by Jill Shalvis
She tried to twist away but he held her still, kissing each thigh. “Chatting is nice, too.”
No, she was done, thank you very much. “Forget it. I’m going to bed—”
“Shh.”
Oh, no he didn’t. He didn’t just…shush her! This was grounds for homicide, but then he leaned in and put his tongue on her again. He knew just the right pressure, the right rhythm, and suddenly, unbelievably, she was back on the very edge, trembling, panting for breath, when normally she’d be working so damn hard for an orgasm it wasn’t worth the effort. “Oh, my God.”
The bastard let out a soft laugh while she sank her fingers into his hair and held on, thinking if he stopped, she was going to kill him.
But he didn’t stop. In less than three minutes, he had her shaking and sobbing for breath. “Please,” she gasped, and then he slid a finger inside her.
And another.
She exploded, his name on her lips as she shuddered and completely, utterly lost herself in a collision of a thousand sensations.
When she came back to herself, he’d stood up, was in fact holding her up as well. “You all right?” he murmured, kissing her jaw, her throat.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t a complete bastard. And she wanted more, fast, now. “In me,” she said. “Now.”
“Now works.” Scooping her up, he turned and tossed her to the couch, then followed her down. She tried to wrap her legs around him but her pants, still around her ankles, caught her. “Damn it—”
“I’ve got it—”
“Hurry—”
“Yeah, I got that part.” Scooting down her body, he fumbled with her boots. “Christ, how many knots do you need?”
She was pulling off his shirt, her eyes gobbling up his shoulders, his chest, those gorgeous six-pack abs she just wanted to sink her teeth into.
He was still fighting with her first boot, and she slapped his hands aside to undo the laces herself, then his hands moved in again, yanking off the boot, tossing it over his shoulder while she kicked the denim off that leg. Not waiting for the other boot, she tugged at his jeans, her fingers entangling with his as together they shoved the pants to his thighs.
“Oh,” she murmured in pleasure, holding him, stroking him.
With a groan, he grabbed her hands and lifted them over her head, pressing his hips to hers. “Let me in, Mel.”
Helpless to resist, she arched, wrapping her legs around his waist. Dipping down low, he rubbed his jaw to hers and smiled.
God, his face. Gorgeous, yeah, but the way he looked at her…She opened herself up to him, glided her hands down his smooth, sleek back, urging him on. “Now, Bo…”
“Wait. I want to—”
Arching up, she tightened her legs around him, pulling him toward her so that he almost pushed into her. The sensation dragged a rough groan from him and a helpless cry for more from her.
“Mel. God.” He pulled back a little, then slowly pushed back in, fully seating himself within her this time, her wet, sensitized flesh hugging him tight.
She was going to come again, an unbelievable feat—
“Wait,” he gasped, sounding strained. “Mel, wait—”
No. No waiting.
Her hands squeezed his squeezable butt as she tried to get him to move. Harder. Faster.
“Hold on,” he begged. “We can’t—” His voice was hoarse, serrated as he pressed his pelvis to hers, the pleasure all over his face. He was, in fact quivering with it, but he didn’t move again. “I don’t have a condom.”
That stopped her. She looked up, met his gaze. He held himself rigid above her. There was a line of sweat down one temple, his jaw clenched tight. His muscles stood out in sharp relief, quaking faintly. “Not in your wallet?” she whispered.
He shook his head.
“Not—”
“Nowhere.”
“How could you not—”
His expression was close to pain, and frozen with intense concentration. “I didn’t expect—”
“I’m going to cry,” she whispered. “I swear it.”
“Mel—”
The torture in his voice assured her that it was worse for him, far worse, as he hadn’t already gotten off like she had, not the other night, and not tonight.
And in that moment, it changed for her. Somehow she went from frantic to warm and fuzzy, soft. He was breathing hard, shaking, and she knew what to do. “It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking her hands up his chest, feeling his hot, damp muscles jerk beneath her touch. “Let me.”
“Let you what—”
She shoved hard and he fell off the couch, but she fell with him, rolling so that he landed on his back, with her straddling him.
“Jesus.”
“Are you okay?” she asked breathlessly, running her hands up his arms. She’d dislodged him from inside her body but she could feel him, hot and silky hard pressing against her. “Did I hurt you?”
“You’re killing me.” He groaned when she slid down his body and wrapped her fingers around his hot and silky length. “Killing me.”
“Shh.” Smiling at how she’d finally shushed him, she leaned close, letting her hair fall and graze his belly, his thighs, eliciting another groan from deep in his throat, which turned into a strangled sound of immense pleasure when she took her tongue on a tour over him, from base to tip. “Mmm,” she said, and did it again.
The sound that escaped him was half-laugh, half a desperate plea. “Mel.”
She could hear his need, and lowered her head to fulfill it. It didn’t take long, he was hard and hot and primed to go, and watching him, listening to him surrender to his body’s need as he came, gave her far more pleasure than she could have imagined.
Afterward, the only sound as they lay flat on their backs was their ragged breathing.
“I don’t know whether to thank you or apologize,” he finally managed.
Sitting up, she smiled. She felt him eye her as she began to straighten her clothes. She still had one boot on. Leaning in, he helped her with the knot, then he stood, staggering for balance before he righted his own clothes and zipped up his jeans. “Before you kick me out, we were going to talk.”
Body still humming, she blinked. “Kick you out?”
“You tend to do that.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
He sat heavily on the couch and looked at her. “I’ve got more information. I’m going to tell you now, if you can handle it.”
“And if I can’t?”
“I’m going to tell you anyway.”
“Ah.” She nodded as her lingering pleasure faded away. “So the lease was, what, a peace offering? A way to loosen me up?”
“Maybe a little of both.”
“Nice.”
“I never pretended to be nice, Mel.”
No, but oddly enough, he was. Or at least he wasn’t quite as badass as he’d let her believe. “And what do you call what we just did?”
“Fan-fucking-tastic, if you want the truth.” He pulled her down beside him. “How about a game of truth or dare without the dare? Truth: I came here to see Sally, but that’s never going to happen. Is it, Mel?”
She looked into his eyes and felt the foundation of her world crack.
“See, I’ve been researching Sally on the net,” he said. “Interesting thing. She’s vanished. And she vanished a long time ago.”
“Well…” Mel winced. “Sort of.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes dark, reproachful. Hurt, damn it. “You let me think she was on a trip, that she’d be coming back.”
“I never actually said a trip.”
“Why don’t you actually say then?”
She paused, but knew she had to tell him everything. “I don’t know where she is.”
“So you’ve said. Now say more.”
“I planned on telling you,” she said. “I told Dimi I was going to tell you.”
“So tell already.”
“She used to call in every month or
so. But it’s been awhile, and when I called her, she didn’t get back to me.” She grimaced. “And…”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “And…?”
“And now her cell phone has been disconnected.”
“So you’ve lost touch completely,” he said flatly. “That’s convenient.”
“But true.”
He sighed, and she knew he was frustrated as hell. “And you’re getting e-mails, vaguely threatening e-mails.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
Tension radiated off him in waves. “From Sally?”
“I don’t know.”
Disbelief flashed in those jade eyes. Disbelief that she’d allowed this, that he couldn’t do anything about it. “And you didn’t feel the need to mention any of this sooner why?”
Mel chewed on her lip.
“Mel.”
“Because I didn’t trust you.”
He stared at her. “Jesus.” He surged to his feet, shoved his fingers through his hair, and turned in a slow circle. “I have no idea why that hurts.” He swore softly, then shook his head. Turning, he headed toward the door.
She leapt to her feet. “Bo, wait.”
“Can’t,” he said curtly.
“But you said you’d found something else.”
He laughed a little harshly. “That I did. But I don’t think I’ll be sharing it.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not going to tell me?”
“Give the girl an A.”
“I want to hear it, Bo.”
“I bet you do. But it seems we were playing truth or dare all along, and I’ve just joined the game. I pick dare.”
“I wanted to tell you sooner,” she murmured. “But—”
“Too late.” When he looked at her, all of his hunger and desire was gone, replaced by the same mocking amusement she’d seen in the beginning. “I keep forgetting, I’m on my own.”
He shut the door quietly behind him.
Mel stared at the wood, her throat tight, her pulse points still randomly jumping from the amazing sex.
The most amazing sex in her entire life.
“Happy birthday to me,” she whispered, and the words echoed around her mockingly.
Chapter 19
Bo stalked through the airport the next morning, cultivating what some might call a bad attitude. Yeah, he’d gotten off last night, and yeah, that should have mellowed him, but she’d been holding back on him, his Mel. Why that was surprising, he had no idea, but the opposite of mellow had happened. He was looking for trouble now and he knew it, but he’d wasted nearly two weeks doing what he’d said he wouldn’t.
Trusting.
His gut—and more computer research—told him Sally wasn’t coming back, that the money and plane were long gone, and if that was the case, then there was really nothing to be done except for taking over North Beach, fixing it up so that he could sell, and getting the hell out of Dodge.
He thought of how Mel would react to that, how hurt and destroyed she’d be, and he ruthlessly shoved it aside because he didn’t care. She had the lease he’d foolishly given her, she’d be fine. Everyone else, if they were good at their jobs, would be fine, too.
But from the far end of the lobby came Mel’s voice, and just like that, heat flooded through his body, pooling between his thighs, pissing him off because she’d gotten under his skin.
“I can assure the both of you,” she was saying, “that two pilots are not needed for this flight.”
Bo came around the corner to see her facing a man and a woman, both dressed like a million bucks, looking out at a Lear Jet on the tarmac. “I’ve flown from here to San Francisco hundreds of times,” Mel said to them. “It’s a simple, pleasurable trip.”
The couple was already shaking their heads. They were in their fifties, and judging from the sheer brilliance of the woman’s bling alone, they were big money. New money.
“Our usual jet has two pilots,” the woman said. “Plus a flight attendant to see to our needs.”
Mel stood there in her leather bomber jacket and black pilot pants that showed off her long, lean, tough length, pride warring with tact. “I understand your usual charter service is down, which is what brought you here. But Anderson Air doesn’t provide the same sort of service as Diamond Skies, and as a result, we’re far more affordable. Now if I could just board you—”
“We don’t care about the cost,” the man said. “I’m going to have to insist on another pilot on board.”
Mel’s pleasant expression didn’t change but she was insulted. Bo could tell by the little pucker between her eyebrows, and the way her smile went just a little tight. Oh, and the smoke coming out her ears was a sign, too. God, she was so uptight she probably squeaked when she walked, and so unbelievably sexy while she was at it. It was a first for him, wanting a woman that he also wanted to strangle.
“Honestly,” she said. “Another pilot would just add unnecessary expense—”
“Expense is not a problem. We’re just flying into the city for a business meeting and turning right around. We’d make it worth your while.”
This did not cheer Mel up one bit. She was in a bind, and there was only one way out.
Another pilot. She looked over at Bo, her face inscrutable, her body, the one he’d had just the night before, tense enough to shatter.
He knew how to banish that tenseness now, he knew just how to touch her. Knew a helluva lot more about her than she was comfortable with, he was quite certain.
She needed him. Differently than last night, when she’d needed him buried deep inside her so that there was no way to tell where he ended and she’d begun, when she’d needed him so badly she’d left fingerprints on his ass and a bite mark on his shoulder, but need was need.
And suddenly, it felt good to be him. “Need help?” he asked, a little more cheerful.
The look on her face was priceless. He’d just put her in a position of having to ask. She’d hate that, of course, which made him even more cheerful than strictly called for.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hutton,” she said, shoulders rigid. “This is Bo Black.” She looked at Bo. “Can you fly with us today?” she asked, barely opening the mouth that just last night had brought him to such heights of pleasure he’d nearly blacked out.
“Hmmm…Can I fly with you today?” He pulled his PDA out of his pocket and made a show of checking it. “Just so happens I’m free.”
Mel’s eyes were sheer glaciers by now. Oh, she hated this. She didn’t want him here, didn’t want his help.
But he was here, and available. And, as it happened, he owned the place. That made him the boss. He liked that, too, he decided. He liked that a lot.
“Are you a pilot?” Mr. Hutton asked Bo.
Bo purposely looked away from Mel. “That I am,” he said happily. “Been flying since before I could drive.”
Mr. Hutton nodded. “You’ll do.”
“Thanks, mate.”
“You’re Australian.” Mrs. Hutton smiled warmly. “Your accent is lovely.”
Bo smiled.
Mel’s teeth gnashed together.
Mr. Hutton took Mrs. Hutton’s arm. “We’ll be onboard, waiting.”
Mel waited until they’d walked onto the tarmac. “I didn’t need you or your ‘lovely accent’ to interfere.”
“Sure? Because I think the bloke was about to cancel on you.”
She crossed her arms. “That would have been fine.”
“You need the income.”
“Nice of you to concern yourself, but you needn’t.”
“Actually, I do.”
Her eyes were flashing, her body practically vibrating with temper. “And how’s that?”
“See, Anderson Air is a client of North Beach. I am now North Beach. Your success is my success. Get it?”
“I thought all you wanted was your money back.”
“Right. But that isn’t happening, is it?” He clucked her beneath her tilted chin. “I’ve moved on to
plan B.”
Her eyes narrowed, her mouth opened—to blast him, he was quite certain—but he set a finger against her lips. “Fight me on this,” he said softly, “and trust me, you won’t like plan B very much.”
Then, content with the unexpected change in both the day and his luck, he began to whistle as he walked onto the tarmac.
Mel watched him swagger out and took a deep breath, then glanced over at Dimi, who’d been sitting behind her desk but had come to a shocked stand.
“You’re not going to let him do this,” Dimi said, clearly shaken.
Mel watched through the window as Bo shook hands with the Huttons, clearly having a lovely chat. Tall, rugged and rangy even from a distance, she could understand his appeal to their clients. It was hard to tear her eyes off him. With his hair just on the wrong side of his last haircut, and that dangerous smile, he pretty much screamed “let me break your heart.”
As she watched, he lowered his sunglasses over his eyes and turned toward the window, his face drawn with exhaustion but still sexy as hell, damn him, somehow seeming as if he purposely wanted to remind her of last night.
As if she could forget what it’d felt like to be with him, his hands stripping her clothes off while his mouth glided over her flesh. God. Even now, even in the light of day, she wanted him to start all over again at the beginning.
What was wrong with her?
And then the bastard smiled.
In spite of everything, her stomach tightened, her heart took a little trip. “Face it, Dimi,” she grated out, eyes still locked on Bo. “It’s beyond our control.” He was beyond her control, and really, when it came right down to it, that’s what bothered her the most. “Sally saw to that when she signed the deed over.”
“She didn’t have a choice,” Dimi maintained. “Somehow I know it.”
Mel sighed. “There’s always a choice.”
Dimi slowly shook her head. “Mel, Sally loved—loves—us. She wouldn’t just do this without a word.”
“But she did.”
Dimi stared at her, hurt and frustrated, but before either could say a word, Ernest came in and slapped a jar down on the desk.
Yet another spider wriggled its legs at them.