second, just a second, she let her head fall back to the seat. The movement had her hood slipping off. She jerked upright immediately, but it was too late.
He’d seen.
“Jesus Christ.” His eyes widened in recognition and shock, but his attention was jerked forward when the plane bobbed and dipped. He spent a moment dealing with keeping the plane steady in the sudden turbulence.
But what was lethally turbulent was her stomach.
“Bailey Sinclair.” He shook his head, his body tense as he continued to handle the plane, his legs working the rudders on the floor, his arms taut on the steering wheel, or whatever it was called on a plane, his entire body piloting while his eyes remained focused on her. “What the fuck sort of game is this?”
She drew a deep breath. “No game,” she said quietly. “I swear to you, this is no game.”
He took a moment to run his gaze over her features. “Goddamnit.” His jaw tightened. “I don’t get this. Start at the beginning.”
“I need a ride to Mammoth.”
“Earlier than that.”
Right. Yet another bubble of hysterical laughter tickled her throat, but she held it back because she was afraid that once she started, she’d never stop, and then she’d probably cry, and then…well, she didn’t have time for any pity.
Hadn’t in a good long time.
“This is where you talk,” he prompted.
He had his sleeves shoved up, his forearms corded with strength, his hands working the controls like a pro. He wasn’t a man who did anything halfway. He knew his way around a plane, the way she imagined he knew his way around anything he set his mind to. He was sharp, intelligent, and street rough.
If anyone in her world could possibly hear her problems and help her figure them out, it was this man.
But still, she hesitated. Yes, telling him would release a burden, and maybe, just maybe, get her some desperately needed help.
Good plan.
Except it could also kill him.
Bad plan.
No way was she going to jeopardize another person.
She was unequipped to deal with this. She’d grown up in a quiet, affluent neighborhood and had gone to a small, private college before marrying Alan and moving to yet a different quiet, affluent neighborhood.
She was so out of her league. She had no idea what to do. She knew she needed to tell Noah just enough to ensure he wouldn’t turn her in, but not enough to get him involved.
Was that even possible?
Looking into his stormy eyes, she had to wonder if she could get anything past this man, especially a lie. “It’s not important for you to know the details.”
He swore again.
“Just get me there,” she said. “You’ll never see me again, I promise.”
He didn’t say anything to that.
Good sign. Or so she told herself, and a ridiculous amount of an emotion she nearly didn’t recognize burgeoned through her veins.
Hope. He was going to do this, and he’d be okay.
Then he looked at her. If she’d been standing, she’d have staggered back.
Jaw tight, eyes flashing fury and a promised retribution that made her swallow hard as a little frisson of alarm buzzed through her, he said, “I won’t make this easy for you. That’s my promise.”
Chapter 4
Noah still couldn’t quite believe his eyes, but she sat there in the flesh, wild strawberry blond hair rioting around her proud, terrified, nervous-as-hell face.
Bailey Sinclair’s face.
He should know; he’d stared at her often enough. Those aristocratic cheekbones, the fantasy mouth, the eyes that said she was so much, much more than a model and sex kitten wife of a playboy. The baggy, oversized sweatshirt and jeans had thrown him, but still, he kicked himself for not realizing.
The odd thing was, he had known. Somehow, deep down, some hidden away part of him had recognized her, which really got him.
Women didn’t get under his skin. In fact, not much did. Until six months ago, he’d been Sky High Air’s most requested pilot for a very good reason-he’d traveled far and wide all his life and exuded those experiences he’d had in every step he took. He’d never settled down, never called one particular place home, and had never wanted to.
Until the crash.
Yeah, that had changed things. He just hadn’t quite figured out how, or what to do with it yet.
“Noah,” Bailey said, clearly shaken. “Just get me to Mammoth. That’s all I’m asking.”
“You can’t force me to fly you there-”
“But you were going anyway!”
He stared at her, then let out a laugh of pure disbelief. She really believed that line of crap. “Is this going to be your defense? Because honestly, Princess, insanity might be a better plea.”
She stared right back, then seemed to sag in on herself. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, those lush lips trembling as she spoke to him. “I’m so sorry, Noah, about all of it. It’s just that I need everyone to think I’m on that other flight, to Aspen. I was going to secretly drive to Mammoth, but I couldn’t get cash, and I couldn’t use a credit card, and even if I had, it could have been traced, and I needed to hurry…God.” She rubbed her temples, and then something happened that was like a punch to his gut.
Her eyes filled.
Christ, not the waterworks. He’d always been helpless against the waterworks. Helpless and clueless, two of his least favorite things to be. And that this was Bailey, his secret fantasy woman, didn’t help. He had visions of pulling her close, and not all for comfort.
Idiot.
Seriously, he was a complete idiot to be letting his thoughts go there. He could rush her now, he knew, in her moment of weakness. He could take the gun out of her sweatshirt pocket and overtake her-and probably not crash while he was at it.
Yet something held him back. He wanted to say it had nothing, nothing at all to do with the fact that she’d always made him uncomfortably hot, but he couldn’t because it was more than that, way more than the caliente factor of Bailey Sinclair’s outer package.
Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated so that he could hardly see a ring of that sky blue around the black. Her breathing was coming in short little pants, her full lips trembling slightly. Her skin was flushed. Dewy. Damp.
It could have aroused him.
Okay, it did arouse him, but she was clearly stressed to the point of shattering, and then the coup de grace-the utter abject terror in her eyes.
Someone had either laid their hands on her or had threatened to.
He hated that. Hated that she was genuinely terrified, and utterly sincere in her urgency.
And in spite of himself, every protective instinct reared its hasty, impulsive head.
Christ. Curiosity had killed the cat, and it just might kill him yet. “Keep talking,” he said against his better judgment, doing his best to keep the plane steady and smooth in the gathering thunderstorm that had arrived early.
Shit, what a day.
She swallowed hard, moistened her dry lips with her tongue. Noah told himself not to notice. Ordered himself not to notice.
