Too Close To The Fire/Too Hot To Handle (Montana Men 3)

by Jaydyn Chelcee

  “Cut it out,” he ordered. “It isn’t funny.” He held onto the dash with both hands.

  “I know. I’m sorry I made the crack about crashing the plane. Ow!” She jerked the headphone off her head.

  “What?”

  Crackles and static filled the cockpit; then the radio went dead. Dianna stared at the headphone.

  “No use staring at it as if you’re holding a spitting cobra in your hands.”

  She shot Taylor a look she knew was bound to be filled with fear. From the whiteness etching his mouth, she figured he understood they were in a bad way. His remarks to her about it all being a joke was his way of denying they faced death. She gave a helpless shrug.

  His entire body shook.

  Her entire body shook.

  Worse, the plane’s tube-like body shook, which made them shake even worse.

  Taylor yanked the small transmitter from her fingers with trembling hands. “Help! Help! Somebody help us! I’m being held prisoner by a lunatic pilot! She’s going to crash the plane right after she shits all over me!”

  Dianna burst into hysterical laughter. “That is so not funny.”

  “No? Then why are you laughing?”

  She gaped at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “Because I’m crazier than you? For heaven’s sake, this is not a joke! Give me the damn thing. It’s dead.”

  “Who’s joking? You’re right. You’re crazy as a brain-dead spider on a hot rock. I thought I might as well join you in your insanity.”

  “I’m crazy? You’re way ahead of me, Spencer.”

  “I didn’t threaten to crash the plane.”

  “Hang on!”

  “To what?”

  “Your ass, if you can reach it.”

  The cold look in his eyes said it all. If they survived the crash, he was going to kill her.

  * * * *

  Taylor didn’t want to die. But the idea wasn’t nearly as distasteful as the thought of pain. He’d had a year of pain.

  Surgery.

  Pain.

  Grueling physical therapy.

  More pain. More physical therapy.

  Hell, Dianna was right. His dick hadn’t worked in over a year, at least not when it came to getting hard. Up until a few days ago, he’d had a tube shoved up his penis just so he could piss. He didn’t have either worry now. He pissed without problem. The raging hard-on he got every time Dianna twitched her pretty little ass under his nose told him his cock worked just fine. His legs? Not so good, but getting better.

  He’d barely regained the use of his legs when Jace ordered him to Australia with Dianna, all because of some aunt who’d suddenly died from a massive heart attack. So here he was, he thought glumly, stuck with the last female he ever wanted to be trapped with, and it looked like he’d die with her, too.

  What if his legs were re-injured in the crash? Or, God forbid, what if he ended up with no legs at all? Shit! Why’d he have to go and think of something like that? Being crippled was bad enough. It hadn’t just impinged his physical abilities. It had done a number on him mentally, too.

  He’d treated his sister like crap for over a year, laying guilt trips on Kaycee for the car accident. Blaming her for their father committing suicide had been cruel and unjust.

  Taylor sighed, disgusted with the things he’d said to his sister. He’d hear the asshole words pipe out of his mouth, and it was as if he’d turned into someone else, as if it wasn’t him making accusations, him, angry all the time. Worse, he’d resented her and anyone else who tried to help him.

  Now he was going to die before he got the chance to apologize to Kaycee.

  Death. He couldn’t escape the word.

  Taylor blasted Dianna with a fierce glare. This was all her fault. She’d jinxed them with her threat to crash the plane. He slid his gaze over her hands. Her fingers were wrapped around the yoke so tight her knuckles looked like bleached bone. She had to be as terrified as he felt. They were losing altitude by slow degrees, a miserably long time to anticipate dying.

  She alone struggled to keep the plane level so they’d land smoothly. No matter what she did, it was going to be a belly-flop. Without power and landing gear, there was no way she could manage a smooth landing, not with the rough terrain rushing toward them.

  He drew a sharp breath. Why did she always bring out the worst in him? The woman rubbed him the wrong way nine times to Sunday. It was those exotic, cat-green eyes of hers. A man could drown in the vast ocean of her eyes. And her soft lips. He’d tasted them once, touched her breasts once, and suckled the tight, coral-tipped nipples. Once. Lord! Taylor wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Once had only whetted his appetite.

  Damn it, he didn’t want to die, not until he’d thoroughly sampled her. Not until he’d had the opportunity to trace his tongue along the curve of her delicate, shell-like ears, taste every flawless inch of her smooth skin, and bury his cock between her thighs, at least once.

  Sex hadn’t been a part of his life for over a year—closer to two years, actually. If they somehow lived through this crash, by God he was going to fuck Dianna. Not only would it take the edge off his needs, he figured it was no more than he owed Jace for screwing Kaycee and making her pregnant.

  A screw for a screw sounded fair to him. Getting even with Jace was a bonus. Taylor refused to listen to his conscience. By no means was he looking for a relationship with Dianna; simple justice for the wrong done to his sister worked just fine.

  Getting emotionally involved with the Remington Princess would be tantamount to committing suicide. As far as he was concerned, she was a piranha, a onetime deal between the sheets, and a means to settle the score.

  He looked at her, saw the terror on her pale face and swore softly. Hell, he didn’t have to be a jerk at a time like this. She was scared. Shit, so was he. But he was a man, and as such, he could at least offer her comfort.

  Taylor leaned across the cockpit and placed his shaking hands over hers. She gave him a wild look mingled with gratitude. Tears filled her lovely eyes. Her beautiful mouth trembled. “I’m sorry.” She gripped his fingers. “We’re going down,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “I know.” He clenched his teeth. “All I ask is that you don’t break both my legs in the landing, or my back…been there, done that.”

  She laughed a faint, watery sound. “I swear I won’t. Hold on to me. I don’t want to die alone.”

  He leaned as close as possible and drew her face protectively against his chest. “Don’t look, baby.”

  Dianna buried her face deeper against his chest. “No. I won’t look. I don’t want to see death coming at us.”

  The plane glided so smoothly, Dianna could hardly believe what was about to happen, but she knew when they hit the trees and concealed rocks, the aircraft would shear apart.

  She held her breath. Her heart beat so frantically, it hurt. Her lungs ached for air. It would have been nice to settle things with Taylor before they died. Too bad there was so little time left them. Too bad she wanted him, and he detested her.

  Wanted him?

  Shit, was she in love with the big jerk? How could she be in love with such an asshole?

  “Here it comes,” he whispered.

  He tightened his hold on her, tilted her face to his. “Look at me, Dianna.”

  “Taylor.”

  She lifted her gaze to the window. Everything was such a blur rushing toward them. Her breath hitched.

  “No, sweetheart, look only at me. Dianna, look at me!”

  She turned her head, and locked her gaze with his.

  “That’s my girl.” Slowly, he settled his mouth on hers. Her breath caught. Oh, yeah. She was definitely a goner. She’d been a goner for months now. Why had he waited so long to kiss her again?

  His lips felt feather soft, gentle, yet utterly ravaging. Never had she felt anything as good as his warm mouth possessing hers. Dianna sighed with contentment and surrendered her heart into his care. This kiss would have to
last her a lifetime and beyond. She dug her fingers in the front of his shirt and hung on.

  BAM!

  Dianna felt the jolt in every muscle and bone. She was brutally wrenched from Taylor’s arms. He grunted, hurled to his right and then back against his seat.

  “Taylor!”

  “Here. I’m right here.”

  Metal crunched and screeched in agony. Everything about the plane snarled in protest, a wounded beast fighting to its last breath. The only thing they could do was ride the ride.

  Glass imploded around them. Hundreds of shiny pieces shot through the air. Dianna flung her arms across her face. The plane jerked hard to the right. Luggage flipped toward them, tossing and tumbling like paper in the wind.

  The blunt corner of a suitcase slammed into Taylor’s left shoulder. She heard his moan and prayed it hadn’t broken his collarbone or shoulder. White-hot pain pierced her left leg above her knee. Something sharp and lethal gouged her right shoulder.

  Dianna screamed.

  Taylor grabbed her, closed his arms tight around her shoulders, but still she felt every bone-snapping, teeth-jarring bite of pain.

  The plane whipped into a wild tailspin, tossing them about like flotsam in a stormy sea. Torn from Taylor’s arms a second time, Dianna tried desperately to get a hold on the yoke, but her fingers slipped off, too slick with sweat for her to latch on to it. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

  The aircraft raced on in its destructive path, plowing through the underbelly of the rainforest. The wings popped and sheared off as the plane punched its way past a blur of huge red rocks. Tree limbs snapped and broke as easily as matchsticks.

  It burrowed through the tangled underbrush on its jagged, crumpled belly. Gallons of scarlet dirt splattered on what was left of the windshield and body. Uprooted bushes, leaves, and vines sailed through the air like sombreros at fiesta time.

  Dianna looked up in time to see a gigantic tree in their path, shocking in its majesty, deadly in its bearing. She braced herself for the inevitable impact. Oh, my God! This is it! The end! God, forgive me my sins.

  The aircraft slammed head-on into the tree. Something hit her hard on the forehead. White-hot pain beat through her skull like a hammer crushing rock. The nose of the plane groaned and crunched and crumpled toward her at warp speed. Everything stilled, except for the incredible noise of squawking, exotic birds screeching their protests at the fact their peaceful homes were under attack.

  Then there was nothing but an obscene silence—

  Chapter Three

  If the “black box” flight recorder is never damaged during a plane crash, why isn’t the whole damn airplane made out of the shit?

  ~George Carlin

  North Western Australia

  The Kimberly

  February 7, Saturday

  “Hey! Wake up. Move your ass, lady!”

  Dianna swung her hand, batting at the annoying voice buzzing in her ear. “Leave me alone.”

  The nerve of the man! Couldn’t he leave her alone? Let her rest?

  “Come on, Dianna. Move your beautiful ass or we’ll both die! I can’t carry you, baby.”

  “Why not?” God, she sounded so whiny. Sarcastic laughter penetrated the smog blanketing her brain.

  “Because I’m a fucking cripple, remember?”

  Dianna opened her eyes and blinked. “Maybe a bastard, but you aren’t a cripple, so stop saying you are. You kissed me,” she said in a soft, accusatory tone.

  “Yeah, well, don’t take it to heart. I thought we were going to die. I would have kissed an elephant’s ass at that moment.”

  “You’re such a jerk.”

  “I’m the jerk who’s trying to save your life. So move it!”

  Pain stabbed every known part of her body and parts she hadn’t known even existed. Her leg hurt. The top of her head throbbed. Her eyes stung as if they’d been burnt by a torch. Every muscle and sinew felt like it had been stretched as thin as it’d stretch, then tied in a knot. Even the simple act of breathing hurt.

  “Come on, princess, haul ass!”

  “Oooh, leave me alone. Let me die.”

  “No can do. Come on.”

  Dianna closed her eyes, willing him to go away. “I can’t move. I’m pinned. Besides, my hair hurts.”

  “Your hair?” Taylor laughed. “Come on, Dianna. You don’t have a hangover. A person‘s hair only hurts when he’s drank himself crazy.”

  “Then why does my head hurt?”

  She opened her eyes and winced. The yoke, and what was left of the dash, pressed against her chest. Her backbone was jammed against the seat, and it felt like the backside of her breastbone was fused to her backbone. “I’m pinned.”

  “There’s room,” he said in his usual disagreeable tone. “If there wasn’t, you’d be dead.” Pop! “Wake up, Dianna! Make an effort to get free, or else you’re going to roast alive.”

  “You slapped me?” Covering her smarting cheek with her hand, she forced her eyes open again. “Why did you slap me?”

  “To wake you up.”

  The stench of fuel seared her nostrils and coated the back of her throat. Worse, the keening moans she heard came from her. All she wanted was to close her eyes and shut out the world, shut out the pain, and shout at Taylor to go to hell. “Leave me alone. I wanna sleep.”

  “Stay awake! Look at me!” He slapped her again.

  Dianna slowly opened her eyes and peered at Taylor. “If you slap me again, you’ll be sorry.”

  His pale face hung over her. Tension lined his mouth. “Yeah? What are you going to do about it? You’re too weak to even wiggle your ass.”

  Dianna struggled to get out of the seat. “I am not. Just give me a minute.”

  Blue fire blazed in his hot gaze. “That’s better. And we don’t have a minute. Now, come on! The plane’s burning!” He pulled on her arm, his legs wobbling as he half-dragged her out of the crumpled cockpit.

  “Stop pulling on me. Your legs aren’t strong enough yet to carry extra weight.” Her navy blue T-shirt caught on a jagged piece of metal, and she heard the sound of rending material. Dianna glanced down and saw half her shirt was missing. The cups of her royal blue lacy bra were fully exposed. Ooh, he’d have a field day making fun of her small breasts. “Now look what you’ve done.” She clutched at him. “Stop it! You’re hurting me.”

  “You’re going to be in a lot more pain if you don’t snap out of it.”

  He caught her by the hand and kept right on pulling her along behind him, forcing her to do the one thing she didn’t want to do, until he had her safely out of the wreckage. Once her feet were on solid ground, he let go. “You’re on your own, princess.”

  Dianna took three lurching steps away from the pile of twisted and bent wreckage, turned and stared at the heap of junk. Half-dazed, she felt like kissing the ground, grateful she was still alive. “Where’s the other half of the plane?”

  Taylor dropped to his knees beside her. Breathing hard, he gestured with his hand. “Choose the spot. It’s scattered to hell and back,” he said breathlessly.

  She gaped at the half of the aircraft that was still somewhat jammed together. “Well, that just looks pitiful. It looks like some kind of fat-bellied bug has been torn apart and its guts ripped out through its ass. I don’t think my insurance will cover this much damage.”

  “Ya think?”

  She closed her eyes and rubbed the side of her head. “My head hurts. Leave me alone so I can crawl off somewhere and die in peace. Stop moving me! I’m going to puke all over you if you don’t stop.”

  “I’m not touching you.”

  Dianna groaned and opened her eyes. Taylor was already up and staggering toward the burning junk pile. “What are you doing? You’ll get yourself killed!”

  Something warm and wet blurred her vision. She rocked unsteadily. Her head throbbed like a mother, and her stomach flip-flopped in a puddle of sour, green grease. Oh, God, she was going to make an absolute fool of herself and throw up. />
  She touched her forehead and stared at the red liquid on her fingers. “Whau?” She was bleeding? Why?

  What happened?

  Dianna decided her wits had taken a journey and were a bit slow making the return trip. She knew what was happening around her, yet everything was tumbling toward her in maddening rush. She couldn’t keep all the pieces straight in her mind.

  What had she been doing to get to this point? She tried to think, but her head pounded mercilessly when she did so. Dianna dropped to her hands and knees. Big mistake! The jar to her head was excruciating. Her body shook. Blinding pain stabbed her skull. The contents in her stomach rose like a greasy pool to the back of her throat and kept right on coming.

  “Dianna?”

  “What?” She opened her eyes and blinked, but Taylor’s face remained out of focus. She was crying, and she didn’t know why. “I think I’m bleeding.”

  “Yeah, you are a bit. Here, sweetheart.” He squatted beside her, helped her to a sitting position, and pressed a bottle of water in her hands.

  She stared at it. “What do you want me to do with it?”

  He took it back, twisted off the lid, and held the bottle to her mouth. “Come on, baby, rinse out your mouth. I know that left a bad taste.”

  Taylor scooted her back from the awful mess on the ground and kicked dirt over it.

  “I–I think—I need to call home. Tell them—what’s happened, but I–I can’t think of the number.” She looked around. “Where’s my cell phone?”

  Gently, he cupped the back of her head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. They’ll know soon enough.”

  She wondered why he was talking kindly to her, handling her so gently all of a sudden. He always spoke harshly to her and never treated her with kid gloves, except for the night she’d found Jillian. Slipping and falling in her stepmother’s blood and discovering Jillian’s mutilated body in the stables—it had not been the highlight of her life.

  “Come on, baby. I know you probably have a concussion—that’s a hell of a gash on your forehead. It needs stitches. I hope you have a sewing kit stashed somewhere. Please, Dianna, you have to try to stay awake. I need your help.”