Angel in Armani

by Melanie Scott

  Like ask him to kiss her again.

  Which would be crazy because he was only here to offer her a job. But the fact she was imagining something more meant she really should say no. Saying yes because she couldn’t think straight when he was around would be an invitation to disaster. After Evan, she’d decided she’d wanted her next relationship to be based on off-the-charts chemistry.

  Which was how she’d ended up dating Kane in the army. And that hadn’t exactly worked out well, either. So now she really needed to keep her hormones in check and make the smart decision. “I’m not—”

  “Look, the busiest time for me is the next few months.” He came a little closer, near the edge of her desk. His scent drifted across the desk, and she fought the urge to close her eyes and breathe deeper. Instead she rolled her chair back a little.

  Lucas smiled.

  One quick smile. One quick knowing bloody smile that meant he knew she was unnerved by him. That he liked it.

  And what did that mean?

  “A few months?” she managed.

  “Just until the season starts in April. It’s not that long and it will give you a chance to get your chopper fixed. Then we can reevaluate.”

  It sounded too good to be true. In her experience, too good to be true usually was. Which was another indication that she needed to be very careful about the decision she made. Because he would become not just a client but her only client. Her boss, really. “My insurance could come through any day now. So you’re asking me to potentially give up several months’ profit.”

  He shrugged. “Yes. We’ll compensate you for that once your chopper is fixed. Alex came up with an offer.”

  “Oh really?” She wondered exactly how much he thought Charles Air made. “Does Alex know much about running a helicopter charter?”

  “No, but he knows about running a multibillion-dollar corporation that has a company fleet. Ice Incorporated? Perhaps you’ve heard of them.”

  “Wait, your business partner is Alex Winters?” Sara said. Maybe she should have read all of the articles she’d found about Lucas and the Saints, not just the bits about him. Ice was one of those gigantic companies that did a bit of everything. Including some aeronautical research she’d read about. Alternative fuel sources for planes and helos as well as design.

  “Yes. And he said to offer you this.” Lucas pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and passed it to her.

  Sara took it gingerly. What if the offer was terrible? Then she’d have to say no and go work for Ron Harris. On the other hand, if it was good, then she’d be working for Lucas. Lucas who’d seen her naked.

  Lucas whose naked body had made her wake from dreams of it hot and wanting too many times since that night in the Hamptons.

  She wasn’t entirely sure which was the more terrifying option.

  “Are you going to open that?”

  No point putting it off. She flipped open the envelope and pulled out the paper inside then unfolded it. When she read the figure typed there, she had to sit down for a moment.

  “Sara?”

  “I always wondered what an offer you couldn’t refuse looked like,” she said faintly. She read the letter again. The figure didn’t change. And it was more than she was likely to clear in three months of running with one helo.

  She didn’t know whether to be gleeful or horrified. She scanned the letter a third time. Then actually took in what the words surrounding the salary figure said. “What’s this part about Florida?”

  Lucas leaned back. “I don’t want to bother with two pilots. So when I go to Florida, you’ll come with me and ferry me between Orlando and Vero Beach. That’s where our spring training facility is.”

  “I’m assuming you don’t do day trips?”

  “Not usually, why?”

  “I have a dog.” She glanced down to where Dougal would normally be lying near the desk. She’d left him at her parents’ house earlier, wanting to focus on her pile of paperwork. Just as well. He’d be going ballistic with Lucas here.

  “Do you have someone who can mind him?”

  “Yes?” Her parents wouldn’t mind having him a few nights a week. If it was only for a few months. But she didn’t have someone who would mind her. Overnight trips with Lucas Angelo. Hotel rooms that were near hotel rooms that Lucas Angelo might be occupying. Her heart started pounding again. She and Lucas and hotel rooms were a dangerous combination.

  “So the dog isn’t a problem then. So what do you say? I have to be in Orlando tomorrow night, so I need a pilot.”

  Were his eyes suddenly a more vivid blue? She wondered if he was thinking about hotel rooms as well. Then told herself not to be stupid. After all, the last time they’d shared a room, she’d snuck out before dawn and stranded him.

  Yet here he is, another part of her brain pointed out. Come back to find you. To hire you again.

  He wants you. He said so.

  As a pilot.

  But looking into those very blue eyes, she wasn’t at all sure that was all it was.

  She really should say no. It was the sane option. Not financially but from a Sara-doesn’t-get-her-heart-stomped-on-by-the-rich-guy perspective, it was definitely the sane option.

  “Do you care if I don’t know anything about baseball?”

  Lucas tugged at his tie, looking amused. “Define don’t know anything?”

  She could lie to him or she could tell the truth. The truth seemed easier. If any of them was going to be offended that she didn’t find hitting a ball around a field fascinating then there was really no point taking the job. “Never been to a professional game. Avoided as many high school games as I could. Couldn’t tell a Yankee from a Met.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. Sorry. Never paid much attention to it.”

  “You grew up on Staten Island and you’re not a Saints fan?”

  “My dad likes football. And baseball season is more a summer thing. I spent my summers flying.”

  He shook his head. “Weird. But no, that doesn’t matter. I’m hiring a pilot, not a fan.”

  Well, there went another potential reason to say no. She looked back down at the paper. Looked at the figure one last time. Thought about her dad and bills and what it might do to him if Charles Air went under.

  “If I need help with the insurance company, will the Saints do that?”

  “Sure.”

  The response was so fast she knew he meant it. Damn. She folded the paper up and slipped it back into the envelope. Then she looked back at Lucas and knew that she was about to throw sanity to the wind. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll take the job.”

  Chapter Eight

  It was just the unfamiliar helo. That was the reason for her nerves, Sara told herself as she went over her preflight while she waited for Lucas to arrive the next afternoon. She’d spent an hour or so flying the helicopter with the pilot who’d delivered it to the airfield earlier and then she’d flown it the short hop to Deacon Field—home of the Saints—without him. It had felt good.

  It wasn’t an A-Star but she’d gotten the hang of it easily enough. What she hadn’t gotten the hang of was the fact that she was now working for the Saints. Working for Lucas. And his partners, though she hadn’t yet met Alex or Mal. She’d met Gardner Rothman, apparently Alex Winters’s right-hand man, first thing in the morning at Deacon, and he’d walked her through the contract.

  And then informed her that the helicopter would be arriving that afternoon and Lucas was going back to Florida that evening. Aka¸ she was going to Florida that evening. Where another helicopter would be waiting for them so she could fly him to Vero Beach.

  She’d spent a frantic half hour at her apartment packing and then spent the rest of the time cramming a flight plan for the Florida leg and familiarizing herself with the new helo.

  So it was perfectly normal that she had more than the usual level of pre-takeoff anticipation zinging through her veins.

  Nothing to do with Lucas Angelo at all. No sir
ree. Not one little bit.

  It sounded good in theory. Pity she didn’t believe it in the slightest.

  Lucas was going to be in her helicopter. Close to her. Sitting there all big and gorgeous and—no, she had to shut down that thinking. There was no room for big and gorgeous. She’d screwed things up enough already getting tangled up in Lucas Angelo; now it was time to woman up and treat him like the customer—no, employer—he was.

  Hands off. Eyes off. Mind off. Nothing to do—or think about—but take off, fly, then repeat in Florida to deposit him safely at their destination.

  Easy. Nothing she hadn’t done hundreds or thousands of times before. She wasn’t going to screw this up. If she did, Charles Air would probably be dead in the water.

  She wasn’t going to let that happen. So. Hormones were to be reined in, Lucas Angelo was to be ignored as far as possible without being actively rude, and everything would be fine.

  She wasn’t going to think about the fact that her luck had turned in her life into something pretty far from fine lately.

  But as she stared up at the stadium—they’d wanted to see if the parking lot was a good temporary helipad—she wasn’t so sure.

  So much space. The stadium, with its tower and the field, suddenly felt enormous. What would it be like to own something like this?

  Hell, she’d settle for owning something a fraction of the size. Like a working helo.

  But before she could disappear down that particular rabbit hole again, she saw Lucas emerge from one of the gates in the side of the vast concrete structure. He wore a suit as usual and carried a garment bag and a carry-on.

  Nerves buzzed. “Just a job,” she said and climbed out of the helo so she could wait for him.

  As soon as her foot hit the tarmac she almost turned around and climbed back in. After all, she’d never waited for him like this before; always let him be shown to the chopper by the reception staff. He knew the drill of how to buckle himself in and stow his luggage.

  But that was in the A-Star, and this was a whole new helicopter. She’d need to show him where everything went. She bit her lip, hand on the edge of the door. She hadn’t thought about how she’d have to stand here and watch him walk that goddamned master-of-the-universe stupidly sexy walk toward her.

  But she did. And the gloomy day meant hiding behind sunglasses was out. So she steeled her spine and her face and pretended that she didn’t care in the slightest that Lucas Angelo was striding toward her dressed in yet another perfectly cut suit.

  She couldn’t tell from this distance if it was very dark gray or maybe very dark blue, but his tie was mostly silver with blue and yellow stripes.

  Which were the colors of the New York Saints. Another thing she’d spent several hours studying last night after she’d accepted Lucas’s offer. Given herself a crash course in the history of what seemed to be the worst team in Major League Baseball and the three men who’d just bought the franchise.

  It was intriguing, really. Lucas was—other than in bed—a study in control. A surgeon. She was fairly sure that only people who were very fond of being able to order the world around them became surgeons. And yet here he was, taking on what had to be a terrible bet. A team that hadn’t won a World Series in so long that it was ridiculous. A team with serious financial woes.

  Why? It didn’t seem to fit with the rest of him. Which made her stupid heart give the tiniest of hopeful bumps as she watched him close the distance between them.

  For one long moment their eyes locked. Then her nerve broke and she turned back to the helo for a moment, fussing with the handle on the door for no reason before she got brave enough to turn back.

  And there he was. Just a foot or so away. Close enough to touch. Definitely close enough that a hint of that spicy Lucas scent hit her even through the smell of fuel and machine that surrounded her.

  “Sara,” he said. “Sorry I’m a little late.” He smiled down at her, blue eyes warm.

  Too warm. Too close. She felt her face go hot. His smile widened.

  She tried to remember what he’d said. Something about being late? He was maybe two minutes past when he’d said he’d arrive. They had plenty of time to get to JFK.

  “It’s no problem, Dr. Angelo,” she said.

  “It’s Lucas,” he said. “I think we left Dr. Angelo back in the Hamptons.”

  Crap. He’d brought it up. Why oh why had he brought that up? Her face went from hot to supernova, and she looked down at her shoes for a moment.

  “So how do you like my ballpark?” Lucas asked.

  Change of subject. Thank God. She risked looking up again. His expression had eased to something less intense. Still gorgeous but manageable. “Well, I haven’t really seen a lot of it yet. But it seems nice.”

  Lucas grinned. “That was diplomatic of you.”

  She smiled ruefully. Deacon Field might be a Staten Island icon but it wasn’t going to win any awards for architectural splendor.

  “Is that supposed to be a halo?” she asked, pointing at the strange silver glass structure that was built into the angled roof of the office tower spiking above the stadium.

  Lucas shook his head. “Apparently so. Butt-ugly, isn’t it?”

  “Not exactly the most beautiful building I’ve ever seen,” she admitted.

  “If I had my way, we’d tear it down and rebuild,” Lucas said. “But that’s not in the budget just yet. Besides which, the fans would probably picket us.”

  “People like it?”

  “People like history,” he said. “That halo is older than either of us.”

  She looked up at it. Squinted sideways.

  Tried to see the big silver ring as something more than a blight on the landscape. It didn’t magically become more attractive. She shrugged. “To each their own.”

  “Baseball fans are sentimental. And superstitious. The Saints need all the good luck they can get, so we can’t go messing with our good-luck symbols.”

  “That’s a good-luck symbol?” she asked. “Maybe that’s your problem. Anyway, aren’t the Saints like the worst team in the league?”

  “I thought you didn’t know anything about baseball.” He slapped a hand against his chest, looking mock-wounded “But the one thing you do know is that my team is terrible?”

  “I did grow up on the island,” she said. “I might not pay attention to that, but it’s pretty hard to miss the mass depression of the entire male population at the end of the season.”

  Lucas looked skyward, muttering something. Suddenly he looked very Italian.

  “Are you telling me they aren’t the worst team in the league?” she asked, half teasing. If he couldn’t joke about his team and take a bit of ribbing, it was best to know now. For one thing it would make it easier to forget about him. She liked her men to have a healthy sense of the ridiculous to go along with a healthy ego.

  And for another, it was going to stop her shoving her foot in her mouth if he was touchy about it. Not that being touchy about the Saints seemed sensible. He was going to give himself a nervous breakdown owning the Saints, if their reputation was true and he was too set on being a winner or something. Evan had been big on winning. Even mini golf and supposedly friendly Frisbee in the park turned into a contest with Evan. And Kane had been another competitive flyboy, with an extra dose of high-octane army testosterone. She was over men who needed to win at all costs.

  She held her breath as Lucas studied her a moment, blue eyes unreadable.

  “We finished seventh in the American League last year,” he said eventually.

  “Is that good?”

  He groaned theatrically. “You really don’t know anything about baseball, do you? Seventh means we didn’t make the play-offs, but it’s also not dead last.”

  “Well, that’s something.” She reached out and held out her hand for his bag. “Not last is good.”

  “Of course,” Lucas said with a grin, “if you look at our average performance over the history of the team, we are
definitely the worst team in baseball.”

  “Which begs the question of why you’d want to buy this team?” Sara said. She waved a hand at the stadium. “I mean, this is kind of sweet and all. But don’t you want to win?”

  His smile turned rueful. “To tell the truth, I’m still not entirely sure how Alex talked us into it. I think he put something in the bourbon that night. But no, it’s not about winning. It’s about being part of something that I’ve always loved. I’ve been a Saints fan my whole life.”

  “But you grew up in Manhattan,” Sara said. Manhattan and the Hamptons and all the other playgrounds of the rich and privileged. “Why pick the Saints?”

  He shrugged a shoulder and said, “Trying to explain that is like trying to explain why you fell in love with someone. My dad kind of followed the Yankees. But the first proper game of baseball I ever went to was the Saints versus the Red Sox and I just kind of … fell. I liked their spirit.” Another shrug. “Or maybe it was the fact that their mascot is an angel.”

  “Why Dr. Angelo. That’s very sentimental of you,” she said.

  “I know,” he said. “Not logical. It horrified my dad. Still horrifies my whole family really.” He nodded toward the helo. “Shall we?”

  Apparently they were done with chatting for now. Which was good. The more she talked to the man, the more she remembered what she’d liked about him back in that hotel room.

  “I’ll show you where to put your bags,” she said. There. Pretend he was just another customer.

  Thankfully he didn’t call her on it but listened attentively as she showed him where to put his stuff and how to use the headset and adjust the seat. Then she left him to settle himself and climbed up into the pilot’s seat to ready for takeoff, running through her mental list of checks and tasks while trying not to notice the very familiar scent of Lucas Angelo that had spread through the helo way too quickly.

  Ignore it.

  Focus on the flight. She started the helo and wasted no time getting them into the air and pointing the helo toward JFK.

  As her ears filled with the steady familiar noises of flight, she couldn’t help the happiness that swept through her. In the air again. At last.