Hightower Affairs 2: Bedding the Secret Heiress (5 page)

His expression turned serious. “If I hadn’t been late arriving at the airport, we’d have taken off before the fog descended, and you’d be home by now. My overtime cost you your day off. The motorcycle ride is to replace the one I took from you.”

Speechless and more than a little suspicious, she stared into his dark eyes, searching for the truth. That sounded fair-minded and almost
nice
. She didn’t want him to be nice. She wanted him to be a conceited prick. Like Trent.

But she wasn’t dumb enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. She’d always wanted to see the Dutch Amish countryside, and her father had always said, “Take a little of each place you visit home with you.” She’d just have to be careful and not fall for Gage’s handsome face, his devastating grin or let his sneaky charm worm information out of her that she wasn’t willing to share. Of course, that wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. Not after the lesson Whit had taught her.

“Okay, Faulkner, you’re on. But I’m in charge. Road rules state the most experienced rider leads. That’s me. If you can’t handle following, speak up now.”

One corner of his mouth curled upward. “I can handle anything you can dish out and then some, Lynch. Bring it on.”

Lauren’s bike engine wasn’t the only thing revving as Gage strode across the parking lot toward her.

A muscle-hugging black leather jacket accentuated his broad shoulders and lean torso. Matching chaps framed the denim covering the male package behind the fly of his jeans like a Look Here sign. He paused beside his motorcycle to don his black helmet and pull on his gloves, then he mounted the machine.

She visually traced the line of his straight back, his long legs and the booted feet he’d planted squarely on the asphalt. She told herself she was assessing his form and therefore his skill level, but knew she lied.

He looked good straddling a Harley. Good and hot.

And that was
baaaad
. For her peace of mind, anyway.

Luckily, she’d ridden her motorcycle to work yesterday, and had stowed her riding gear on the plane. Not so Gage. He wore “tags barely off” new everything from the skivvies out—assuming he wore underwear. The biker attire suited him as well as his tailored suit had, maybe better. And thank God he had the intelligence to wear a helmet even though Pennsylvania law didn’t require one.

With concentrated effort she forced her attention away from the man beside her to the GPS on the rental rumbling between her legs. After double-checking the route the salesperson had suggested, she heeled up her kickstand.

Gage’s gaze scraped her from head to toe. Appreciation replaced the anticipation sparkling in his eyes. Her breath caught and suddenly her neck warmer felt tighter and itchier than a too-small turtleneck sweater. She tugged the stretchy fleece away from her skin and inhaled a lungful of cool air.

He zipped his jacket and flipped down his visor then started his bike and twisted the throttle, making the engine roar. His thigh muscles bunched as he balanced
the heavy weight of the bike, making her think of other activities that caused those same muscles to flex. Not something she needed to think about if she wanted to be steady on her wheels.

She cleared her throat. “Ready?”

“Ready.” His voice was strong and sure.

Oh, yeah, he’d ridden before and his confidence in his ability to control the powerful motorcycle came through loud and clear.

Damn. Confidence looked good on him. Good and sexy.

Her palms moistened in her gloves and heat filled her jacket and helmet despite the nip in the autumn air. A chilly ride was exactly what she needed to clear her head. A little hypothermia would fix what ailed her. “Follow my lead and watch for my hand signals.”

“Just ride, Lauren. I’ve got your back.”

She lowered her visor, put the bike in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. She’d bet her Harley Gage would rather lead than follow, but she’d dealt with hardheaded students before. She knew when to dig in and when to be flexible. Allowing shenanigans could get someone hurt or killed. And one death in the family was all Falcon Air could handle.

G
age’s pulse pounded in his ears, and adrenaline pulsed through his veins, energizing his muscles and sharpening his senses. Wind pummeled his leather jacket and whistled through the vents on his full-face helmet.

Ahead of him, Lauren leaned into a curve, her body moving as one with the machine beneath her. He did the same, savoring the power and responsiveness of the well-balanced Harley. It had taken almost an hour for the feel for riding to return, and for him to get comfortable on the bike. As if Lauren had anticipated that, she’d taken it easy on him for the first leg of their trip. Now she pushed him, going a little faster and taking more challenging routes. She leaned farther into each curve.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed cutting through the air like a missile. He caught himself grinning inside his helmet and surprise sobered him.

In college he’d ridden a motorcycle due to necessity,
not for pleasure, and his inability to afford a car had been an embarrassment and an obstacle to overcome. When he’d sold that old clunker he’d sworn he’d never have another motorcycle. Today’s outing made him rethink that decision.

He focused on the curve of Lauren’s leather-clad butt. Who was this woman in front of him? Her pleasure in riding the winding roads through the rolling farmlands and roaring through the covered bridges and past silos, horse-drawn buggies, frolicking goats and stacks of hay bales couldn’t be more obvious or more contagious. The simple things she pointed out contradicted Trent’s certainty that Lauren was a mercenary bitch out to tap the Hightower keg and drain it dry.

In fact, everything Gage had learned about her to this point went against Trent’s theory, but Trent had always been a shrewd judge of character. He’d been the only one to warn Gage that Angela was lying about agreeing to forgo children and all she wanted was a meal ticket.

Too bad Gage hadn’t been smart enough to listen to his friend and dump Angela instead of marrying her. He’d been blinded by lust and love and bought Angela’s pretty little lie that he was all she’d ever need. A year later when he’d stood firm on the no-children issue she’d pleaded and pouted then threatened and finally left him, taking a chunk of his net worth with her in the divorce settlement. If he’d put the no-kids clause in writing, she wouldn’t have been able to use it against him. He shook off the negative memory of his ex-wife.

Could Trent be wrong about Lauren? Doubtful. If anything, Gage wasn’t seeing clearly due to his attraction to Lauren.

Lauren signaled a left turn and pulled into a rural diner parking lot. Gage geared down and followed her,
stopping beside her and killing his engine. The absolute silence of the countryside soaked into him.

She flipped up her visor. “Let’s eat before we head back.”

“Sounds good.” Dismounting, he peeled off his gloves and reached up to remove his helmet. Something felt different. He rolled his shoulders trying to pinpoint the change and discovered the persistent knots that had cramped his neck and upper back for the past year had vanished.

He unzipped his jacket. Cold air bit his hands and cheeks. But it felt good.
He
felt good, and eager for the next leg of the journey. His disappointment over yesterday’s wasted hours had vanished.

How long had it been since he’d taken a day off? He couldn’t remember. He used to vacation with Trent a couple of times a year, but lately both of them had been too busy to even make their monthly dinners.

After removing her helmet, Lauren turned in a slow circle, scanning the brown patchwork fields surrounding them and finger-combing the tangles from her hair. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

She was beautiful. The defensive edge she usually wore had vanished. Her cheeks were flushed and her teal eyes sparkled with joy, vitality and excitement—all of the things that had been lacking from his life lately. If he could have absorbed her energy into his being at that moment, he would have. The temptation to try pulled at him, moving him forward until the toes of their boots touched.

He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. Her widened gaze bounced to his. Awareness edged out exuberance, expanding her pupils. She shivered.

Her scent, a combination of her leather riding
apparel, the outdoors and a trace of flowers invaded his nostrils and sank heavily to his groin.

Gage’s eyes focused on her moist, pink mouth. He told himself to back away. Given Trent’s suspicions, acting on this chemistry was a bad idea. Instead, he leaned forward. Lauren’s head tilted back. Her lips parted and her gold-tipped lashes descended. A puff of her warm breath teased his chin, and his heart hammered against his ribs.

Contact with her lips—soft, damp lips—zapped him like static electricity, but the spark was far from superficial. He felt it deep in his gut. Hell, the current charged through all his extremities. Eager for more of her taste, he opened his mouth and stroked her bottom lip with his tongue. She tasted of cherry Chap Stick lip balm and…Lauren.

She sighed into his mouth, and her breasts nudged his chest. He cupped her waist, stroked her back, then the tight curve of her leather-clad bottom to pull her closer.

She stiffened. Her eyes flew open, meeting his gaze over their joined mouths. She planted her palms on his chest and shoved, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Wiping her mouth, she backed away. “Nice try, Faulkner. But you’re not going to cost me this job.”

A sharp gust of wind punctuated her statement and cooled the embers she’d ignited. Gage studied her flushed face.

Who was the real Lauren Lynch? The simple woman who wore Chap Stick and enjoyed the Amish countryside? Or the one out for everything she could siphon from her rich relatives? With two hundred grand unaccounted for, Gage couldn’t be too careful.

For Trent’s sake, he would find out Lauren’s objectives. It was the least he could do to repay his debt.

The combination of driving rain, a chilly forty degrees and twenty-mile-per-hour crosswinds had added a little extra excitement to Lauren’s Thursday-night landing in Knoxville. Those same conditions were going to make her motorcycle ride home from the airport miserable.

She hadn’t packed her rain suit when she’d left for work yesterday morning because the cold front hadn’t been predicted to dip this far south. Maybe the Fates were giving her the cold shower she deserved for aborting her common sense this afternoon and kissing her brother’s spy.

Her pulse skipped just thinking about the firm possession of Gage’s mouth, his warm lips and the heat of his hands on her behind. She blew out a slow breath and tried to shake off the arousal prickling her skin like a coarse wool blanket.

Gage would not sneak beyond her fences again. Not today or any other day. But his boyish grin when he’d climbed off that Harley Night Rod had knocked reason right out of her head. The man took himself too seriously. The fact that he’d seemed surprised to have enjoyed the ride had doubled the knee-weakening power of his blinding smile, and those glittering golden-brown eyes had hit her harder than a triple shot of Goldschlager.

Gage Faulkner was dangerous. Probably more so than Whit had been because she’d known what her ex-lover wanted from the moment he’d swept her off her feet with that first fancy dinner. Gage was sneakier and more devious because while the attraction crackled
between them, so did the antagonism. But she knew his game plan now. Charm her. Disarm her. Get her fired.

In her logbook, once a fool didn’t mean always a fool. She knew better than to mistake herself for Cinderella again. She’d learned the hard way there was no happily ever after for a rich man and a working-class woman. The wealthy took what they wanted short-term then moved on to a more suitable mate for the long haul, one who had connections and social graces. Like the congressman’s debutante daughter Whit had married.

That meant Lauren had to get rid of Gage. But how?

She locked the plane then hunched her shoulders and sprinted through the downpour toward the terminal a hundred yards away. She’d dropped Gage off closer to the building where an attendant had been waiting with an umbrella to escort him inside, then she’d taxied the Mustang to her assigned spot on the tarmac.

Cold droplets slipped down the back of her neck, soaked through her uniform and spattered her legs beneath her skirt as she splashed across the concrete. She shook off what moisture she could and debated calling a taxi, but she wanted to send Uncle Lou as much money as she could to cover her father’s—now her—share of the expenses, and the ride to her apartment on the other side of town would run at least fifty bucks. The equivalent of a week’s worth of groceries.

Drenched and shivering, she opened the door. Inviting heated air welcomed her, but the sight of Gage waiting in the lobby stopped her on the threshold. She’d taken her time locking down the plane hoping he’d be long gone before she came inside.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“Park your Harley in the hangar. I’m giving you a ride home.”

She opened her mouth to refuse what sounded more like an order than an offer. Other than flying around the storm, the flight home had been calm and enjoyable since, for once, Gage had buckled up in the passenger cabin where he belonged. The last thing she wanted was more time with him. Time to rehash that misbegotten kiss, time to smell his cologne and feel his presence and get her muscles all kinked up again with knots of tension.

But her daddy hadn’t raised a fool. She’d rather be warm and dry than wet and proud. “Thanks. Let me turn over the flight log.”

“I’ll get the car and wait outside.”

All too soon she’d handed over the report on the airplane’s performance, secured her bike and stood beside the black Chevy SUV Gage had pulled beneath the covered drop-off area in front of HAMC’s private departure lounge.

He opened her door. Their fingers touched as he took her flight bag from her, jarring her heart into an erratic beat and almost making her miss her footing as she climbed into the front seat. His steadying hand on her elbow didn’t help her coordination any.

The big, powerful vehicle suited him, and the interior smelled like a combination of his cologne and leather upholstery. He strapped in beside her. Maybe she could convince him to talk to Trent about reassigning her on the way home. But within minutes the nasty weather combined with rush hour traffic changed her mind. She’d let Gage focus on getting them to her place without incident.

Water streamed down the windows, isolating them from the rest of the world. Intense concentration furrowed his forehead and stiffened his shoulders. She caught herself contrasting his hard, chiseled jaw with
the relaxed and easy smile he’d worn when he’d climbed off the Harley.

Her gaze drifted to his thick dark hair. The neatly combed strands had gotten damp when he’d gone after his car, and the moisture gave the ends a slight curl. He looked more approachable with disheveled helmet hair. He’d probably look even better with bedhead.

The thought made her wince. Oh yeah, she had to get rid of him before she did something stupid. Like risk her job by kissing him again…or worse.

She’d never been a slave to desire before, had never been one of those silly, giggly girls she’d overheard on campus who couldn’t wait until spring break to get wild, and she had no intention of getting goofy now. Not that she’d had that many opportunities to get stupid over a guy. But Whit had gotten to her. He’d slipped past her defenses and made her believe for a few short months that she could be more than a jet jockey.

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Besides, you love being a pilot.

She squinted and leaned forward to see through the windshield. Darkness and oncoming headlights combined with a fog building inside the car created an awful glare.

She reached for the defrost button and her hand collided with Gage’s as he did the same thing. She jerked away, and let him adjust his own controls while she tried to quiet the buzz working through her system like a shorted-out wire.

“Take the next exit then the second right. It’s the third house on the left.”

He followed her instructions, pulled up to the garage and turned off the engine. Lauren jumped from the car and opened the back door to retrieve her bag. She turned and startled when she saw Gage standing beside her.

He clamped steadying hands on her upper arms.

“Sorry.” She pulled free, but the feel of his hands remained after he’d moved out of her personal space. “Thanks for the ride.”

“I’m coming up.”

“Why?” A chilly raindrop slid down her cheek.

“You didn’t leave on any lights.”

Something inside her went mushy. She wasn’t used to men other than her dad and Lou looking out for her. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll see you inside.” His inflexible tone warned her arguing would be a waste of time, and she wasn’t really interested in getting soaked to prove a point.

Resigned, she led the way up the steep, shadowed stairs and unlocked her door. Stepping inside, she flicked on a glass lamp filled with seashells she and her father had collected on the Florida beaches. Seeing the lamp reminded her why she was here and why she couldn’t let Gage blow this gig for her prematurely.

“See. Everything’s good. I told you, it’s a safe neighborhood. Not all bikers are roughneck gang members.”

Gage moved forward out of the rain pounding the landing outside her door and forcing her deeper into her living room. He closed the door as his gaze raked over her belongings as if cataloging and valuing each item. “Nice.”

A snort of disbelief escaped before she could stop it. The two-room apartment wasn’t big or luxurious, but it was clean and comfortable, and her landlord, a widow, was a sweetie. Lauren had brought only the essential furniture with her since she’d known she wouldn’t be staying long, and much to her mother’s disgust there wasn’t a designer anything anywhere in sight.

Jacqui kept offering to buy Lauren gifts or loan her
money, but Lauren was equally determined to refuse. If her mother had wanted to show her affection, then she should have tried being a parent over the past twenty-five years instead of trying to buy Lauren’s love now. The fact that Jacqui had chosen to be a mother to her other children chafed.