Melody Anne's Billionaire Universe: Floating Hearts (Kindle Worlds Novella) (MacKay Destiny Book 1)

by Kate Richards

  Next, she found a small chunk of cheese wrapped in plastic. Bringing it close to her nose, she took a sniff. Ugh. Not that she liked processed cheese food or anything, but why couldn’t Trey appreciate a nice slice of cheddar or jack? The guys back home used cheese to catch fish as well. Over the side with it. Even the crackers were infused with something fishy that made them impossible to eat.

  She wanted eggs, bacon…toast! Standing up, she dumped contents of the box into the air. Let the peasants dine on it all. “Enjoy, peasants!” she shouted, waving toward a field where a number of people were working. Peasants like her. Regular folks. They probably had something to eat, too. Maybe sandwiches or granola bars. Real food for real people.

  What a great time to land. She could hand the balloon over to them with instructions to call Trey to have it picked up. Now, where had she left that remote?

  A sickening thought pierced the champagne fog clouding her brain. Bundling her train—impossible to remove without help—she set the cloisonné box down and looked around. The pouch where the controller had been placed held nothing; patting it did not help. And neither did lifting the lid on the fancy box—which held nothing as well. With the yardage bunched around her waist, she could see every inch of the floor. Revealing no secrets or remote controls. Her head began to pound.

  She had no means to handle the balloon, to bring it to Earth before it ran out of power. Not that her “expertise” even with the remote guaranteed a successful outcome. Particularly after far too much expensive champagne. At some point, she assumed she would run out of power and land. Unless the solar batteries could charge infinitely? She had no idea how they worked. The only question whether she would drift gently to Earth or plummet to her death. At least she didn’t have to face the music for her bizarre and felonious behavior.

  For the moment, her body claimed its vengeance in another round of spinning, accompanied by nausea enhanced by the bobbing action of her ride. Sarabeth could not stomach the idea of tossing her cookies onto the crops below—just too gross. So she looked for a spot on the horizon she could focus on. If it worked like seasickness, maybe she could settle her churning insides. Not to mention a bladder holding a lot of champagne. God! Why hadn’t she just said “I don’t,” instead of making a dramatic getaway in a stolen balloon worth more than she was? Drama! Long her enemy, she’d thought she’d outgrown the instinct to do ridiculous things for attention. Apparently, she’d just stored it up until it staged a blowout in front of the cream of San Francisco society.

  She could never go back. And if she could get far enough away from the scene of the crime, so to speak, she could lie low for a bit while she attempted to think of a way to deal with the disaster she’d created. Because, at the moment, she saw no way out.

  Glancing at the ground again, she thought she’d descended quite a bit and, judging by the group of farm workers below pointing and shouting, they thought so, too. Waving, she hollered back, “Someone help!” What she expected them to do, she had no idea, but seemed to have enough inner drama queen left to play the damsel in distress. “Help!”

  If she survived this, she’d go back to Kansas, work at some insurance office, and marry the first nice guy with a blue-collar job who asked. Why hadn’t she realized that was what she wanted to start with? Billionaires existed in a rarified atmosphere you had to be born into to survive. Sarabeth Harvest could never be a billionaire’s wife. After this stunt, she wasn’t sure any man deserved to get stuck with her.

  Leaning over the side, swallowing her fear, she saw ropes trailing from the basket, but she remained far too high for anyone to reach one. A gentle rise ahead might put her lower, but the men and women in the field were behind her. The hilltop held trees, their branches heavy with fruit. She veered right at them. And at the small all-terrain vehicle parked in front of them. Slapping her hands over her eyes, she whispered a prayer directed to whatever god or saint protected the unpardonably stupid.

  “Helllppp. No…duck!”

  Chapter Three

  When the fruit no longer pattered to the ground around him, James stood up and dusted off his jeans. The soft, comfortable denim had shredded in several places, including one far too close to a part of his anatomy he particularly wanted to keep from harm. Scratches marred the skin where the denim tore away, and, judging from the way his cheek stung, he’d scraped that as well. Bruises already darkened his elbows, and his arms felt as if they’d been stretched out on the rack. No amount of weight training prepared a man for being dragged behind a balloon through an apple orchard.

  “Hey, down there! Do you think you could find a ladder or something and get me out of here?”

  Lifting his eyes to the cause of all his aches and pains, James considered leaving her there. A tiara held a veil over her brown hair, styled in a bouffant or something that remained in place despite her travels. How much hair spray did she use, anyway? Brown eyes snapped in a creamy complexion, and her dress fell off her shoulders, revealing a glimpse of sweet, curvy cleavage. Whoever she’d married had scored in the looks department. Although, if he’d been responsible for her flying away all alone, the groom might be hiding out. The woman’s expression held no humor at the situation whatsoever. Her full lips were in a tight line boding mayhem.

  Of course, he was not smiling either. She’d not only damaged one of their oldest and best-bearing trees, she’d made it virtually impossible for him to conduct video chats until the damage to his face healed. It didn’t take much for rumors of problems to surface, and if his cheek and—he gingerly probed his face—blackened eye were seen, the tabloids would have a lot of ridiculous explanations to offer.

  “I’ll call the fire department. They’ll get you down.”

  “No!” Panic tinged her words. “Nobody can know I was here. Please. Can’t you just help me down?”

  James shook his head in disbelief. “I think everyone will know you were here unless you can fold up that giant heart-shaped balloon and put it in your pocket. Do you even have a pocket?”

  “Wedding dresses don’t come with pockets—at least this one didn’t.” She lifted a shapely leg over the side of the basket. “Catch me.”

  He stumbled backward, waving his hands and trying not to notice the thigh high stocking, held up by a frilly garter. “No way! He fished in his pocket for his phone. At least he had pockets. “I’ll call one of my cousins on the fire squad and get him over here with the crew. They’ll have you down in no time, and you can call your husband to make arrangements to get your balloon out of my family’s orchard and make payment for the damage your irresponsible behavior caused.” He looked for the firehouse in his contacts. It was not a 9-1-1 situation. “James here. I— Crap.”

  “Jim, what’s going on?” One of his relatives, he thought, but before he could ask which, he swore.

  “I’ll have to call you back.” He disconnected just in time to catch the plummeting bundle of satin and lace and fall flat on his butt, the only part of him not bruised by being dragged through the orchard to start with. “Woman, what did I ever do to have you show up here? My stepmother would say I had piled up some seriously bad karma.” But, as punishments went, burying his face in sweet-scented cleavage might not be effective. He breathed in the exotic spices and flowers, wishing the situation were different. That she wasn’t a married woman but a single one, available to take back to the house for an afternoon of naked discovery. They lay tangled in her gown and train, the layers of her dress blocking out most of the sunlight.

  His desires did not matter. He had to return her to her rightful husband.

  Her shoulders shook, and he patted her helplessly. “Don’t cry. It will be okay.” Then he realized she wasn’t weeping. “You cannot be laughing. I fail to see the humor in any of this.” They were inside a white, scented tent. How big was this dress? The woman whose trim waist he gripped couldn’t need a plus-sized outfit.

  Her breasts bounced temptingly against his lips, their curves barely contained by the
lace inset of the bodice. “I-I don’t think it’s funny either.” But she continued on until she gasped. “I-I can’t stop.”

  And, being a gentleman, he took action to help her stop. Shifting her lower, he brought her sweet full lips to his and kissed her. Took her panic into himself, whispering comforting nonsense, doing everything that did not come natural to a man for whom duty came first. Who was only in this spot because his duty to his family forced it. When her lips stilled, her breath settling, he continued because…well, he had no reason at all except she tasted like champagne and the sweetest kind of woman and he couldn’t force himself to quit.

  Her laughter gone, her arms twined around his neck, under the white satin tent they shared, surrounded by the scent of ripe apples and her heady fragrance. He ran the tip of his tongue over her lips and they parted, allowing him inside, her tongue twining with his in a dance as old as time and as sweet as sugar. Everything else went away except the woman in his arms, returning his kisses with a passion he’d rarely experienced. His hands slid up from her waist to cup the undercurves of her breasts, palming their weight and rubbing his thumbs over tips peaking under his caress.

  She moaned, and he answered with a groan of his own. Her thigh lay over his manhood, which was rock-hard and ready to go. There was a reason this shouldn’t be happening, but with the overload of hormones and everything feminine, warm, and fragrant in this odd little pavilion, he couldn’t think what that was.

  “I wondered why you hung up so fast, cousin.”

  “We have company,” the woman—he didn’t even know her name—broke their kiss and murmured against his lips. “I don’t have any cousins, so I think it’s for you.”

  Gliding his hands away from her breasts, James breathed slowly, in and out, trying to recover his sanity and think of a logical explanation. Finally, he cleared his throat and pulled a fold of white satin from over of his face. “What were you doing at the station, Aiden?” Because of course it had been him. He hadn’t seen his favorite cousin in at least two years, and now he tripped over him every way he turned. The man was in danger of losing his favorite status after this stunt, though.

  “Just visiting.” The laughter from above was not hysteria, but it was hysterical.

  James lay on the ground, tangled in the wedding dress— Wedding dress. That’s why he shouldn’t have been making out with her like a teenager on a camping trip. God, what an animal. Fooling around with someone else’s wife.

  “Aiden!”

  “Just…just a minute. I need to get a picture of this. Your brothers will be heartsick to have missed their stuffy brother James on the ground wrapped up in some lady’s dress. Smile!”

  “I’d kill you if I could stand up,” he growled. At least his family held their privacy sacred. The picture would not appear in any tabloids, but Thanksgiving would be hell for the next five years.

  “And you’d bribe me if you thought it would make me go away, but this picture is priceless.”

  James clammed up. The more distressed he appeared, the more his cousin would enjoy it.

  “Umm, fellas? If you’re done having fun here, please?” Her muffled voice reminded James he was not alone in humiliation. “A hand up?”

  “So sorry, miss,” Aiden said, flipping layers of fabric out of the way. “I never intended any disrespect.”

  As soon as enough of the twisted satin was off him, James rose to his feet, taking the balloon woman with him. He set her on her stockinged feet and held her a moment to make sure she stayed steady. “And neither did I.” He straightened his shirt and flexed his stiff forearms, wondering what damage he’d find when he finally sent Little Miss Bride on her way and returned home for a long session in his Japanese soaking tub overlooking this very orchard.

  Probably the tub was the one part of his “getaway” his doctor would actually approve of. Making out with married women raised a guy’s blood pressure.

  Aiden cleared his throat, and James rolled his eyes. “Where are my manners? Aiden MacKay, instructor at the Sacramento Fire Academy, may I introduce Mrs.—”

  “Miss.” She held both arms up, working the veil and tiara free then shaking her head. “I’m Sarabeth Harvest, escaped bride. And my hair has been sprayed into a helmet. It may never move again.”

  Aiden flashed her his famous smile, and James fought irritation. Then he grinned as well. Ladies always went for the fire guys. He had been known to tease his cousins they’d chosen their career just for that, but, in fact, they put their lives on the line for the citizens of Cedar Valley on a daily basis, and he held them in highest regard. He worked hard but faced no personal danger and made a lot more money. Sometimes he wondered if they and his nursery-owning branch of the family achieved more satisfaction from their work than he did.

  But they could not argue with his success. He ranked number two in the Achievement Magazine list of most eligible bachelors in San Francisco and, with his estranged half-brother’s recent wedding, had likely moved up to number one. The only reason he’d been second to start with was his complete lack of interest in settling down.

  “And you are?” Miss Sarabeth asked. Thank heavens she was not married. No need to feel guilty for kissing her. Or that bit of groping either.

  Aiden slapped his knee. “Why this is my cousin Jim. His dad owns the Cedar Valley Nursery.”

  Nobody outside the family called him Jim…but why make a fuss? She’d be gone soon. He’d figure out a way to avoid having his injuries broadcast to the planet.

  “Well, it’s been fun, but I have things to do, so, Aiden, do you mind giving Miss Harvest a ride into town where she can make arrangements to have the balloon picked up and maybe buy some shoes? Unless you have a pair in the basket up there?”

  “I got nothing.” Sarabeth glanced down at her feet and groaned. “I couldn’t run in stilettoes. Not and hope to get away.”

  “Was someone chasing you?” Had she been coerced into marriage? Did that even happen anymore? He could certainly see why a man might want her. He’d shown a remarkable lack of discipline and control himself in their satin tent a few moments before. Somehow, she took ordinary brown hair, soft-brown eyes, even features, and average height and size and made them add up to extraordinary. Her fiancé would be beating the bushes for her, trying to get her back.

  If she’d made it all the way to the wedding before bolting, perhaps she’d fled due to nerves, though. The groom might well convince her to go through with it after all, with a little courting and compliments. What a lucky man. If James was ready for the wedded stage of life, he might make a run at her himself. The girl sure could kiss.

  “Chasing me?” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “I am certain of it. That big red heart hanging in your tree is worth more than all our lives put together. Not to mention the tiara, a gift from Trey’s mother and father, and this.” She thrust her hand toward them, the sparkler on her ring finger catching a ray of sunlight and breaking it into prisms. “My in-laws to be and fiancé paid for the ceremony and reception as well. I am sure Trey would like to get hold of me.”

  Trey? He began to get an uneasy feeling. But it couldn’t be. “Are you sure you don’t want to kiss and make up? He must have thought highly of you to be willing to go to so much trouble and expense.”

  Aiden slapped him on the back. “My cousin is a great romantic. What he means is, your fiancé must be terribly worried. Why don’t I do what Jim suggested and take you into town so you can get some shoes and we’ll see if we can’t get your fiancé down here. Even if you don’t want to go through with the ceremony, the man deserves to know you’re all right.”

  “No. I can’t talk to him. Not now.” She took a step back and stumbled over her dress.

  James caught her before she went down, but she couldn’t walk around with that long train. Once she regained her balance, he reached behind her and tore it away.

  Sarabeth gasped. So did Aiden. “That may not have been a good idea, Jim,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t
know a lot about fashion, but I’m guessing you just ruined a very expensive dress. If she still wants to marry…Trey, was it?”

  She nodded. “Yes, Trey.”

  “If she wants to marry Trey, she’ll need a whole new gown now. And he may want to know who was tearing her clothes off.”

  Well, maybe he didn’t want her to marry Trey. Not if she didn’t want to. But the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach grew, his baby ulcer making itself known.

  “Can’t I stay here until I can figure out how to get back to Kansas?”

  Aiden, always practical, cut in. “You don’t think Trey deserves a face-to-face breakup? I know I’d appreciate an honest explanation.”

  “Aiden, shut up!” James blurted, and they both turned to stare at him. Acid reflux burned at the back of his throat. “I mean, Sarabeth has been through a traumatic experience, flying all by herself from…where did you come from?”