Starfire (Erotic Romance) (Peaches Monroe)

by Strong, Mimi

  “Only if you want me to leave you up there,” he said, pointing to the sky beyond the curved ceiling of the plane.

  “You’re bad, Vern.”

  “Just a little pilot humor.”

  “Why do you look so happy? I thought you quit being a commercial pilot because you didn’t like it.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the pilot’s chair with fondness. “I love flying, but you can have too much of a good thing when you’re doing multiple flights every day. This, however, is puddle hopping, and puddle hopping is fun! Now, pick a seat.”

  I chose a chair and buckled my seat belt as he watched. I wriggled in the seat, which was a little tight for my body, but not bad.

  He continued, “I was in the air too much, but a few trips a week is wonderful. Do you know what I mean? With too much of something you love?”

  “I may have reached that point myself, talking to customers about books.”

  “Are you tired of the books, or the customers?”

  “Mostly the repetition.”

  He laughed. “So, you mean the customers, but you don’t want to sound rude. It’s okay, I understand.”

  “Oh, I love the customers, usually, but the novelty wears off when you’re giving these little prepared speeches: Yes, it’s too bad there’s no more Oprah’s book club. Yes, it’s a shame more people aren’t reading these days, but you’re here in a bookstore now, so why don’t we have a look? And so on, and so on.” I put my hands up to my neck and pretended to strangle myself.

  “You’ll have to find something new to occupy your days in LA, when you move in with Mr. Deangelo.”

  “Move in…?”

  Vern winked at me. “One step at a time, Miss Monroe.”

  He moved back toward the cockpit again, asking if I was ready to fly. I gave him two thumbs up and a big grin.

  Off we went.

  Taking off from a lake was certainly interesting. The acceleration feels not unlike being on a regular runway, once you get going. Soaring up over lush trees was terrifying yet magical, over the roar of the engine. I was so struck by the beauty of the surrounding countryside, plus the miracle of flight, that a pair of fat, wet tears ran down my cheeks.

  The plane had six passenger seats, and I’d picked the middle one on the right-hand side without any deliberation. Now that we were soaring, I realized it was my usual position when going on outings with my family. For a moment, I imagined my parents in the front row and Kyle beside me. They would love this. What was I thinking? I should have invited them along… except it would have meant explaining everything to them.

  My father would make that judgmental face and say that a fake wedding was so like me, because I was “prone to whimsy.” My mother would probably ask a million intrusive questions and try to pimp me to Dalton for more money and jewelry. Kyle would run around and try to press buttons in the cockpit.

  I shuddered at the thought. Maybe it was for the best I made this first trip without them.

  ~

  The flight was just under three hours, and we landed at a private air strip outside San Francisco. I’d snoozed for most of the trip and kicked myself for missing all the scenery.

  Vern had spoken to me over the intercom to assure me that the plane had wheels that popped out of the floats, so we were safe to land on a regular runway.

  “I knew that,” I said. (I hadn’t known that.)

  The engine roared as we descended.

  Vern set the plane down like a sleeping baby in a cradle. I shit you not, the man knew how to land a plane. Whatever Dalton was paying him, it wasn’t enough.

  We stepped out of the plane and our feet clanged on the way down the metal steps. As soon as we touched solid ground, I turned and hugged Vern, hard.

  “You’ll get used to the jet-setting lifestyle,” he said, patting my back. “You’re doing great. Sometimes I forget you’re only twenty-two, because you seem so capable. It’s perfectly acceptable to be scared sometimes.”

  We were standing at the edge of the airstrip, and the California sun wasn’t nearly as warm as I’d expected. In fact, the weather outside San Francisco seemed cooler than when we’d left, which had been early in the morning and lakeside in Washington.

  I reached down and unzipped my bag to retrieve a fleece hoodie. I didn’t like the idea of covering up my best assets before seeing Dalton, but I didn’t like freezing my nips off, either.

  “Sorry I didn’t prepare you for the weather,” Vern said. “California is a big state, and San Francisco is much cooler than LA. I understand sweaters are the most popular items at the souvenir shops.”

  “This Washington girl knows how to layer, so don’t you worry.”

  “You do seem very capable, but don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.”

  I stared up at Vern’s kind face.

  “I feel like a bull in a china shop,” I confessed. “The china shop is my life in this metaphor.”

  “Everyone gets emotional after a flight. We’ll get some nice lunch in you and everything will be fine.” He looked over my shoulder at an approaching vehicle—a boxy, black Range Rover. “Here comes Mr. Deangelo. He seems late, but he isn’t. If you must know, I wore my lucky socks today, so we arrived ten minutes early.”

  “Your socks make you fly faster?”

  “More pilot humor.”

  The vehicle pulled to a stop and the engine turned off. I didn’t have much time before Dalton was with us.

  I grabbed Vern’s arm and stared up into his eyes. “Vern, level with me. Does Mr. Deangelo love me?”

  “Yes,” he said, without hesitation.

  “Why doesn’t he say it to me?”

  “Why don’t you say it to him?”

  I grabbed a handful of my hair and twirled it with one hand. “Did he really tell you that he loves me?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “He needs to hire a screenwriter for his life.”

  “Miss Monroe, there’s a reason greeting cards have words written inside them.” He raised his eyebrows to stress the importance of what he was saying. “Actions are certainly more important than words.”

  Dalton approached, cutting our private conversation short.

  CHAPTER 16

  “How was the flight?” Dalton asked as he approached. “Did Vern do any fancy loop-de-loops?”

  Vern grinned and pointed his thumb back toward the plane. “This plane isn’t rated for loop-de-loops, sir. Maybe the next one.”

  Dalton came to a stop in front of me and took off his mirrored sunglasses, his green eyes brilliant as emeralds in the daylight. Sometimes, when he wasn’t right in front of me, I thought of Dalton Deangelo as an abstract concept only. He was the smug TV actor who chewed up the scenery in a campy vampire soap opera. He was the whirlwind of fame and chaos that came into my life and made a mess of everything. He was a problem I had to deal with and think about.

  But sometimes, like that moment on the chilly airstrip, he was just a man, squinting in the bright light and looking happy to see me.

  He raised one dark eyebrow quizzically. “Well?”

  “Well?” I replied.

  Some people in orange safety vests came out of the nearby building and Vern went off to talk to them about maintenance and refueling the plane.

  Dalton took the handle of my suitcase and started walking toward the vehicle.

  “I’m not going to compliment you on how you look,” he said.

  “Fine.”

  “Even though that blue shirt under your jacket brings out your gorgeous eyes, and those tight jeans show off all your curves and make me want to peel them off in the back seat of this truck with the tinted windows.”

  “Do you ever look at me and not think about doing dirty, sexy things?”

  He chuckled. “Nope.”

  We reached the truck, where he grabbed me and playfully pushed me up against the door, my butt against the hard metal. He leaned in over me, his arms stretched ov
er my shoulders and his hands on the truck, and he smelled my hair, breathing in audibly.

  I could hardly breathe, and all my nerves were tingling from being in such close proximity. He sniffed again, like a wolf.

  “Tell me something,” he murmured near my ear, his voice deep and husky. “When you put on those clothes this morning, did you think about me taking them off?”

  “I don’t know,” I lied. “It was early, and I just threw on the nearest thing.”

  “You didn’t think about me running my finger up and down the line of this V-neck?” Instead of touching my neck, he puckered his lips and blew a stream of air along my neckline.

  I reached up between his legs and cupped his package through his jeans. “What about you, Mr. Deangelo? Are you wearing silk boxers under these tight jeans that show off your big package?”

  “Careful,” he groaned.

  I lightly massaged the bulge. He was always trying to throw me off balance with his flirtations, and how did he like it when the tables were turned? From the feel of his manhood, he liked it very much.

  “There’s my pony,” I said. “There’s my Lionheart, and he’s ready to ride. But he’s a bad pony. He thinks he’s going to buck and gallop and take me for a ride, but this naughty pony’s about to get broken in.”

  Dalton let out a laugh I could only describe as nervous sounding.

  “How was the flight?” he asked, his voice high. “Any turbulence?”

  We were still alone over by the truck, so I grabbed hold of his waistband with my free hand and then plunged the other hand down into his jeans.

  He gasped as I took hold of him by the gigglestick.

  “The flight was long and smooth.” I stroked his shaft, making up for the lack of wiggle room by squeezing harder. “We started off fast, splashing around, then we got higher and higher, and then after a few hours of heaven, I came.”

  “You came?” His breathing was ragged.

  “I came here to go shopping, and we’re going to shop so hard. I’m going to make your credit card beg for mercy.”

  “Oh, Peaches, I dare you to break me. I’m your wild pony. I’m your Lionheart. Promise you’ll never stop trying to break me.”

  “Careful what you wish for.” I released his swollen manhood and withdrew my hand slowly from his clothes.

  “To be continued,” he said.

  “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid to.”

  “Because you know my lips are bad for you?”

  He leaned down, his face moving closer and closer to mine. His breath was hot on my cheek when he stopped moving, lips inches from mine. “Your lips are the least of my worries. It’s the rest of you that terrifies me.”

  “Then you’d better not kiss me, because I’m the whole package.”

  He pulled away another inch. If I stood on my tiptoes, I could have kissed him, but I didn’t.

  “If I kiss you, everything will get complicated,” he said.

  “Yes. If you kiss me, Dalton, I promise you nothing short of disaster.”

  “Then I guess you leave me no choice.” He dropped his arms to his sides and stepped back, then opened the door of the truck. “Get in.”

  That was it?

  I climbed into the back seat. He circled around to the back to load in my suitcase, then continued up to the front door and got in the front passenger side.

  Kiss denied.

  I zipped open my purse and got out my phone, pretending not to be bothered that he wasn’t sitting in the back with me.

  What game was he playing? I wished I had a copy of the Dalton Deangelo handbook.

  I scrolled through my messages and opened the ones from Adrian, who was letting me know his dog was recuperating nicely.

  “Oh, good,” I said out loud.

  Dalton turned around and looked back from the front seat. “Vern will be here in a few minutes.”

  “Okay, that’s good, too. I just found out my boyfriend’s dog is feeling better. We were all out hiking and we had a terrible run-in with a bear.”

  “You went hiking?” He had a mischievous look that annoyed me.

  “With my boyfriend.”

  “He doesn’t mind that you stick your hand down other guys’ pants?”

  My head started to bob side to side with its own attitude. “Of course he doesn’t. We have a very modern arrangement. We’re honest with each other, and it’s great.”

  “I noticed something, back when we were outside the truck and you were grabbing my dick like it was the last organic turkey at the farmer’s market on the day before Thanksgiving. You aren’t wearing the ring I gave you.”

  “I need to get it sized for my finger.”

  “I know for a fact the ring will fit perfectly. You haven’t even opened the box, have you?”

  “Everything’s in my suitcase, and, by the way, I brought back your sexy lumberjack coat.”

  He nodded, taking his green eyes off me for just a moment. When he looked down, he always looked so sad and thoughtful. For an instant, I felt bad about being so hard on him, and lying about the ring.

  His thick, dark eyelashes fluttered, then he looked up again, sunny and smiling that million-dollar grin. “Have you been to San Francisco before?”

  “Is that the one with all the hills? And the trolley cars?”

  “Yes,” he said, clearly amused by my description.

  “No, I haven’t been there, then. I think I’d remember something like that.”

  “I’ll try my best to make this a memorable weekend for you.”

  “Hah! I’m scared to find out what you have planned.”

  He nodded slowly. “Trespassing is definitely on the table.”

  “No trespassing and no public nudity.”

  “Come on, sugarlips. You were spending too many days in a sleepy little bookstore, and then I came along and unlocked your repressed cravings for criminal activity.”

  I wagged my finger. “Oh, no, do not look so proud. I was a good girl, and you corrupted me. My mother’s friend went on a cruise and she didn’t even ask me to babysit her cat. People around town look at me funny, and they haven’t even seen my peaches in their magazines yet.”

  “You’re a star.”

  I took a pause to breathe. Was Dalton giving me a pep talk? I wished he was in the back seat with me, because I would have preferred a hug, or just his arm around me.

  He continued, “When you become a star, you burn and burn. That fire touches everyone around you. Fame puts relationships on fast forward, and it shines a light so bright, there’s no shadow for your secrets to hide.”

  “Especially when some stupid girl blabs your secrets, for which I am truly sorry.”

  “You did me a favor.”

  “Good! We don’t have to get fake-married.”

  He grinned. “Nice try. You did me a favor, but you may have murdered my career.”

  I leaned forward and stuck my fingertip right into his chin dimple. “But what about this dimple? This gorgeous face is going to have an amazing career, no matter what.”

  “You were in LA for a few weeks. Didn’t you notice something about every food server and coffee barista you ran across?”

  I kept poking him in the dimple. “Shut up. You’re Dalton Deangelo. Those sexy waiters and bus boys can’t hold a candle to you.”

  He gazed into my eyes. “Marry me.”

  I giggled in response, because Dalton was basically a mutant superhero, and his power was projecting stupidity from his eyes, straight into my brain.

  He pulled away from my dimple-poking finger and neighed like a horse, which just made me laugh harder.

  In a silly voice, he said, “I’m Lionheart! Nee-hee-hee-hee! I’m your favorite horsie ride, Peaches, so you should marry me.”

  And that’s when Vern opened the driver’s side door to find Dalton holding his hands up like pretend hooves and me rolling side to side in the back seat laughing and trying not to pee my pants. />
  “You two,” Vern said, shaking his head like an embarrassed dad.

  “Peaches brings out my crazy side,” Dalton explained.

  Vern asked gruffly, “What are you doing up here in the front?”

  “Well… there’s no privacy glass between the seats in this truck, and if I’m back there with Peaches, she’ll do something CRAZY like stick her hand down my pants—”

  “Never!” I shouted.

  Vern held his hand up to quiet both of us. “I’ve heard enough, Mr. Deangelo. Shall we proceed to the first location on the itinerary?”

  “Yeah, hit the gas, man. Drive it like you stole it.”

  Vern started the engine and turned to face Dalton, a questioning look on his face.

  “What? It’s an expression,” Dalton said. “I did not steal this truck, honest.”

  “Then why is there no tag on the keychain? No rental brand?”

  “Because I rented from the cool place, for cool people.”

  “There’s nothing cool about car rental agencies, sir.”

  “But we’re in San Francisco, where everything is rainbows and unicorns and cool stuff.”

  “That would be an excellent slogan for the postcards, sir.”

  “Sarcasm!” Dalton turned and peered back at me, his eyes wide. “Vern, you’re being so sassy today. Peaches has been a bad influence on you.”

  Vern steered the truck over to a security checkpoint, and then on to another road that looked like it would lead us to a freeway.

  The two of them continued to argue lightheartedly about whether or not Vern was usually sarcastic, and how much I could be to blame for anyone’s behavior. I got my phone out and sent some photos and a text report back to Shayla, who was just getting out of bed.

  She didn’t know about the engagement, and I felt bad not telling her.

  Shayla: Why San Francisco? Has he told you why?

  Me: I’ll let you know when I figure him out.

  Shayla: He’s a really good actor. I don’t think you’ll ever get anything out of him that he doesn’t want you to know.

  Me: I have my own methods and plans.

  Shayla: Do tell!

  Me: He’s pretending we’re just casual friends with benefits, but Vern told me he has real feelings for me, and I’m going to make him admit it.