He stood. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She rubbed her right shoulder, which seemed to have gotten the worst of it. She opened the door to his office and turned back to him. “Wait—what should I wear?”
“Casual—and that’s all you get. No more questions.”
* * *
EMILY DROVE HOME, wondering what she’d signed up for. He’d said casual. Casual pants or casual dress? Casual country or casual Fifth Avenue? At home, Emily showered and okay, waxed (one could never be too careful, but yeah, it wasn’t going to happen) and tried on several different shades of lipstick and eye shadow. Green looked too pretentious on her eyelids and blue way too slutty.
She went with brown, her standby. Safe. Reliable. Every color of lipstick she owned made her look like a madame, so she decided to go with the clear gloss. She tore through her dressers and closet, discarding dresses, tops and slacks. Nothing seemed quite right. There were at least a hundred different levels of casual, and she’d gone through every one of them in the past two hours. When she thought she might have a coronary over the decision whether to wear a dress or jeans, she had to finally remind herself this was a “casual” date. Whatever that meant. Jeans it was.
At times like these, the loft did lend privacy, as she didn’t have Grammy there to wonder why she was methodically going through everything she owned. Or Molly, with her keen observation for all things men-related, zeroing in on the fact she was nervous. About a man.
What am I doing? Oh yeah, I agreed to one date. But Stone was not her type. She’d stayed miles away from the handsome men. Because she wanted and needed control, she’d dated the kind of man who was stable and secure, safe and—and look where that got me. It got her Greg. Reliable Greg, who color coded everything in his closet and had every detail of their lives planned down to the days of the week they’d make love.
That was why it had been so humiliating to find him with Nika.
It wasn’t even a scheduled day for sex. It was a Monday, and Greg always required a good night’s sleep for his early Tuesday morning meetings at work. So when she’d brought him an early dinner that afternoon, so he could get his much-needed rest, she’d been shocked to find him on the kitchen floor with Nika—who was cleaning a lot more than the sink that day.
Even now, Emily couldn’t push the image out of her mind. No way would she ever unsee that. She’d run out on both of them, without even so much as an “excuse me for interrupting,” and informed her family the wedding was off. Eventually, Rachel had wrenched the whole sordid story out of Emily and been kind enough not to say “I told you so.”
Now, Emily sighed and pulled out her laptop, ready to do some last-minute work before going out. It was her job to run every marketing tool for their family business. She alone kept the website and social media updated and the blog she couldn’t seem to get herself to update on a regular basis. She posted some tweets and status updates, reminded everyone of their new wedding events package and checked their events schedule for the next month.
Emily’s cell phone rang. Rachel. They hadn’t talked much in the past week. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“We got an ultrasound, and it’s a boy!” Rachel squealed into the phone. “There’s no hiding that little pecker. Mr. Hot Stuff is so happy.”
“Oh, honey, congratulations!” Emily bit back the envy that coursed through her. If things had turned out differently, Emily might have been pregnant as well. But pregnant with the spawn of Satan. It was probably better this way.
“So what’s new with you? I’ve been so busy I feel like we haven’t talked in weeks. How close are you to getting your pilot’s license?”
“You wouldn’t believe it. You know the guy you wanted me to ask out at the coffee shop? He’s the pilot!”
Rachel giggled into the phone. “Isn’t that something?”
If Emily hadn’t known Rachel since the ninth grade, she might not have heard the teasing tone in her friend’s voice. “What’s so funny?”
“I might as well confess. I knew he was the pilot, because I was at the airport a couple of months ago to sell them some advertising space.”
“But you’re a reporter.”
“At a small-town paper. We do a little bit of everything. When I took a look at that man, I knew he’d be someone who could give you a wild time. Lessons or not.”
Okay, so she’d been thinking about it. A lot. Maybe it was time to try something different. She’d bet a lifetime supply of chocolate that Stone didn’t have designated days of the week for making love. More like whenever the spirit moved him, which she pictured was often.
“I wish you’d told me.”
“Why? Then you would have let it stop you from taking lessons, with your silly dry-spell idea. So? Have you, uh, you know, yet?”
“No, we haven’t ‘you know’ yet. Have I known him for six months?”
“Right. What was I thinking? Emily’s Rules. What a shame. I had him checked out anyway. If I’m going to play matchmaker for my best friend, I’m going to make sure the man isn’t a convicted rapist. Or an ax murderer. He’s neither, by the way.”
Stone, an ax murderer. He was scary, but not that kind of scary. “Good to know I’m safe.” Although safe was a relative term.
“I didn’t say that. He sure doesn’t look safe, at least not on paper.”
Emily worried a nail between her teeth. “So what else did you learn about him?”
“He’s your basic war hero. Not your type, right? I’m thinking the man takes too many risks. You know, for God and country.”
“You’re not funny.” There wasn’t anything wrong with taking control when it came to romance. That was why she’d invented Emily’s Rules.
“And there’s also Pilots and Paws. Yeah, he flies dogs from kill shelters around the country to their forever homes. So, he’s basically Superman.”
“We had a fund-raiser for them here once.”
“What’s he like? He didn’t talk much when I met him. I mostly talked to his office manager. He’s a man of few words, I’m guessing.”
“You’re right. I thought I bored him, until today.” Except that she’d made the first move, no matter what he said. Mostly because she’d lost her head for a minute.
“What happened today?”
“I kissed him.” It was a peck but it counted. She was counting it.
Rachel squealed. “You are serious about this wild-woman thing. Girl, you haven’t kissed a guy first since Jimmy Duvell in the tenth grade.”
Leave it to Rachel to remember, and darned if she wasn’t right about that. The memories came flooding back. “And he threw up right after I did.”
“He’d eaten too many nachos.”
It was most probably the real reason she’d avoided kissing a guy first. This time it had worked out so much better.
“So, how was it?” Rachel asked. “Kissing a pilot? I used to have a fantasy about that. I still have the hat.”
Emily now had to push one other unwanted image out of her head. “It was—” Hot. Sexy. Scary. Wild. “Amazing.”
There were protesting male sounds in the background, and Emily recognized Jake’s voice. “Gotta go. Hot Stuff keeps reminding me I’m already pregnant, so we might as well take advantage. He’s got a point.”
“See you later.” Emily hung up with a frown. She loved her friend, but she never could understand Rachel’s obsession with sex. Or Molly’s, for that matter. Sex was nice, pleasant, sure, and she’d enjoyed it, too. Being held so close by the man you loved and feeling good about the orgasmic glow all over his face. For her, there’d never been any firecrackers, sunbursts, stars exploding behind her eyes or song lyrics, for that matter. Not any orgasms, either. She figured sex was just not her thing. It would be nice if it was and, on some level, she kept hoping.
Her cell phone buzzed again. Trish this time. Emily was nearly afraid to pick it up. A few days ago Emily had picked up the phone at 1:00 a.m., thinking it had to be an emergency and that someone was dead, but it was only Trish, unable to sleep and wanting to change her wedding flowers from red roses to orange daylilies.
For the wedding which was one year away!
“Hey, Trish.”
“Oh, my God, I just came up with the greatest idea! Doves!”
Emily pulled out the five-page wedding “manifesto” Trish had emailed to make a note. “Dove chocolate?”
“No, silly. I want beautiful white doves released at the end of our ceremony! It’s perfect. You have a ranch and all that wide-open space, and so we’ll just release those beautiful creatures into the bright sky. Two of them, a male and a female. I don’t know how to check their anatomy but I’ll leave that to you. Like me and Jimmy, if we were doves, flying into the future. Our destiny together. Isn’t that romantic?”
Emily swallowed. “Doves? Would you maybe settle for a couple of chickens?”
Trish burst out into peals of laughter. “Oh, you are a kick! I will say that you know how to make me laugh. But this is serious. My wedding day, remember?”
“I know. The day to end all days.” And if that was beginning to take on a worrisome, nuclear-holocaust-like tone, that one would be Trish’s fault.
Emily hung up with Trish and started researching doves online. She started off with “why doves are a bad idea at a wedding.” She needed ammunition.
A few hours and twenty Google searches later, Emily’s doorbell rang. She froze. That would be Stone, and she wasn’t quite ready for him. Would she ever be? Stone was outside her little loft, where she’d never had a man before. The thought of it two weeks ago had made Grammy laugh. Because Emily had been entirely too predictable all her life, that was why. But that too was going to change. The doorbell rang again and she shoved a bag of Cheetos under a couch pillow then lunged for the door.
“Wait. I’m coming!” She threw open the door to Top Gun–shades Stone. That was always a good look for him.
“Without me?” He flashed his illegal grin.
She had no idea what he was talking about. “Huh?”
“Never mind,” he said. “Are you going to let me in?”
“Of course.” She moved aside then glanced at her jeans and suddenly began to question everything. She should have asked where they were going—surprises were not acceptable for people who were going on a first date.
“I could have used a little more direction on how to dress. There are at least one hundred different levels of casual, and if you were a woman, you’d know that. And did I mention I don’t like surprises?”
“You look great,” Stone said, appraising her clothing, even though he lingered a little too long on her northern parts. “Perfect.”
He was checking out her home, a place which she’d thought of as temporary a year ago. But she was still here. While the loft was small, basically a studio apartment with a small kitchenette, Grammy had countrified it for Emily, putting Southern hospitality touches—including yellow curtains and rooster touches everywhere. It wasn’t exactly what Emily would have chosen, but it hadn’t mattered at the time. Now all she could see was a place she’d lived in for a year which had turned out to be more of a hiding place than she’d realized. A fort in which she’d figuratively pulled up a drawbridge and hibernated.
For one year.
Stone took it all in and, as far as Emily could tell, wasn’t making any judgments. “Cozy.”
“When I moved back home, my grandmother thought I might like a little privacy.”
He glanced at her bed, and Emily felt a tingle go up her spine. The worst thing about a studio apartment was having one’s bed in the room like it was part of the decor. She hadn’t had this problem since her college days. This was so awkward. Yeah, there’s my bed. I sleep in it. And yes, always alone. Always.
What did one do with a man like Stone? “Um, would you like something to drink?”
“I’m good. We should go.”
Emily grabbed her purse. “Right. Where again?”
“Nice try.” With one hand on her back, he steered her to the door.
Within a few minutes, they were in his long-bed truck driving to who-knew-where to do who-knew-what. “Any hint for me?”
“There will be food,” he offered, giving her a sideways glance.
“Oh, good. I like food. Thanks for being specific.” She relaxed a little, until he got on the freeway. There were plenty of eating establishments nearby, but they were obviously going somewhere else. Like, out of the area. She swallowed again, and turned to him. “How far is this place? How long will we be gone?”
“Do you trust me? You do know I’m bringing you back,” Stone said with a smile tugging at his lips.
“Of course I trust you.” If becoming airborne with him didn’t demonstrate trust, then she didn’t know what did.
“Good, because I don’t know if I trust myself.”
He did have an air about him at times, not that she didn’t trust him to do his job. No, far from it. But at times a hard veil passed over those normally kind eyes, and she wouldn’t ever want to get on his bad side.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe I’ll keep you.”
He was kidding now. Flirting even. And the sexual innuendo from earlier had just hit her.
Sex jokes. She wasn’t any good at them, but she understood flirting. “You may keep me, but will you know what to do with me?”
“I’d know what to do with you.”
Of this she had no doubt. It was in the way he kissed her, in the certain way he held her that told her he knew very well what he was doing. What’s more, he’d do it slowly and methodically. “Yes, you implied that the first night you met me.”
The light teasing tone in his voice changed to something quite a bit more subdued. “I should apologize for that.”
“For what?” She had a feeling she knew what he meant. He’d been very forward that night, not that she wasn’t used to getting hit on at the bar.
“You know what. I’m surprised, actually, that you didn’t slap me silly that night.”
“I wanted to.” She laughed a little, because he looked so humbled that she wanted to lighten the mood.
“What can I say? I was alone, and I saw what I wanted. So I reacted like a horny teenager. In other words, I let my hormones rule the day.”
Emily let that settle in—he’d seen what he wanted. Her. “You’re not the first man to let your hormones do the thinking.”
“You make that easy.”
“Well thanks, soldier.”
“Airman,” he said with a wince.
“Right, sorry.”
What she wanted to do was ask more about the lawsuit, about his sister, everything. But this probably wasn’t the right time. Eventually he took an exit off the freeway in Sunnyvale past Moffett Field and soon after pulled into a parking lot with a sign that read Air Borne Bar & Grill.
“Here we are.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A MAN CAVE. He’d brought her to a man cave.
The place looked small from the outside, like there should be a neon cocktail sign hanging at its entrance. But as they walked inside, the size of it surprised her. It was shaped like a hangar. One end had a bar and the other end the grill. Big-screen televisions hung from every wall, interspersed with pictures of planes. Small-scale replicas of B-52 bombers and other planes hung from the rafters. A lone pool table stood nearly hidden in a corner.
“Um, am I the only woman here?” Emily scanned the room and fought the urge to cling to him. For cover. All the testosterone in here was bound to cause some kind of explosion.
; He slipped off his shades. “Nah, but you might be the only Greenie here.”
“Greenie?”
“Noob, rookie, fledgie.”
He kept throwing out nonsense words. From the look on his face, he found comfort in this place. The planes of his face had relaxed somewhat, and his eyes weren’t filled with that constant edge. Less than a minute after they’d walked in, they were surrounded by three large and buffed men.
“Oh, damn, it’s Stone,” one of them said. “I thought you’d be long gone by now. Isn’t this the longest you’ve ever been grounded? Must be driving you crazy.”
“Who said I’m grounded?” Stone asked the man he introduced to her as “Crash,” leaving Emily to wonder how many of them had earned him that nickname.
“Don’t forget he’s running the aviation school,” another man said while he practically wrestled a grown man to the ground.
Stone made introductions all around. Emily would have to remember Crash, Dave, Matt and someone they called NFG for some odd reason.
“This is Emily Parker. She’s going to be a pilot,” Stone said.
Emily sucked in a breath at being introduced that way from a man who apparently did have faith in her. He believed in her abilities, even if she still doubted them. She was now in the midst of what she assumed must be other air force pilots and, for the first time, noticed a few women sitting at a table nearby.
“You’re letting this guy teach you? This stupid guy? I’ll teach you everything you need to know, babe,” the one named Dave said.
Stone put an arm around her, and she moved even closer to him. “She doesn’t need to learn how to crash and burn.”
“That’s right. You’ll take care of her, won’t you, Stone?” the youngest-looking man said.
“Shut up, NFG,” Matt said.
“Why do they call him NFG?” Emily whispered.
“He’s the new guy and I’ll let you figure out the rest,” Stone said as a waitress ushered them to a table at the grill. The men, thankfully, didn’t follow. Instead, they issued catcalls as they walked away.
The place smelled like onions, garlic, French fries and other enticing smells that were making her stomach do leaps in anticipation. This time his hand rode a bit lower on her back.
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