his chest.
“Freedom.” Swaying either to the music or because she was no longer capable of standing upright, she trailed a fingernail down his shirt. He couldn’t decide if he was glad or not when she stopped just as that nail—the color of the coral he’d seen while scuba diving on Maui—clicked on his metal belt buckle. “And this wild gypsy rover escaping marriage captivity.”
If there was one thing Finn didn’t want to think about, it was how wild this gypsy rover could be. And that had been without nearly a bottle of champagne. She’d said that night that she didn’t tend to drink much because liquor went straight to her head. She hadn’t exaggerated. The woman was well on the way to being wasted. But, damn it, still too appealing for comfort.
“Sounds good to me,” he said. Finn had seen others, including, this past year, all his brothers, who appeared to find marriage to be a great institution. He’d just never been able to imagine spending his life in an institution.
“And, for the record, this is definitely not a pity party,” she said.
“That’s good to know.” He skimmed a look over her. “I like the outfit.”
She glanced down at herself, as if surprised to see the penguins on her thighs. “This wasn’t what I’d planned to be wearing my honeymoon night.”
He had to bite his tongue to keep from saying that if he’d been Dickhead Carter George Covington IV, she wouldn’t have had to worry about what to wear on her honeym
oon night, because he’d have had her naked as soon as he’d gotten her in the door.
“I rented my dress, because I figured I wouldn’t be wearing it again, and got a good deal on my flowers, but for some reason I went crazy and nearly maxed out my credit card at Victoria’s Secret,” she said. “I went all white, not because I’m a virgin, which I’m not, as, well, of course you know…”
Finn did, all too well. And didn’t really need a reminder while he was picturing her in anything from the Victoria’s Secret catalog that proved nearly as popular aboard the boat as the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.
“Anyway, it turns out that white doesn’t have to look virginal anymore. I left the Hollywood Boulevard store with this white see-though baby-doll nightie with a lace halter top”—she covered one breast with her hand, making him all too aware that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that camisole—“and a lace thong. Oh, and the saleswoman talked me into a lace white garter belt.”
His gaze followed her hand as it slid down her side, over the indentation at her waist, the curve of her hips, to mid-thigh. “That attached to a pair of lace-topped white nylons.”
Why didn’t she just kill him now?
“You need a drink,” she said.
He was just blessing her change of subject when, oh, hell, she curved her fingers around the denim waistband of his jeans and began tugging him across the floor toward the table. Not only had she made serious inroads on the mountain cake, the level of champagne in the green bottle was below the halfway point. Which explained why she was swaying a lot like a willow in a typhoon.
“Thanks, but I’d better pass,” he said. Not only had champagne always tasted like carbonated piss to him, the last thing this situation needed was more alcohol. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”
“I suppose it’s just as well.” She gave him a wide, wobbly smile as she picked up the bottle, topped off her glass, and drank like a longshoreman tossing back a shot of whiskey. “That leaves all the more for me.” Her eyes were nearly as glazed as the brilliantly glaciated lake he’d landed the floatplane on earlier, before he’d left.
Then—oh, hell—she twined her arms around his neck. “Dance with me.”
The only reason he was putting his hands on her hips was to steady her, Finn assured himself as she began humming along with the lyrics coming from the hidden speakers.
“I want a man who knows what I am,” she sang.
She was pressed against him, breasts against his chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh, and those really dangerous parts in between.
“At ease, Sailor,” she chided as he stiffened his shoulders and tried to put some space between them, which was difficult when she was twined around him like poison ivy.
Not that he’d normally complain, but while he might not have inherited a monogamy gene, he’d totally bought into the officer-and-a-gentleman behavior that had been drilled into him at the Academy. The Navy’s reputation for a girl in every port undoubtedly went back to the Phoenicians, and Finn wasn’t about to deny that there’d been times, when he’d been younger, when he’d lived up to that reputation. But he’d still always had some set-in-concrete rules of behavior.
At the top of that list was never, ever go to bed with a woman, no matter how seemingly willing or eager, who’d slid beyond slightly tipsy to flat-out drunk.
“Find me,” she sang along with the clear soprano voice, going up on her toes to nuzzle his neck. “Find me.” She nipped at his earlobe, crooning into his ear. “Find me.”
And then, her mouth found his, rocking him to the core while stealing the breath from his lungs.
She tasted of buttercream, sex, and too much temptation. When her tongue glided silkily against his, Finn heard a moan, not sure whether it had come from him or her. But it didn’t matter because he had no business letting things get this far.
“Sweetheart.” Okay, that fit-all name that had come so easily off his tongue definitely wouldn’t help matters. “We can’t do this.”
“Of course we can.” When she shimmied against him, despite orders to the contrary, his body immediately chose sides. Her side. “I may be a little tipsy—”
“I think the ship has sailed far past that,” he reminded them both.
“Perhaps.” She frowned. “Maybe a teensy bit.” She lifted a hand, managing to hold her thumb and index finger a bit apart. “But I haven’t had so much to drink that I’ve forgotten that there’s one thing we’re both very, very good at doing together.”
“Still.” There was no point in denying what was definitely true. “There are rules.”
“I’m tired of rules.” She leaned her head back and blinked, as if trying to focus her gaze on his. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to be a good girl. Which didn’t stop my parents from being killed.”
“That sucks.”
As he knew all too well. At least he hadn’t lost his father. Not that Colin Brannigan would have ever won a father-of-the-year award, but all of his sons had always known they’d had a home.
Having felt so alone his last years at the ranch, Finn had overlooked all those years that, while never exactly a home in the traditional family sense, it had been a place where all the Brannigan brothers had connected in a way they hadn’t for a very long time.
“It does suck.” She blew out a long, sad breath. Her eyes glistened. “Especially after the Wicked Witch of the West told those lies about me and had me arrested.”
“You were arrested?” He’d learned long ago not to take anything anyone said while drunk literally. Which was another reason he wasn’t much of a drinker. Whoever it was who’d said that “in wine was truth” had obviously hung out with a different crowd.
“Well, not technically arrested. Like with handcuffs and an ugly mug shot. But I was taken away from the Covingtons’ house and stuck in foster care.”
Okay. This was weird. Finn’s dick gave up its argument and promptly deflated while his brain kicked into gear, trying to follow the slurred verbal breadcrumbs she was scattering about like those pink rose petals.
“The Covingtons? Are you talking about your fiancé’s mother?”
“Former fiancé,” she reminded him. “That’s the one.” She nodded. Slowly but decidedly. “I lived with them.”
“With the Covingtons?” Finn didn’t remember any girl coming to the Christmas open houses with Dickhead IV, who was an only child.
“Uh huh.” Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she started slanting toward starboard.
Taking hold of her shoulders, Finn straightened her back up. “Maybe you ought to sit down.”
“I’m fine. And yes, the family took me in when my parents died. I think maybe Mr. Covington felt a little guilty.” Her smooth brow furrowed as she seemed to be thinking back on what had to have been a horrific time. It also had him thinking that, as hard as losing his mom had been on him, the loss must’ve have been far worse for his older brothers. The ones who’d had more years to bond with her.
“I always thought she only went along with him because of how it would look,” Tori said, breaking into Finn’s sudden thought of how hard it must have been on James, especially, given that so much of taking care of his brothers had landed on his shoulders. “Tossing a poor eleven-year-old orphan out of the servants’ cottage wouldn’t have been seen as an act of charity.”
“Servants?” Finn nearly looked up for the lightbulb clicking on over his head. “Your parents worked for the Covingtons?”
She nodded again. “Since before I was born.”
“So that’s how you met Carter IV.”
“Yes.” As if the topic wasn’t her favorite—and why the hell would it be?—she stalled by kissing his chin. His cheek. Lips. “I loved him nearly all my life.”
Seriously? Even that night they’d spent together? She hadn’t been wearing a rock on her finger that night, but maybe she didn’t wear an engagement ring while working because by looking single, and possibly available, she’d get more and
bigger tips.
She hadn’t seemed like the kind of woman to play guys like that. And Finn liked to think he was too smart and too experienced to be played. But then again, it hadn’t taken any convincing to get her up to his suite.
“Of course, because he was older, he never noticed me.” She slid out of his touch and wove her way over to the table where she’d left the glass. She picked up the bottle and refilled it again.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he suggested.
“I thought you were a flyboy,” she said, those full, sexy lips frowning at him over the rim of the flute. “Not shore patrol.” She drank the champagne down and reached for the bottle again.
He beat her to it. Not that it took much effort, since her hand missed it on the first try. “I’m cutting you off.”
She tossed up her chin. Her eyes cleared just long enough to flash sparks. “You’re not a bartender. And you definitely don’t own me.”
She stated each word as if it had a period behind it.
“Point taken. But I do happen to be your friend.”
She’d looked prepared to take off on him and try to grab the bottle again when those words sunk through the buzz. She blinked. One time. Two. A third. Slowly, like a serious owl. “Since when?”
“Damned if I know,” he admitted. “Maybe since I arrived to find your Mt. Denali cake reduced to crumbs. Or earlier, when you climbed into my floatplane despite being afraid.”
“I was not.” She tossed her head. Then flinched. Oh, yeah. She was going to have one helluva headache in the morning.
“Weren’t you?”
“No. I was merely concerned that your piloting skills might not live up to your Topgun ego.”
“Ouch.” He rubbed his chest. “Bull’s-eye.”
“Sorry. That was mean. Especially since I don’t want to argue.”
