Hard Impact: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Novel

by Grey, Helen

  “Where exactly are we going?” I asked, avoiding the question.

  “Southern Oregon,” he said shortly, then gestured for me to exit through the office door in front of him. As we stepped from his office, he spoke to his receptionist.

  “Jill, we’re off. If anything comes up, or if Matt needs anything, give me a call. If I don’t get reception, I’ll just call later this evening when we get to the ranch.”

  Ranch? I watched as Jill smiled and nodded at Blake, and then offered me a small hand wave. I offered an uncertain smile in return.

  “Follow me.”

  I could do nothing but tag behind him as Blake strode down the hallway, passing numerous doors as he headed for the exit sign. The door opened onto a stairwell. He took the steps quickly and I hurried after him, grateful once again that I had opted against a skirt and heels.

  “My ride’s at the Commodore Heliport,” he said as we reached the ground floor. He quickly stepped toward a heavy metal door and opened it. We emerged in the parking garage beneath the building.

  I said nothing because the comment didn’t require a response, my mind still spinning. At least I had my laptop, thank goodness for small favors, but I felt uncomfortable flying, period. Especially flying anywhere with him, alone. I supposed I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. There might be others waiting for him on the plane, no, helicopter. It couldn’t be a long flight, not if he was taking a helicopter. I had no idea how fast a helicopter could go. I’d never ridden in one before, no idea what to expect. It couldn’t be worse than flying, could it? Not that I was petrified of flying, but I didn’t like the feeling of air turbulence or the feeling I got when an airplane banked. I lost my sense of equilibrium.

  “There’s my Jeep,” he said, pointing.

  I glanced at him in surprise. Why had I just assumed that he probably had a fancy car and a driver to transport him around the city? I followed him, taking in those wide shoulders, the tapered waist, and those long legs. He had a nice butt too. Some men didn’t have a butt. Blake’s was nicely formed. I imagined it was as muscular as the rest of him. Unbidden, I wondered what he would do if I reached out and pinched one of his cheeks. Not that I would. Never! But the idea of it amused me nonetheless.

  When I got a better look at his Jeep, my eyes widened in surprise. It wasn’t what I was expecting. Not a Jeep Liberty, not a Jeep Cherokee, no, but one without a roof. It had no doors, a roll bar, low sides, and big wheels. It was mud splattered, well-used, and scary looking.

  “Climb on in,” he said, gesturing toward the front seat.

  I quickly slung the strap of my satchel over my other shoulder, the strap now draped across my chest. I shifted the bag and scrambled inside, using the handle on the dashboard to help me in. I’d barely settled into the seat and buckled myself in before Blake started the engine, shifted from neutral into reverse, and began to back out of the parking space. He glanced at me just as he shifted the car from reverse into first gear.

  “Hang on,” he said.

  I was just about to ask why when the Jeep shot forward. I grabbed for the roll bar with one hand while the other reached out to clutch the handle on the dash, where a glove compartment would typically be located. We shot up the ramp from the garage level to street level. I squelched my fear, as barely stopping, Blake pulled out into traffic. We shot forward once again.

  The wind blew through my hair and stung my eyes. Cars honked. Seagulls screamed. With the shift of every gear, I bit back a cry of alarm as we headed east toward the waterfront. Maybe it just felt faster because I was exposed to the open air. The wind whipped my face as we topped one of San Francisco’s famous hills. I barely stifled a scream as the tires left asphalt and we careened over the crest and then shot downward. I bounced off my seat and nearly bit my tongue.

  My knuckles white, I turned to stare wide-eyed at this maniac. His gaze, however, was calm but riveted to the street ahead of us as he made his way through the sparse traffic, around a cable car, and then shot through a yellow light at an intersection.

  I’d barely caught my breath after that one when he made a sudden turn onto Lombard. At least I thought it was Lombard. I lost my grip on the dash handle and reached out with my left hand, thinking to grab onto the console between the seats. My hand landed on his upper thigh instead, so close to his groin I thought I felt… in that brief instant when my hand clutched desperately for something hard and firm, I felt his thigh muscles tense in surprise beneath my fingers. Hard as a rock.

  I pulled my hand away as if I had just been burned, stammered an apology, but Blake wasn’t paying the least bit of attention. Unfortunately, that brief moment of contact was all I could think about as he sped his way down the street until we got to Van Ness. The Maritime Museum of San Francisco was just ahead, but I barely caught an eye full of that before he made another turn into the Fisherman’s Wharf District, and then we zoomed past Pier 45, heading for Pier 39.

  By the time Blake pulled next to a large hanger at the heliport, I was breathing heavily, my face was hot, my hair was a mess, and I was trembling from top to toe with a surge of adrenaline that had my heart pounding hard. When the death trap finally pulled to a stop, I stared out the windshield for a moment, amazed we had gotten here in one piece.

  I swallowed and glanced at Blake. He gazed back at me, a ridiculously innocent expression on his face. All I could manage was to lift my eyebrows. He said nothing, and I didn’t either. After that hair-raising drive through the city, I was actually looking forward to planting myself in a soft leather seat in a private helicopter.

  He wordlessly led the way around the side of the hanger and toward the open door in front. As we rounded the corner, I saw the chopper waiting on the tarmac. A nose wheel in front and two wheels just rear of the center. My eyes widened in amazement and admiration. It was gorgeous, black on the bottom, silver on top, its sleek nose ending in a sharp point. The shape reminded me of a great white shark.

  “Like her?”

  I glanced up at Blake, who was grinning down at me in pride. The smile transformed his features. I could’ve stared at him all day long and not grown tired of it. I pulled my eyes away and returned them to the chopper and nodded. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

  “It’s an Agusta Westland. AW109 Grand Versace,” he told me.

  Versace? They made helicopters too?

  “Agusta Westland designed it with the Italian fashion moguls. She tops out with a speed of one-hundred-seventy-seven miles an hour and has a nearly six-hundred-mile range,” he said proudly. He led me toward the door to the cabin and opened it. What I expected was certainly not this. I’d never flown in a helicopter, but imagined the typical bubble with the front seat for the pilot and copilot, the cramped seats right behind. No, this was far from it. This one had luxury interior seating for six. Gorgeous upholstered seats with pull-down cup holders. Plush carpet on the floor, interior sidewalls like the inside of a luxury car or a limo. Black and gray upholstery, the carpeting a complementary silvery-gray.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing for me to climb inside. “You can take any seat you want. You’re my only passenger today.”

  I climbed inside, not really surprised that it had a new car smell. I wondered how much something like this cost. Millions of dollars at least. The door closed and I leaned forward to watch outside of the window as Blake quickly made his way back into the hangar. I supposed he was talking to the pilot and would join me in the cab, or whatever it was called, in a few minutes. I pulled the strap of my satchel from around my shoulders and set it on the floor at my feet while admiring the interior, my fingers tracing gently over the soft leather upholstery.

  When I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, I glanced back out the window. I watched Blake approach the helicopter carrying a clipboard. He began to make his way around the aircraft, stooping closer to look at this or that, making notations on the clipboard. I waited patiently for him to open the door and join me in the ca
b. Instead, he moved to the front of the craft. Shortly, he opened the pilot’s door and climbed in, but left the door open.

  I stared in stunned dismay as he placed a clipboard on the copilot’s seat and pulled the headset from the console, placed it on his head, and then reached once again for the clipboard. As he flipped switches, my heart once again trip-hammered. Maybe he was just doing the pre-check, but I was getting a funny feeling.

  “Where’s the pilot?” I asked.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me and flashed a grin. “You’re looking at him.”

  I wanted to get out. Right now. To hell with Angela. To hell with the magazine. I had already experienced Blake’s driving. I wasn’t sure I was up to a helicopter ride. But I sat frozen, unmoving. I’d never thought of myself as a coward and certainly didn’t want to start now. Within a few moments, it was too late to do anything.

  He straddled the control stick, the instrument panels in front of him dotted with tiny and multi-colored light blue, green, red, and yellow bulbs lighting up the black console that reached from one side to the other, the fixed console in between, with its own dials, switches, and buttons. It looked incredibly complicated, but Blake seemed to know what he was doing as he checked one panel after another, toggled a switch here or adjusted a dial there.

  He placed the clipboard in a slot between the passenger seat and a console type thing in between the seats and then flipped another switch. I heard a distinctive whirring sound, then a higher pitch noise over that. Above me, the rotor blades slowly began to move. Good Lord. The blades started moving faster and faster, casting flickering shadows on the ground around the helicopter.

  He didn’t do anything at first. He seemed to be waiting. For what?

  “Just warming her up,” he commented, glancing back at me once again.

  I swallowed, my stomach turning a nervous somersault. I wanted to say something, but what? He spoke into his headset. Probably the airport control tower. I continued to watch in stunned amazement as he went through a number of motions. He must have a helicopter pilot license or he wouldn’t be able to fly, but for some reason that didn’t make me feel any better. He had a driver’s license too.

  Having never been in a helicopter, I was nervous, and sitting here in the back, luxurious accommodations or not, I began to wonder what I would do if I got airsick. I looked around, didn’t see any pockets in the seats. No airsickness bags. I swallowed thickly and my mouth grew dry.

  The aircraft vibrated gently, the rumble of the rotor above me, the tail rotor to the rear, both oddly soothing. Then again, I was still on terra firma. My pulse raced as he reached for the door and closed it. I closed my eyes and prayed for courage. I wasn’t what one would call particularly religious, but if there ever was a time or place for anything, this was it.

  About all I knew about helicopters was that they took off vertically and could hover. They didn’t go very fast… wait, this one did. My blood raced a little faster when the RPMs kicked up and the whine of the blades sounded deeper. The shadows of the blades rotating above me passed the windows, slower, faster, then slower again.

  My eyes riveted to every move Blake made, every switch, button, or dial that his strong, fingers touched, turned, or pushed, captured my complete attention. We’d been sitting in here for nearly five minutes. Was something wrong? He didn’t seem concerned, but I’d never seen anyone do a pre-flight check either. Maybe this was just all part of the process.

  “You buckled in?” he asked, not turning to look back at me this time.

  I quickly found the seatbelt, buckled myself in and then nodded. He didn’t see my gesture. “Yes,” I said, raising my voice above the sound of the rotor blades. The luxury seats didn’t have armrests like an airplane, so I clasped my hands tightly in my lap, my knees pressed together, my back ramrod straight. I wasn’t terrified, but I wasn’t exactly at ease either. I didn’t know what to expect. And that was the problem—

  The helicopter moved, began to shift sideways, the rear of the craft pulling the vehicle to the left, like an ice skater coasting on ice. My heart thudded heavily in my chest. Was it supposed to do that? And then Blake, his hand wrapped around the stick, steered the chopper down a narrow runway, much like an airplane. We picked up speed. To my surprise, we were suddenly off the ground, not shooting straight up, but at an angle.

  I held my breath as the chopper climbed to altitude. This wasn’t so bad… the helicopter wasn’t banking, at least not yet. With my hands still tightly clasped in my lap, I pulled my gaze away from Blake as he maneuvered the controls to glance out the window. San Francisco Bay spread out below as we passed over the Golden Gate Bridge.

  And then we were soaring high over the landscape. My heart quit pounding and I actually felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. Maybe I could enjoy the ride—

  The helicopter dipped nose down. My stomach dropped and I felt like I did when an elevator suddenly went down or up.

  “What happened?” I squeaked in alarm. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing, just a little bit of turbulence.”

  He spoke loudly, not turning to look at me, for which I was grateful. Better he keep his focus on the control stick and the horizon. He did a good job keeping the helicopter level, but the buffeting the wind above the bay quickly took away my sense of ease. He spoke several times into his headset, and then pretty much, no, completely ignored me.

  How long did it take to fly from San Francisco to wherever it was he was headed in southern Oregon? I was glad I had eaten a light breakfast. A dry English muffin. I hadn’t wanted my stomach to rumble or feel like I had to go to the bathroom during the initial meeting with Blake. I had a nervous bladder as it was.

  I wasn’t feeling sick to my stomach or anything, but who knows what would’ve happened if I had indulged? I shook my head, thinking that Melanie wasn’t going to believe this. This morning, I had gotten out of bed thinking that I’d just have a brief introductory meeting with a billionaire, and here I was riding in a private luxury helicopter heading to who knew where.

  The only two cities I could think of in southern Oregon were Medford and Grants Pass although I knew that southern Oregon was also home to the Rogue River National Forest, Crater Lake National Park, and Klamath Falls. Klamath Lake was pretty big… a popular tourist location for wilderness enthusiasts. The lake was one of the largest in the entire state.

  “You okay back there?”

  I nodded, then once again replied in the affirmative. “I’m okay!”

  I had no idea where we were going, had no idea what would happen once we got there, but one thing was for sure. It was highly probable that hanging around with Blake Masters certainly wouldn’t be boring. I recalled the feel of the hard musculature of his thigh beneath my fingers. Another inch and I might very well have felt his—

  The helicopter suddenly banked. I broke off a startled cry by quickly clapping one hand over my mouth. I felt dizzy and immediately lost my sense of equilibrium. Shit. That’s all it took. From that moment forward I fought a rising sense of nausea. As the aircraft sped forward, I felt even the slightest maneuver of the helicopter. I was never good at riding in the backseat of anything. I began to glance frantically around, looking for a barf bag, but there was nothing. I couldn’t throw up. I couldn’t! The thought was horrifying, humiliating, stupefying!

  I closed my eyes, squeezed them tightly shut, my hands gripping the soft, plush seat on either side of my legs. Don’t get sick, don’t get sick, don’t get sick. I repeated the mantra over and over again. Over the roar of the helicopter blades and the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears, I vaguely heard Blake chuckle.

  CHAPTER 4

  Blake

  I focused on the flight, trying to ignore my passenger. The problem was I kept getting distracted by the memory of her hand dangerously close to my junk. Not that she had done it on purpose. I knew she hadn’t. And it wasn’t even so much the touch as it had been the expression on her face when I glance
d at her in surprise. I’d been touched there before, many times and in many different ways. But never quite like that, and never with an expression like I’d seen on Misty’s face.

  For a second, I imagined that she’d never, ever, touched a man’s cock before. Could that be possible? Someone her age? Not that she was old, but certainly she wasn’t a virgin… was she? I decided it didn’t matter because no way in hell was I going to do anything about it.

  I wanted to get this interview over with as soon as possible, but I wasn’t going to bend over backward to make it easy for her. If she wanted to be a journalist, she could work for it.

  She hadn’t said much, nothing at all as a matter of fact, during the flight from San Francisco to the rustic resort property about thirty miles west of Klamath Falls. I’d just landed in a large clearing about one hundred yards from the eastern wall of the ranch house. It was sheltered by the mixed grove of Grand Fir, Douglas Maple, Mountain Birch, and Cedar I remembered from my previous visit, just before the repairs, maintenance, and improvements was contracted the previous fall. I was anxious to get this property up and running.

  As I shut down the systems of the chopper, I pulled my headset off and glanced over my shoulder at the reporter. She sat quietly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her back ramrod straight. Her eyes were closed but I didn’t think she was sleeping. I noticed that she looked a little pale. Well, I had to admit, she was game.

  I’d noticed the expression of surprise that flashed across her features back at my office when I told her that she would be accompanying me on my inspection. Whether her boss had deliberately neglected to inform her of that I had no idea, nor did I really much care, but I did feel a twinge of… of what? Guilt? No, I had nothing to be guilty about. Commiseration? Sympathy? Perhaps. I wasn’t sure. How could I feel sympathy or commiseration for someone I’d just met?

  I continued to stare at her until she opened her eyes. Her gaze met mine. It was direct and for several seconds, we stared at one another. Then she blinked and glanced around. I watched her swallow.