Las Vegas Layover (2 page)

Chapter Three

“You are not.” Clara hoped if she stated it with enough enthusiasm God might take pity on her and make it true. But the yummy grouch she’d been managing to flirt with enough to almost forget about her own problems simply jabbed a finger at the patch sewn above his name.

Coastal Airlines Maintenance.

Shit, shit, double shit.

She couldn’t tell for sure if Sebastian was Mr. Fix-It or if he was torturing her on principle. Her gaze, which had frozen on the Coastal Airlines patch, slid to his legs.

Aw, hell.
And it only humiliated her further that his calves still made her mouth water.

Closing her eyes, Clara mentally girded her loins, which were more aware of this man than she cared to think about, and tilted up her chin. When she finally found the nerve to look at him, she wished she hadn’t. Cool distain filled his steel gray eyes.

Even when he wasn’t glaring, Sebastian didn’t have a classically handsome face. His brow line slashed hard and straight across his face, as if he’d frowned one too many times and then it froze that way. His nose cocked to the side a little too; broken once but set well. Thick lips pressed into a firm line above a cleft chin. The combination made him seem rugged yet approachable. And sexy as hell. More important to that moment, she had to wonder why the fire alarm wasn’t going off. He was beet red and angry enough that smoke should have been pouring from his ears.

Oh, Lord. She’d actually called the man an ape.

“Wow. Awkward,” Clara sang. When he didn’t respond, she tacked on lamely, “I didn’t recognize you without the coat.”

“I didn’t think I’d need it on the flight. It’s in the cargo hold with my tools.”

“So, I guess you could say this little misunderstanding is your fault?” The hopeful grin on her face had to look stupid, but it’d be worth it if he laughed.

Yeah, right.

“Whatever, lady,” Sebastian growled, pulling earbuds and an iPod from his breast pocket.

“Hey.” Clara lightly slapped his hand away when he tried to put one bud in his ear. She knew she was in deep trouble when that simple touch made her breath quicken and her liver quiver. She hadn’t been this sexually drawn to anyone in…well, ever. And he didn’t even like her.

Blinking free of her thoughts, she croaked, “You have to let me apologize.”

She watched his retort die on his lips. That he was working was probably all that spared her whatever acidic remark he’d thought up. A little smile teased at her lips. Mr. Serious was going to play her game whether he liked it or not. She hadn’t had anybody to verbally spar with since Betty took a turn for the worst six months ago. And he was just so good at it. She’d certainly deserve it if he was rude to her, so she’d never complain to the airline. But he didn’t know that.

“I am sorry,” Clara offered sweetly. “I didn’t know
you
were the ape.” Sebastian scowled at her hand, still clutching his wrist. Her smile brightened and, without letting go, she said, “Your turn.”

Color rose higher in his cheeks and he nearly spat, “My turn for what?”

“Why, to apologize, of course,” she said with all the Southern gentility she could summon.

Nostrils flaring, Sebastian yanked his wrist free and crossed his arms over his chest. “What the hell am
I
supposed to apologize to
you
for?”

“You scared the stuffin’ outta me.” Clara drew her eyebrows together, infusing just the right amount of twenty-three-year-old innocence. “How was I supposed to know you weren’t trying to hold this thing together with duct tape?”

“Lady, it’s an airplane. Not
this thing.
Air. Plane. And just so you know—” Sebastian settled into his seat, his shoulders pressing against the back as he warmed to his argument. He continued in a tone that implied he thought her slow in the head. “I’m not an ‘ape’
or
a ‘trained monkey.’” The bitterness in his voice made her wince, but he stormed on before she could apologize again. “I happen to have a degree in Applied Sciences, and I’ve been fixing
these things
for years. I’m sorry if you got scared, but your ignorance is not my problem.” Arms still folded over his chest, Sebastian waited with a self-satisfied smirk, sure he’d put her in her place.

Man, this is too much fun.

Stifling a giggle, she leaned over, placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, and whispered, “Thanks. That wasn’t so hard, now was it,
sugar.
”

She pulled away, expecting to find him sputtering and confused. Instead, passion flared in his eyes, no longer cold steel but the deep gray of a summer storm. She could have sworn lightning crackled at the edges of his irises. She had the slightest second’s warning before he grasped her chin.

“Didn’t Mommy ever tell you not to play with fire?” The growl in his voice was more dangerous than his anger had been. Low and tangibly sensual, it played havoc on her senses.

Licking her lips, Clara nodded. “I never did listen well.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

She saw the intent in his eyes, the slight darkening, and her lids fluttered closed.

“What can I get you to drink, handsome?” Sheri’s saccharine-sweet voice cracked somewhere behind Sebastian.

Clara’s eyes popped open as his hand fell away. Blinking, she tried to process what had just happened. If not for the interruption, she would have been making out with a virtual stranger right now. She should be grateful. She wasn’t though. Not even a little bit.

Unfazed, Sebastian turned another adept, slightly seductive smile on the flight attendant. “Just water,” he said. “I’m working.”

“And for you?” Sheri asked, giving Clara a cardboard smile.

She could have been dying of thirst and she still would have mumbled something along the lines of, “I’m good.” With that territorial gleam in Sheri’s eyes, who knew what might find its way into her drink.

“The crew’s at LAS overnight,” Sheri murmured to Sebastian. “Call me later. We’ll get a drink and…catch up.” She leaned over farther than necessary to drop a napkin—with what Clara assumed was the woman’s cell phone number—on his tray table, then sauntered away, as much as anyone can saunter in an aisle that narrow.

Clara leaned over to snatch the napkin. Fanning herself with it, she murmured, “How much do you wanna bet she would’ve shrieked like a banshee if you’d kissed me?”

Sebastian’s eyes widened, slightly stunned. Clara had learned long ago that her level of honesty tended to have that effect on people, but it was too much a part of her to change it. Lord knew she’d tried.

An ornery grin tugged at his lips when he whispered, “Maybe we should test your theory.” Glancing over his shoulder, he found Sheri holding a plastic cup of ice water. When he took it from her, she turned and walked away again without so much as a glance at Clara.

“Nah,” Clara replied. “Her head’s about to start spinning like something out of a horror flick. We wouldn’t want to be responsible if she goes postal and kills a plane full of people.”

“No, I guess not.” He leaned closer still to whisper in her ear. “But I’ll probably be in Vegas for a couple of days fixing an engine. And I’d love to make your head spin.”

“I thought you were
working.
” Clara tried to sound offended, but her breathless pant killed the effect.

He flashed a devilish smile. “I am. But even trained monkeys get a little time off.”

“You’re just not going to let that go, are you?”

She all but saw the light bulb flicker on above his head. “You know…” he took a drink of water, his smile deepening, “…since you were so rude to me, I think you should let me take you to dinner.”

She laughed. “Really?”

“It’s the least you could do to soothe my bruised ego.” His fingers trailed lightly over her knee. The gentle caress seared her jean-clad flesh like fire, and her treacherous mind conjured up several infinitely more creative ways to appease him.

“I think your ego will survive.” Thankfully, her voice didn’t tremble as much as her stomach.

Another smile, this one slow and easy, spread across his face. Lord help her, even his teeth were sexy.

He took another sip of water, watching her over the rim. “What’s wrong, Clara? Chicken?” His voice wasn’t particularly deep, yet it resonated in her bones, his taunting lilt too much to ignore.

“No, but I am a little worried about Sheri.” Clara chuckled.

Sebastian cradled her face firmly in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “Have dinner with me.” The playful glint vanished from both his voice and his eyes, replaced by an intensity that almost made the request an order.

“Why?” She heard herself ask that stupid question and mentally cringed. If he was any clearer about what he was after, they’d be naked.

“Because I want you,” Sebastian confirmed. Trailing the back of his fingers over her cheekbone and down her jaw, he paused to rub her bottom lip with his thumb.

“And I suppose you think that means it’s going to happen.” Clara fought down the urge to nip his thumb. She had no idea why she kept taunting him. Maybe she had some subconscious need to be chewed up and spit out by a professional.

“Usually does.” Sebastian winked, his playful smile returning as the storm in his stare settled a bit.

“At least you’re honest.” Shaking her head, she couldn’t repress another chuckle. “How on earth did they get your head through the doorway?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Vaseline.”

She should stick to her guns, ignore him until she got off this godforsaken hunk of junk, then run like mad. But when he smiled at her in that lopsided way of his, the lonely ache in her heart didn’t seem to hurt as much. Besides, she would only be in town one night, and the promise of not having to eat alone was too much to resist.

“Fine,” she said. “We can go to dinner. But just so you know, I’m not sleeping with you. If it’s a little midnight delight you’re looking for, I suggest you hold on to Blondie’s napkin.”

Clara’s heart stuttered when he jerked said napkin from her hand.

“I think I’ll take my chances with you,” he murmured, stuffing Sheri’s number in his half-empty glass.

A few rows ahead them, Sheri stumbled in her heels. When their gazes collided, Clara glimpsed disappointment and the briefest hint of sadness before Sheri schooled her features and continued on to the first-class cabin with her usual grace.

Sebastian’s eyes held a wicked promise. But Clara refused to be the next Sheri on his roster, a warm, willing woman whose name he wouldn’t remember a year from now. He could buy her dinner, then he’d be free to forget her without any of the warm and willing parts. Except that thought gave her a pang too.

She swallowed hard. Spreading Aunt Betty’s ashes had just gotten a lot more interesting. And a lot more complicated.

Chapter Four

“Pick up the fucking phone,” Sebastian snarled, knowing it was useless. He’d been trying to call Clara for hours, but he only had her room number at the Venetian. He glared at his phone for another long second, then shoved it back into the cargo pocket of his shorts.

He’d been in a crappy mood all afternoon and tonight wasn’t looking any better. After he’d tucked Clara into a cab, he spent four hours ripping apart the engine Steve had begged him to come fix. He’d had to order a fuel control. That was flying in on the midnight plane from Denver. After he placed the order, he’d stopped to call Clara, but she hadn’t answered. Then he found a flat spot on one of the main tires when he’d moved the jet. That took another hour and a half to change. Still, he’d hoped to slip out for a couple of hours, until he’d found a false read in the avionics system.

In short, this bird was broke dick and going nowhere. Which meant neither was he.

Sebastian went back to loosening a wall panel near the back of the fuselage, but he couldn’t get his head on straight. Over the last six hours a barrage of daydreams filled his mind: Clara, hair damp with sweat, her perfect breasts bouncing as she rode him. Her silky white thighs wrapped around his waist as he drove into her. That lone dimple that peeked out of her left cheek when she really smiled. Each image distracted more than the last and made him hard in an instant.
Damn.

For once it wasn’t even about sex, which was fortunate, given that his night had turned into one giant goatfuck. Of course, he wanted her, but getting to know his pixie was more fun than he’d had in years.

That particular thought made him pause. He’d never been the possessive type. Not that he shared either. He’d just never thought of any of the women he slept with as his. At least not since Pam, and he’d been a kid back then—too young and stupid to know how shit worked in the real world. All the women since had just been on loan for a night or two. Clara was different, a confounding puzzle he
had
to solve.

She was such a contradiction. She was probably the most honest woman he’d ever met—which was sexy as hell. But she was also the most evasive—which was frustrating as shit.

They’d talked through the entire two-hour flight. But she hadn’t given him a straight answer to anything. Not once.

He asked her what it was like living near the ocean; she told him all about her baby brothers, twins who she claimed were practically part fish, they loved the ocean so much. He asked her again what she was doing in Vegas; she gave him another enigmatic line about manipulative old ladies. The worst part was, she was so funny and charming while she dodged and weaved around his questions that he hadn’t even noticed her non-answers until she was gone.

No. Clara wasn’t just another lay. Sleeping with her would be something…more.

He tried to focus on removing the wall panel—he was pretty sure that’s where the false read was coming from—but concentrating on anything other than Clara was hard, almost as hard as his cock.

Where the hell was she?

He hadn’t expected her to sit around her room waiting on him to call. She
definitely
wasn’t that kind of girl. But he’d left her a message with his cell number hours ago. He checked his phone again. Nine p.m. Didn’t she check her damn messages? She promised him dinner an hour ago. Sure, she’d be pissed that he had to back out, but—

“Fuck!” That was it. It had to be. She
had
gotten his messages and thought he’d blown her off.

And still, that explanation didn’t sit quite right. She hadn’t seemed the type to avoid confrontation. He’d bet his next paycheck if Clara was pissed she’d call to give him hell. That realization made him smile. He’d never met a woman like her—a tiny stick of dynamite.

As Sebastian backed another screw out of the wall panel, a horrible thought took root. Clara was so small and beautiful. Shit, this wasn’t Amish Country, it was Vegas. The sun had been down for hours. Drunks and perverts would litter the streets by now. What if something had happened to her?

His heart beat against his ribs and his stomach lurched as he strode toward the exit.

“Steve!” Sebastian yelled across the abandoned section of tarmac where he’d parked the plane so he could work in peace. “I’m starving. I’m going out for an hour or two.”

“You can’t leave!” Steve bellowed back. “My ass is grass if you don’t get this POS back in the air by morning. Tell Matt what you want. He can go get it.”

“What I want, he can’t bring me.” Muttering something vulgar under his breath—he’d been doing that a lot today—Sebastian shoved his tools in the nearest chair and headed for the company van. “Drop me off at the Venetian. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“Come on, Happy, if you don’t—”

He didn’t have time for this. Clara could be dead for all he knew. Sebastian climbed into the old conversion van, rolled the window down, and shouted, “Get in the fucking van!”

Steve’s potbelly rubbed against the steering wheel as he maneuvered his girth into the driver’s seat, white lines pinched into his lips. He’d long ago lost his hair and the full moon reflected back from the top of his shiny head.

If he hadn’t been so damn sick to his stomach, Sebastian might have laughed. Steve was his friend. He was also pissed as hell. They’d worked together in St. Louis for four years before Steve moved to Vegas with his wife last fall, and they’d always gotten along well. Both men had tempers like rattlesnakes, but in all those years, Steve had done the ranting and Sebastian had done the silent simmer thing. Still, Sebastian’s anger had boiled over a time or two, and Steve had been there to see it. It didn’t happen often, but when it did…

Sebastian worked to calm his tone as Steve sullenly clipped his seatbelt. “I’ve traced the avionics issue to a panel in the rear. I even loosened it already. It’s probably just a disconnected cannon plug, which I can fix in two seconds, as you damn well know. As far as the engine is concerned, I’ve done all I can until the fuel control gets here. So, shut the fuck up and drive.”

Steve’s only response was to start the van and scowl at the glaring lights in the distance. The ride didn’t take long. Circling around the rear of the main drag cut their time considerably and, before he knew it, Sebastian was climbing out in front of the Venetian.

He checked the time. Nine-thirty. “Pick me up here in an hour and a half.”

Without waiting for agreement, Sebastian slammed the door and turned toward the hotel. The glitz and glamour were wasted on him tonight. He didn’t even glance at the reception desk, continuing purposefully over gleaming gold tiles toward a bank of elevators.

Hitting the button for the fourteenth floor, he hoped he was in the right damn section. He’d been to Vegas before, but it had been years ago. He’d forgotten how massive its hotels and casinos really were. Finding Clara’s room would be a challenge. Finding her in it would be a frickin’ miracle.