by Kimberly Fox
“Auto-pilot has been known to fail,” I say, straightening my shoulders as my voice speeds up. “We really should have another pilot.”
“Well, we don’t,” he says with a shrug. “Is the cabin ready for take-off?”
My hands clench into fists so tight that my knuckles burn. “It will be,” I say as my stomach hardens.
He turns and flicks on a switch which makes the ground under my feet vibrate even more. “Better hurry up. We’re leaving in sixty.”
“An hour?” I ask, checking my watch. “We’re already late.”
“Not sixty minutes,” he says with a grin. “Sixty seconds.”
My mouth drops open in shock. “You haven’t done any of the pre-flight checks.”
He huffs out a frustrated breath. “You worry about the coffee. I’ll worry about the plane.”
I’m clenching my jaw so tight that my teeth feel like they’re about to shatter as we stare each other down. He gives me a little wink, and I spin on my heels and storm off into the galley with heat flushing through my body.
Why are hot guys always the most frustrating?
I’m whipping out the in-flight lunch and slamming cupboards in such a heated rage that I don’t even hear him slip into the galley behind me. He slides his hand along my sweaty lower back and I let out a scream.
“Wound a little tight?” he asks with a laugh as he opens the fridge. “Is that why you’re named Riley? Because you’re all riled up?”
I slam the fridge door closed with his hand still on the handle, and he looks at me with an amused expression on his arrogant face. His beautiful, sexy, arrogant face.
“What are you doing here?” I snap. “I worry about the coffee. You worry about the plane. Isn’t that what you said?”
He opens the fridge door easily even though I’m pushing on it as hard as I can, trying to keep it closed. He’s big. A head taller than me with broad muscular shoulders and a full chest that’s hiding behind his tight pilot’s shirt. “I’m not here for coffee,” he says, reaching into the fridge.
“Oh, hell no!” I yell when I see what he took. A cold can of beer.
He cracks it open and winks at me as he takes a sip.
I’m shaking with anger. “That is against so many Federal regulations,” I say, sweeping my arms wildly as I talk. “It’s dangerous and just plain irresponsible.”
He chuckles as he turns and walks back to the cockpit. “That’s what makes it so good.” He raises the beer over his shoulder and tilts the can like he’s toasting me from across the room.
“No, no, no, no, no, no,” I mutter to myself as my nostrils flare and my muscles quiver. I’m not being an accessory to this. I’m doing the responsible thing. The mature thing. The decent thing.
I’m telling.
I storm into the cabin and walk right up to Mr. Gladstone with my chin held high. “Sir,” I say with a shaking voice. “I regret to inform you that the pilot of this aircraft is drinking beer in the cockpit.”
“What?” Mr. Gladstone yells, jumping out of his seat. He storms past me into the front of the plane, and I can’t help but smirk as the arrogant, cocky pilot is about to get his ass handed to him by our boss. I’m giddy with anticipation as I follow him.
“What the hell?” Mr. Gladstone yells at the entrance of the cockpit.
Dex looks over his shoulder at us. His eyes dart down to my legs when he sees me and an angry flood of heat rushes into my chest. I’ve always had a thing for pilots but this arrogant ass is probably going to cure me of that.
“What’s up, Marv?” he asks, sounding like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His lack of giving any fucks is really getting to me. I’m really going to enjoy this.
“Why are you drinking my beer?” Mr. Gladstone asks, sounding pissed off. “You know that’s my favorite beer, and I only have one case left. Drink the scotch. I bought it for you!”
“Sorry, boss,” Dex says, grinning at me as he takes another sip. “Want to ride shotgun?”
“Yeah!” Mr. Gladstone says, jumping into the empty seat which is supposed to be reserved for a licensed, qualified pilot and not a crazy billionaire who probably has had no formal training.
“Sir,” I say, giving it one last try. “I don’t think this is all very wise. If even a fraction of his reaction speed is affected by the depressive effects of alcohol, we could crash.”
Mr. Gladstone shrugs as he slips on the green headset. “You don’t become a self-made billionaire by being afraid of taking chances.”
Dex shoots me a smirk as he shakes the empty can, as if I’m going to get him another one. I give him the finger instead.
I turn and head to the seat in the hallway to strap myself in for the take-off when Mr. Gladstone calls me back. “Riley,” he says as the plane jerks forward and Dex begins to taxi out of the hangar. “Bring us a couple of beers, would ya.”
My body stiffens, and all I can do is shake my head as I head to the fridge like a zombie and bring back two beers. The engines are rumbling, and our airplane is rolling toward the runway where another jet is taking off.
Dex flashes his straight white teeth at me as he takes the beers out of my stiff hands.
“Buckle up,” he says with a grin. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
Chapter Two
Riley
The view from up here always gives me goosebumps. The fluffy shape of the clouds. Being closer to the sun than humans were ever intended to be. I love it. But not today. I’m too busy biting my nails and cursing out Dex under my breath.
The jet seems to have steadied in the air and settled on its heading. I just hope it’s not headed straight into a mountain.
I unbuckle my belt and try to pull my skirt down as I stand up. This thing is like a rubber band, and it flies back up my legs. Fuck it. I’m too annoyed to care anymore.
Kara is sitting in the cabin by herself, and I head over to see if she would like anything. A fashion magazine is draped over her knee, and she’s clutching a blue pen in her hand, drawing a mustache onto the beautiful model who’s posing in a bikini. The word ‘bitch’ is scratched over the model’s body so hard that the C is torn through the page.
“Would you like a beverage, Mrs. Gladstone?” I ask with my hands folded in front of me. “Maybe a hot towel or a snack?”
“There is something I would like,” she says, drawing little X’s over the eyes in the picture.
“Anything,” I say, holding my breath.
Her wicked amber eyes slide up my body, and she sneers when she meets my eye. “I would like you to stop being such a little whore around my husband.”
“What?” I gasp, stepping back in shock.
“You heard me,” she says, glaring at me. “Walking around with your short skirt and letting him touch you like that. I know what you’re doing.”
My hands fly to my skirt, and I self-consciously try to inch it down, but the stubborn material is refusing to move.
“He just touched my shoulder,” I say defensively.
“Do you know how long it took me to snag a billionaire?” she asks as she slowly rips the page out of her magazine and crumples it into a ball. “Four years. That’s four years of laughing at his stupid jokes, four years of pretending I like blow jobs, and four years of being bored out of my mind.”
“It sounds like you two are really in love,” I say, staring back at her.
She tosses the crumpled-up ball at me but misses. “Stay the fuck away from him.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, turning and heading back to the galley. I lean against the counter and close my eyes tight, trying to keep the tears in that are struggling to burst from my lids.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This was supposed to be the closest thing to my dream job.
Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to be a pilot. When I was six, I had airplane pajamas, airplane sheets, and I dressed up as a pilot on Halloween for six years in a row. But when I graduated high school, my mom didn’t h
ave the fifty grand necessary to send me to pilot school, so I scrounged together five grand and went to flight attendant school instead.
It was the next best thing. Or so I thought.
The overhead speakers crackle and Dex’s deep voice comes on, the sexy timbre making my heart speed up. “Paging hot waitress, paging hot waitress,” he says, making my teeth grind. My dentist is going to love this guy.
“Your two sexy pilots are very thirsty,” he continues.
Are they already finished the beers?!?
“We’re requesting some champagne to celebrate the successful take-off.”
I rip the door of the fridge open and take a deep breath of the cold air as I stare at the special edition bottle of Dom Perignon inside. I’d be surprised if it didn’t cost more than my car. Fuck that. I’m not giving them any more alcohol. I reach past the bottle to a can of ginger ale in the back, crack it open, and pour it into two champagne flutes.
“There she is,” Dex says, grinning at me over his muscular shoulder as I walk up to the entrance of the cockpit with the ginger ale on a tray. His smooth lips part, showing a flash of his straight white teeth. “You didn’t bring one for yourself? I thought we could party.”
I look past him through the windshield to the white clouds that are inching closer on their way behind us. “You thought wrong,” I hiss, feeling my chest tighten.
He glances down at my legs and smirks. “You look like you’re here to party.”
Mr. Gladstone’s phone rings and he walks to the back of the plane to answer it, leaving the two of us alone.
“I didn’t choose this skirt,” I say, trying to tug it down while balancing the tray with the two top-heavy champagne flutes on it. Not an easy task. Especially when my annoying skirt refuses to cooperate.
“Maybe not,” he says, biting his lip as he shamelessly stares at my bare legs. “But that skirt sure chose you. And I’m glad that it did.”
I shake my head in frustration. “Shouldn’t you keep your eyes on where you’re going?”
“I am,” he says, flashing me a confident grin. “I’m going between those sexy legs as soon as we land. Or now, if you’d prefer?”
“I’d prefer if you kept your eyes on your flight instruments instead of getting drunk and sexually harassing me.” I glare at him, pretending the redness in my cheeks is from anger and not from the sexual invitation that he just threw down between us.
He reaches for a champagne flute, and I jerk the tray away from his hand. “Are you even qualified to fly this plane?”
Dex snorts out a laugh. “This fucking thing?” he says, twisting his face up like he’s offended. “I used to fly an F-22 Raptor in the US military. Flying this thing is like riding a tricycle after years of doing wheelies on a motorcycle while going three hundred miles per hour.”
My gaze turns from angry to incredulous. He was in the Air Force? Flying F-22s?
I’m so jealous. The F-22 Raptor is one of my favorite planes.
“I can fly this thing in my sleep,” he says with a shrug of his strong shoulders. “Now, can you hand me my champagne before I die of boredom? If I have to stare at another cloud, I’m going to kill myself.”
“No,” I say firmly, locking my eyes back onto his. “You’re not drinking alcohol again while I’m on board.”
“The parachute is over there,” he answers, motioning to the back wall with his bright blue eyes.
I don’t take my eyes off him. “You don’t have to be such a dick about it. I’m in charge here too,” I say. The safety of all passengers on board is the flight crew’s responsibility. My responsibility.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says, his icy blue eyes dropping to my feet. My eyes sink down to where he’s looking. I’m standing on the metal floor of the cockpit, past the clear line of the hardwood floors.
“My cockpit. My rules,” he says, drawling out the word cock in his sexy voice. The way he says it just rolls off his tongue like velvet. “And while you’re in my cockpit, you’ll do as I say.”
“You know, you’re really full of yourself,” I say, crinkling my nose up at him in disgust.
He grins. “You should be full of me too.”
“Ugh,” I say, spinning on my heels to get out of his frustrating presence.
“Wait,” he calls out. I hate myself for stopping and turning, but I do. There’s something about him though. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s a pilot, or maybe it’s the tattoos spread over his thick forearms that are hot as fuck, but I feel him getting under my skin. I feel like I’m back at the playground in elementary school and attracted to Nathan Miller who keeps pulling my hair and throwing sand in my face. Hating him for doing it, but loving the attention he’s giving me.
“What?” I hiss.
“You forgot my champagne.”
It’s only ginger ale, but there’s no way he’s getting it. I glance down at the hardwood floors that I’m standing on. “My cabin. My rules.”
“You’re sexy when you’re mad,” he says with a sly grin.
My cheeks are heating up again. I hate how he can do that so easily.
I squeeze my free hand into a fist and bite my bottom lip as my pulse races. Why does he have to be so hot? And in that pilot uniform…
“I’m not mad,” I lie through gritted teeth. Why do I even bother denying it? I’m easier to read than a coloring book.
“Good,” he says, rolling his sleeve up his round tattooed bicep. “Then we can be friends.”
His lips curl up into a smile, and I take a deep breath. “You want to be friends?”
“Are you a member of the mile-high club?” he asks, ignoring my question.
“What?” I ask, jerking my head back.
He grins. “Have you ever had sex in an airplane?”
“I know what it means,” I snap back. “It’s just… Why are you asking me that?”
His grin alone must have gotten him laid dozens of times. “These flights are long,” he says with a raised eyebrow.
“They’re going to feel like an eternity if you’re the only one that I have to talk to,” I say.
“Just wait,” he says, dipping his chin down. “You think this job is fun because we’re headed to the Caribbean right now. Wait until Marv heads to Pakistan and we’re stuck in a cheap motel for five weeks while he wines and dines the ambassador.”
I nearly drop the tray. I was so excited for this job and thinking of all of the exotic destinations that a billionaire would go to that I forgot the main reason why a billionaire would want a private jet in the first place: for business.
“Or wait until we go to his favorite hunting spot in the middle of winter.”
I gulp. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Mongolia,” he says, shuddering with the thought. “Fucking Mongolia. He dragged me there for three weeks last winter, the fucking prick.”
“What does he hunt in Mongolia?” I ask. I thought it was just miles and miles of plains and rolling hills.
“He hunts rabbits,” he says with a chuckle. “With a fucking hawk. He loves that shit. Meanwhile, we’ll be sitting in a crappy motel watching Mongolian soap operas, bored out of our minds. It won’t be so boring if we could be doing other things.”
“Other things?” I ask. This time it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow.
“Other things,” he says with a nod of his sharp jaw. “Which brings me back to my original question. Have you ever been fucked on an airplane?”
My cheeks redden as my breath quickens. He’s playing with me. He’s trying to get under my skin, and it’s working. Well, two can play at that game. It’s time to fuck with him back.
“Sounds like a boring job,” I say as he takes a long glance at my chest. “What did you do to get kicked out of the Air Force and get stuck with a shitty job like this?”
He huffs out a breath and narrows his eyes at me. I hit a sore spot. Score one for Riley!
“I bet you love to get wild,” he says, ignoring my question an
d trying to get the upper hand back. “I bet I could get you sopping wet with one flick of my wrist.”
“You get me wet?” I say with a snort of laughter. The champagne flutes on the tray clink together, and I steady my hand. “You couldn’t get me wet even if we crashed into the ocean, which seems to be a real possibility since you can’t seem to go five minutes without a drink. Now tell me why you got kicked out of the Air Force.”
“Come sit on my lap and I’ll tell you all about it,” he says, patting his black pants.
I’m tempted but I hold my ground.
“I’d rather use the parachute,” I say with my fiercest glare.
“Afraid you’ll get wet?” he asks in a deep, raspy voice with a grin on his sexy lips. “One flick of the wrist. It’s all it will take.”
“What did I tell you?” I ask, holding my chin up high. “You couldn’t get me wet if you had a—”
Dex flicks his wrist of the hand that’s holding the yoke and the plane lurches up, spilling the two champagne flutes on my tray. The ginger ale lands all over my shirt, soaking me in sticky soda.
“Oops,” he says, staring at me with a cocky grin. “Told you I could get you wet.”
I rush forward with murder in my eyes, and he quickly closes the door of the cockpit, locking it from the other side. I can hear the prick laughing.
He’s a dead man.
Chapter Three
Dex
“Sorry for that little bump of turbulence,” I say over the PA system of the jet. “I was testing out my sexy new stewardess, and things got a little crazy as you can see. She left the cockpit dripping wet.”
I release the button on the PA while laughing as I picture her all pissed off in the cabin. I wait for it, and sure enough, four seconds later she knocks on the door and gives me a “fuck you” from the other side.
I shift in my seat and grin as I picture her all worked up in the bathroom, sliding off her wet uniform, cursing me as she strips down to her wet bra. “Mmmm,” I moan, getting hard in my pants.