Scratch that.
No satin, no lace.
Nothing but Bailey. Yeah, that might help him get over himself real quick.
If he lived through this, that was.
“Be careful,” Shayne said.
“I will be, Mom. Thanks.”
“Mom?”
“Better than old lady,” Noah said, checking the horizon, ignoring his “passenger” while Shayne huffed out a low laugh.
“Smart-ass,” he muttered, and clicked off.
Yeah, that was him: Noah Fisher, smart-ass. Among other things. And actually, he’d heard them all: selfish bastard, good-for-nothing lout, cocky SOB. . . .
That most of them were completely one-hundred-percent true didn’t keep him up at night. Nope, he saved that for the nightmares, of which he now had a new one.
He glanced at his altimeter and airspeed indicator. Everything looked okay. Everything was okay, because he’d checked and double-checked over the static-system vents and Pitot tube for foreign bodies, like the bird that had fucked him just before his crash. All was clear right now. Good to know. He would not be crashing tonight.
“Thanks,” said the woman at his back, “for not giving me away.”
He did some more ignoring, and the silence filled the cockpit. Reaching out beside him, he lifted the brown bag from which came the most heavenly scent on earth—his burrito. Bless you, Maddie, he said silently to Sky High’s concierge. She always stocked him with his favorite fast food. “Hungry?” he asked his hijacker. He hadn’t had a real mother, but he still knew how to mock politeness.
“Just fly.”
“Suit yourself.” He opened the bag and stuffed a bite into his mouth. His taste buds exploded with pleasure, and to be as annoying as possible, he moaned with it. “You have no idea what you’re missing.”
“Looks like I’m missing a boatload of calories.” She sounded tense enough to shatter. “Can’t you fly faster?”
Yes. “No.”
“How much longer?”
“As long as it takes.” Taking another bite—if he was going to die, it wouldn’t be hungry—he checked the instruments, the horizon.
Still no weather between here and there, and he supposed he should be thankful for small favors. “So . . . what’s your story?”
She didn’t respond. Shocker.
“You rob a bank?” he tried.
Nothing but the disquieting sensation of the gun against his skin.
“Kill someone?”
The silence seemed to thicken, and his gut clenched. Great, she’d killed someone. “Oh, I know,” he said conversationally. “Your rich husband has a ski bunny at your Mammoth cabin, and you’re going after them.”
She choked out a laugh utterly without mirth. “Can you fly without talking?”
He opened his mouth to give a smart-ass reply to that, but the gun at his back pressed into him and shut him up. Yeah, okay, maybe he could fly without talking.
For now.
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She rushed into Shayne Mahoney’s party as if there was a firecracker on her ass, wobbling on heels she clearly wasn’t comfortable in, wearing a little black dress that revealed pale, porcelain curves most people found unfashionable these days.
Not Shayne. Nope, he loved curves.
The woman’s dark hair was piled haphazardly on top of her head, held there by two yellow pencils. Interesting choice for a formal cocktail party. So was the way she moved into the large reception lobby, her gait a little awkward, her smile broadcasting her nerves.
Very interesting.
She wasn’t his type. Not because she wasn’t tall, stacked, and model-ready, but because she pretty much screamed fish out of water.
All of the women he’d dated lately—hell, ever—had been confident. Bold. Overtly sexy.
And, as Brody and Noah would tell him, none of the women he’d dated had managed to hold his interest.
There was a message there, he knew, but he didn’t care. He shifted to move away, but then something had him turning back, just as the woman tripped over her own feet. As he started toward her, she managed to catch herself, then furtively glanced around the crowd to see if anyone had noticed, a self-conscious gesture that made him smile.
Definitely not confident, bold, or overtly sexy.
And yet something about her seemed incredibly appealing, and not just because in a sea of pedigreed roses she stood out as the lone wildflower, but because she seemed familiar.
He hadn’t slept with her, he knew that much. He hadn’t flown her in one of his planes, or for Sky High Air, and he hadn’t worked with her.
So who was she?
A server passed her, and she took a flute of champagne, flashing the guy a quick smile that could break a heart at fifty paces because it was real. It made her more than just pretty, but someone he couldn’t take his eyes off.
And yet the server didn’t smile back, which pissed Shayne off. Granted, she wasn’t fake tanned or gym toned like the other women here, and no, she wasn’t especially graceful and clearly felt out of her element, but she was a guest, and as such, deserved the same respect the others received.
Shayne would talk to the server, that was for damn sure, though it would do little good. The people here tonight were shallow, all of them. Hell, Shayne himself had been hit on no less than three times before the party had even gotten started, including once by Michelle, a woman he’d stopped seeing when she’d gotten a little too possessive after two dates.
But this woman wasn’t hitting on anyone, she was trying to be invisible. Interest definitely piqued for the first time in days, he kept his eye on her. She was attempting to tuck some of her wayward hair back into its constraints, not being successful in any way as the strands immediately slipped free again, brushing over her throat, her shoulders.
Yeah, she was a complete wreck.
An adorable, sexy, complete wreck.
Who was she, and how did she fit in with the elegant, sophisticated crowd that was here tonight? Since he was the one throwing this party for one of Sky High’s wealthiest clients, he’d held the guest list in his hands, a list that was a virtual Who’s Who of Los Angeles because Sandra Peterson loved nothing more than a good party in her honor.
And if anyone thought it odd that Sandra had Sky High host her engagement party and not her family, Shayne understood. Sky High Air’s flexibility, dedication, and ability to meet any client’s demand had put them on the map. He’d seen to it himself. Sky High provided service at the highest level, a fact a client like Sandra appreciated since her own family couldn’t have put together a party of this size and caliber. Or wouldn’t. Her stepkids were too spoiled, and her daughter? It was rumored that she was a little off her rocker.
Not a surprise, given how rich Sandra was. Her trust fund made even Shayne’s seem like a tween’s weekly allowance. Such an embarrassment of riches often had some pretty serious effects on people.
He should know. His own family was a pack of paranoid snobs, and the women he’d dated had had many a gold digger in the bunch. Luckily he rarely dated anyone more than once or twice. Mostly that had been his choice, but lately, not so much. He’d gone out with three women after Michelle, all of whom had turned him down for a second date.
It was entirely possible he was losing his touch, not a pleasant thought for a guy who’d relied on his touch all his life.
Adorable Sexy Complete Wreck Woman moved farther into the elegant lobby, her dark eyes darting left and right, still looking as if she’d rather disappear than be seen.
Given that people had been trying to get into this high-society event for days and days, willing to do just about anything to be seen here tonight, her attitude fascinated him.
Craning her neck, she checked behind her, apparently not taking into account the speed with which she was moving, because just as she looked forward again
she nearly plowed into a potted tree. She managed to catch herself before she hit, but one of her heels snapped right off, and she uttered a four-letter word that made Shayne grin.
Nope, she didn’t belong here. But he was damn glad she’d come, whoever she was.
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