dropped anywhere.
“You’re not alone,” he repeated, looking tall, big, fierce. Gorgeous. “Say it.”
Her heart kicked it up another gear. And other parts of her body, too. She felt warm, too warm, and…sort of as if her skin was too tight. If he didn’t touch her, she thought, she was going to die. “Noah-”
“Say it, Bailey.”
“I’m not alone,” she whispered, putting a hand to her chest to keep her heart from bursting right out. And then there were the other reactions going on, all erogenous-zone based.
Adrenaline, she told herself. Just sheer adrenaline.
“Now believe it,” he demanded.
“I’m not alone,” she repeated again. “Because I have you.”
He nodded. He had his hands on the sink behind her, on either side of her hips. His arms were bent so that their faces were level, their mouths a mere breath apart.
“So now what?” she managed just a little hoarsely.
“Now…” Nudging her back against the counter, he invaded her space, and everything within her leapt to attention.
He kissed her jaw, sank his teeth into her earlobe, and let out a slow breath in her ear.
She shivered wildly. “We should probably go back to our seats.”
“Yeah. Have you ever made love on a plane?”
“No.” Already breathless, she wrapped her arms around his neck. She’d never made love on a plane. “I never really thought we could-Oh,” she murmured as he lifted her onto the narrow counter. Her entire body went on high, hopeful, quivering alert. “Here?”
In answer, he slid his hands to her thighs and pushed them open. Then he stepped between them, slipping his hands beneath her bottom to haul her up against him.
“Okay, here,” she said desperately, and almost before she got the words out, he’d shoved up her skirt, hooked his fingers in her panties, and tugged them down.
“The attendant-” she gasped, but then he’d opened his jeans and pushed inside her in one movement, and talking was beyond her. So was thinking.
He let out a low, raw sound of pure pleasure, and gripping her hips, nearly pulled all the way out.
A soft cry escaped her.
She couldn’t help it, she needed him back in, needed him hot and hard and throbbing inside her, right now, now, now.
“Shh,” he said, and covered her mouth with his to ensure it, and then, oh, God, and then he began to move. Suddenly all her fear and anxiety and nerves…everything…went away. Flew away. Her existence went from overwhelmingly complicated to amazingly, shockingly simple.
Just as it always did when she was with him.
How did he do that?
She didn’t know, just held on, bringing his mouth back to hers, letting him and everything he was work its magic.
The approach to Cabo was smooth enough, but Noah found himself white knuckling the armrests regardless. The location was the stuff of his nightmares, made all the worse for being the passenger, with absolutely no control.
So much for being over himself.
He needed to work on that.
The pilot banked the aircraft, and Noah caught a good up-front view of the landscape, specifically where he’d fallen out of the sky and hit the desertlike hills.
“Noah?” Bailey was looking at him with concern and regret lining those gorgeous baby blues. “You okay?”
“Perfect.” He felt a drop of sweat run down his temple. “Is it hot in here? I think it’s hot in here.”
Bailey didn’t say a word, just entwined her fingers with his and held on tight.
He found himself pathetically grateful, and for the first time since…well, ever, he wanted to set his head on someone’s shoulders and let go.
Bailey’s shoulders.
Wasn’t that a kick. He wanted to reach out to the woman who was causing him all this grief.
The pilot banked to the other side, just to give everyone a view of the ocean, and Noah’s stomach flipped over and revolted. He’d had that view as well, thank you very much, up close and personal. He didn’t need to see it again.
Jesus.
Landing anywhere close to this place was never going to be smooth enough for him.
“Excuse me, sir. Are you all right?” This from the female passenger on the other side of his aisle.
“Yes,” he said as lightly as he could through his clenched teeth. Bailey was holding his hand, stroking his arm, and still, still goddamnit, he was sweating. “I’m fine,” he said. “Fine.”
Bailey just kept touching him, and he tried his damnedest to suck it up because he was making her feel even worse about getting him down here, but he just needed a damn moment.
Or two.
When they finally touched down, he resisted the urge to kiss the ground. They made it to the terminal without him further humiliating himself and without any other incident, but Noah had no doubt that that streak of luck and fortune would not be lasting long.
Not when Bailey was around.
She was sharp as hell, she made him smile, hell, she made him want to walk around singing for crissakes, and she was gorgeous to boot.
No doubt, he had a major thing going for her, but there was no question-she had a knack for bringing the trouble.
He’d been momentarily sidetracked while helping her to join the ranks of the Mile High Club in the airplane bathroom, but now that he was thinking with his head, at least his big one, some of the euphoria from the great sex began to fade.
That they hadn’t been able to put their hands on the so-called hidden money was a bad sign.
Her brother showing up at LAX was a bad sign.
Bad signs all over the place, and it made him feel edgy. He was missing something, something big.
That much he knew.
What he didn’t know for certain was if Bailey was missing it, too, or if she just hadn’t shared it yet.
He hated that thought.
They got through the airport and car rental without seeing any action and were on the road in a beat-up old Blazer, old being the operative word, driving down the main drag, surrounded by the dry salty heat of Cabo, when his cell phone began vibrating. “Fisher,” he answered.
“You’re not skiing, you’re not boinking a ski bunny, and you’re not piloting Trouble-Walking to Cabo. Where the hell are you?” Shayne demanded.
“Do you really want to know?”
“You’re already in Cabo.”
“Bingo.”
“You flew commercial.”
This wasn’t a question, but a statement of disbelief. Noah glanced over at Bailey, who was watching him. She had her window down. The wind was playing havoc with her hair, which she was trying unsuccessfully to hold back. With her arms lifted, attempting to corral her hair into submission, her neck was exposed.
She had a little bite mark right beneath her ear.
His.
And just beneath the bite was a patch of red skin, from his two-day-old beard.
He’d marked her.
The thought should have disgusted him, but apparently he was just Neanderthal enough for the opposite reaction.
He wanted to pull the falling-off-its-own-axis Blazer over to the side of the road and haul her into his lap and
