Smart and Sexy (3 page)

But what was lethally turbulent was her stomach.

“Bailey Sinclair.”
He shook his head, his body tense as he continued to handle the plane, his legs working the rudders on the floor, his arms taut on the steering wheel, or whatever it was called on a plane, his entire body piloting while his eyes remained focused on her. “What the fuck sort of game is this?”

She drew a deep breath. “No game,” she said quietly. “I swear to you, this is no game.”

He took a moment to run his gaze over her features. “Goddamnit.” His jaw tightened. “I don’t get this. Start at the beginning.”

“I need a ride to Mammoth.”

“Earlier than that.”

Right. Yet another bubble of hysterical laughter tickled her throat, but she held it back because she was afraid that once she started, she’d never stop, and then she’d probably cry, and then…well, she didn’t have time for any pity.

Hadn’t in a good long time.

“This is where you talk,” he prompted.

He had his sleeves shoved up, his forearms corded with strength, his hands working the controls like a pro. He wasn’t a man who did anything halfway. He knew his way around a plane, the way she imagined he knew his way around anything he set his mind to. He was sharp, intelligent, and street rough.

If anyone in her world could possibly hear her problems and help her figure them out, it was this man.

But still, she hesitated. Yes, telling him would release a burden, and maybe, just maybe, get her some desperately needed help.

Good plan.

Except it could also kill him.

Bad plan.

No way was she going to jeopardize another person.

She was unequipped to deal with this. She’d grown up in a quiet, affluent neighborhood and had gone to a small, private college before marrying Alan and moving to yet a different quiet, affluent neighborhood.

She was so out of her league. She had no idea what to do. She knew she needed to tell Noah just enough to ensure he wouldn’t turn her in, but not enough to get him involved.

Was that even possible?

Looking into his stormy eyes, she had to wonder if she could get anything past this man, especially a lie. “It’s not important for you to know the details.”

He swore again.

“Just get me there,” she said. “You’ll never see me again, I promise.”

He didn’t say anything to that.

Good sign. Or so she told herself, and a ridiculous amount of an emotion she nearly didn’t recognize burgeoned through her veins.

Hope
. He was going to do this, and he’d be okay.

Then he looked at her. If she’d been standing, she’d have staggered back.

Jaw tight, eyes flashing fury and a promised retribution that made her swallow hard as a little frisson of alarm buzzed through her, he said, “I won’t make this easy for you. That’s
my
promise.”

N
oah still couldn’t quite believe his eyes, but she sat there in the flesh, wild strawberry blond hair rioting around her proud, terrified, nervous-as-hell face.

Bailey Sinclair’s face.

He should know; he’d stared at her often enough. Those aristocratic cheekbones, the fantasy mouth, the eyes that said she was so much, much more than a model and sex kitten wife of a playboy. The baggy, oversized sweatshirt and jeans had thrown him, but still, he kicked himself for not realizing.

The odd thing was, he had known. Somehow, deep down, some hidden away part of him
had
recognized her, which really got him.

Women didn’t get under his skin. In fact, not much did. Until six months ago, he’d been Sky High Air’s most requested pilot for a very good reason—he’d traveled far and wide all his life and exuded those experiences he’d had in every step he took. He’d never settled down, never called one particular place home, and had never wanted to.

Until the crash.

Yeah, that had changed things. He just hadn’t quite figured out how, or what to do with it yet.

“Noah,” Bailey said, clearly shaken. “Just get me to Mammoth. That’s all I’m asking.”

“You can’t force me to fly you there—”

“But you were going anyway!”

He stared at her, then let out a laugh of pure disbelief. She really believed that line of crap. “Is this going to be your defense? Because honestly, Princess, insanity might be a better plea.”

She stared right back, then seemed to sag in on herself. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, those lush lips trembling as she spoke to him. “I’m so sorry, Noah, about all of it. It’s just that I need everyone to think I’m on that other flight, to Aspen. I was going to secretly drive to Mammoth, but I couldn’t get cash, and I couldn’t use a credit card, and even if I had, it could have been traced, and I needed to hurry…
God
.” She rubbed her temples, and then something happened that was like a punch to his gut.

Her eyes filled.

Christ, not the waterworks. He’d always been helpless against the waterworks. Helpless and clueless, two of his least favorite things to be. And that this was Bailey, his secret fantasy woman, didn’t help. He had visions of pulling her close, and not all for comfort.

Idiot.

Seriously, he was a complete idiot to be letting his thoughts go there. He could rush her now, he knew, in her moment of weakness. He could take the gun out of her sweatshirt pocket and overtake her—and probably not crash while he was at it.

Yet something held him back. He wanted to say it had nothing, nothing at all to do with the fact that she’d always made him uncomfortably hot, but he couldn’t because it was more than that, way more than the
caliente
factor of Bailey Sinclair’s outer package.

Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated so that he could hardly see a ring of that sky blue around the black. Her breathing was coming in short little pants, her full lips trembling slightly. Her skin was flushed. Dewy. Damp.

It could have aroused him.

Okay, it
did
arouse him, but she was clearly stressed to the point of shattering, and then the coup de grace—the utter abject terror in her eyes.

Someone had either laid their hands on her or had threatened to.

He hated that. Hated that she was genuinely terrified, and utterly sincere in her urgency.

And in spite of himself, every protective instinct reared its hasty, impulsive head.

Christ.
Curiosity had killed the cat, and it just might kill him yet. “Keep talking,” he said against his better judgment, doing his best to keep the plane steady and smooth in the gathering thunderstorm that had arrived early.

Shit, what a day.

She swallowed hard, moistened her dry lips with her tongue. Noah told himself not to notice.
Ordered
himself not to notice.

“It’s about…my finances,” she said.

She’d had a rich husband who’d probably left her billions. What could she possibly have to worry about? “What’s the matter, the trust fund interest rate go down and you have to give up sushi?”

“It’s gone.”

“The sushi?”

“The trust fund.”

Uh huh. “What happened?”

“My thieving, lying, conniving bastard of a husband happened.”

Okay, this part was new. Noah hadn’t known Alan from Dick, but the guy had always seemed friendly and charismatic, drawing people to him like bees to honey. “You’re saying that Alan was some sort of a thieving, lying, conniving bastard?”

“Yes. Before he got himself dead and buried.”

Domestic trouble? The thought made his stomach clench, but Alan had been gone for months. “What does this have to do with Mammoth?”

At that, she rolled her lips together and broke eye contact.

Ah, hell. In his experience, that meant one thing. She was going to start lying. Or maybe just omitting, but neither appealed.

“I have to get something from his resort there,” she said, still not looking at him.

Definitely
omitting. “Something? Or someone?”

“Like who?” she asked.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“No, it’s a something, and, um…” More looking away. “I have to get it quickly. Like yesterday quickly.”

“As in hijack-a-pilot quickly?”

“I didn’t hijack you,” she said with a primness that made him want to laugh—if there’d been anything remotely funny about this situation. “You were going anyway,” she said in the same old refrain.

He slid her a long glance.

She broke eye contact again.

“Okay,” he said, deciding to bite. “So what is this ‘something’ you have to get quickly?”

She put her nose to the window. “Are we almost there?”

“Done talking, are we?” he asked dryly.

She didn’t answer.

Yeah, apparently, she was done talking. She’d definitely omitted plenty, leaving out a whole bunch of her story, including how the hell she’d gotten herself roughed up and by whom.

Not his problem, he reminded himself, even if just looking at her invoked Superman tendencies. He was going to Mammoth for some desperately needed R&R.

And a ski bunny.

Nothing else, including saving damsels in distress.

With that thought, he began landing preparations, calling in for confirmation. He reduced power and lowered the flaps, controlling the nose, maintaining altitude, but in yet another unwelcome turn of events, the landing gear didn’t lower.

Un-fucking-believable.
He flicked the switch again, prepared to adjust the trim at the drag to stabilize the nose again, but nope, the landing gear definitely did not lower.
“Shit.”

“What?” she asked.

He looked into her lovely, terrified face. How to tell her they might be landing on their belly? Well, truthfully, it wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to him. “Come here.”

“Why?” asked his suspicious little hijacker.

There was no sugarcoating the insanity. “We have a little problem.”

“That’s an oxymoron when you’re in the air.”

He let out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah. Listen, the landing gear didn’t lower.”

Her mouth fell open.

“I need you to fly the plane while I go crank it down manually.” Crank, kick…whatever it took.

The color drained completely out of her face. “Ohmigod. Without the landing gear, we can’t land. Right?”

“Sure we can; we just do it on our belly. Not nearly as smooth, though, trust me.”

She swallowed hard. “That’s nowhere close to a little problem.”

“Compared to falling out of the sky, it is. Get over here, Princess.”

“Can you really fix it?”

“Yeah. I’ve seen a guy do it once or twice.”

“Omigod!”

“I’m kidding! Yes, I can fix it. If you get over here.”

“Noah—”

The plane shuddered. More turbulence.
Perfect.
“Now, goddamnit.” To help her along, he snagged a fistful of the front of her sweatshirt and yanked. With a gasp, she flew toward him, and something slid out of her front pocket, clattering on the floor.

A large, fat pen.

A pen that probably, if shoved up against him, would feel like a gun. He stared down at the thing until it rolled beneath the seat. “You’re kidding me.”

The truth was written all over her face. “I—”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” He couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. “A pen? You held me up with a pen?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, then gasped again when with another tug, he had her on his lap.

He really hated to waste the sensation of her curvy bod against his, but now was not the time to enjoy the fact that her ass was snug to his crotch.

And then there were two other things—her full, soft breasts mashed against his forearm that he had tight around her front.

She rectified that right quick by jerking free, but her hair was in his face, smelling like his own little corner of heaven. It was also in his mouth, stabbing into his eyes…and though he was flying a plane and still struggling with not strangling her, unbelievably he was fully aroused, desire pumping through him right along with the adrenaline, and he took a second to notice how sweet she fit against him.

Then she began to fight in earnest and managed to knee his inner thigh, uncomfortably close to his goods.
“Hold still,”
he ground out, tightening the arm he had around her middle.

Wriggling to free herself, she continued to grind her ass into his crotch, making him see stars, and not from pain.
“Sit still,”
he repeated in her ear, running his hands down her arms, grasping her hands to set them to the yoke. “Hold here.”

She looked out the windshield, saw the setting sun, the storm gathering in huge, black billowy clouds just beyond them, and gulped. “Oh, no. I can’t—”

“You held me up with a pen. You can do this.” He slid out from beneath her, but not before his legs and arms entangled with hers. Her chest pressed into his forearm, and when he pulled, her breast slid along his skin, nearly right into his palm. For a flash in time, he actually stopped breathing. By the time he managed to scrape her off his lap, his nostrils were filled with her scent, his eyes had crossed with lust, and his body was twitching.

He’d gone over six months without sex, during which time he hadn’t even thought about it.

Well, other than the rhetorical ski bunny thing…

But he’d been with Bailey Sinclair for what, an hour tops, and suddenly sex was all he could think about.
Distance
. He needed some serious distance.

“Noah—”

“Look, we need the landing gear.” He stood over her, guiding her hands with his on the yoke. Hers were small, and icy cold, and he refused to care. “I’ve done it the other way, without, and trust me, Princess, you don’t want to go that route.”

“Ohmigod.”

“Okay, I’m going to let go.”

“Ohmigod.”

“Keep your eyes on the horizon. And here.” He tapped the altimeter. “Keep that steady. Call me if anything moves.”

She had a death grip on the yoke and didn’t take her eyes off the horizon. “Hurry,” she whispered.

Yeah. Excellent idea. He rushed to the back of the plane, pushing aside the blanket, the duffle bags. He opened the hatch, lowered himself to his belly, and stretched for the hand crank.

The plane jerked, flinging him hard against the hatch door.

“Noah!” she yelled from the pilot’s seat.

“Just an air pocket.” He hoped. “Hold her as steady as you can!” He swiped the lip he’d just bitten. His fingers came away bloody.

Not as bloody as you’ll be if you don’t get the landing gear down,
came his macabre thought.

It took everything he had to reach the crank with the plane being tossed around, but he did reach it and, with sheer force of will, managed to manually lower the landing gear. Brand spanking new, and it had stuck, which he’d raise holy hell about later, when his toes were on the ground. “You okay?” he yelled, pushing to his feet, rushing back to the front.

“Peachy,” she snapped.

A reluctant smile crossed his face. She had guts, he’d give her that.

The plane dipped violently, and she let out a squeak.
“Noah!”

“Right here.” At her side now, he nudged her stiff form. “Lean forward.”

When she did, he slid in behind her. His legs stretched along the outside of hers, and so did his arms.

Turning her head, she met his gaze, and looking into her baby blues felt like a one-two punch. It literally took his breath. For a moment he couldn’t even think.

“Did you get it?” she whispered.

A boner? Yeah.

“The landing gear. Did you get it?”

Right. The landing gear. “Yes,” he said, his voice a little thick and unintentionally husky. “Got it. We don’t have to land on our belly. You’re off pilot duty now.”

But she was looking at him with those dreamy eyes, and with a soft sound of sympathy, she touched his lip.

He’d nearly forgotten. “It’s nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered in a voice that for some reason nearly undid him. Then she shifted, meaning she once again pressed that honey of an ass into his crotch, and then she finally,
finally
, went still. Stared up at him.

Yeah, babe, that’s exactly what you think it is.

“I, um—” She scrambled to get off his lap. “You—”

Uh huh. He was.

While she turned away, he busied himself with the controls, a little unsettled that he could possibly be turned on by her, here, now.

Another air pocket pitched them a few hundred feet, and with a gasp, she fell back into the copilot’s seat.

He wanted not to care. Instead, that caring barreled through him with shocking strength. “Stay down,” he said. “Buckle in.”

“You aren’t going to turn me in when we get down, right?”

“Let’s just land.”

“Noah.
Please
.” Her voice was low, sweet.
Desperate
. “I don’t have anyone else.”

Under entirely different circumstances, he’d have enjoyed her begging him in exactly that voice, the circumstances being her naked beneath him, but then she covered her face with her hands and sagged back in utter destitution.