“It’s about…my finances,” she said.
She’d had a rich husband who’d probably left her billions. What could she possibly have to worry about? “What’s the matter, the trust fund interest rate go down and you have to give up sushi?”
“It’s gone.”
“The sushi?”
“The trust fund.”
Uh huh. “What happened?”
“My thieving, lying, conniving bastard of a husband happened.”
Okay, this part was new. Noah hadn’t known Alan from Dick, but the guy had always seemed friendly and charismatic, drawing people to him like bees to honey. “You’re saying that Alan was some sort of a thieving, lying, conniving bastard?”
“Yes. Before he got himself dead and buried.”
Domestic trouble? The thought made his stomach clench, but Alan had been gone for months. “What does this have to do with Mammoth?”
At that, she rolled her lips together and broke eye contact.
Ah, hell. In his experience, that meant one thing. She was going to start lying. Or maybe just omitting, but neither appealed.
“I have to get something from his resort there,” she said, still not looking at him.
Definitely omitting. “Something? Or someone?”
“Like who?” she asked.
“I don’t know, you tell me.”
“No, it’s a something, and, um…” More looking away. “I have to get it quickly. Like yesterday quickly.”
“As in hijack-a-pilot quickly?”
“I didn’t hijack you,” she said with a primness that made him want to laugh-if there’d been anything remotely funny about this situation. “You were going anyway,” she said in the same old refrain.
He slid her a long glance.
She broke eye contact again.
“Okay,” he said, deciding to bite. “So what is this ‘something’ you have to get quickly?”
She put her nose to the window. “Are we almost there?”
“Done talking, are we?” he asked dryly.
She didn’t answer.
Yeah, apparently, she was done talking. She’d definitely omitted plenty, leaving out a whole bunch of her story, including how the hell she’d gotten herself roughed up and by whom.
Not his problem, he reminded himself, even if just looking at her invoked Superman tendencies. He was going to Mammoth for some desperately needed R &R.
And a ski bunny.
Nothing else, including saving damsels in distress.
With that thought, he began landing preparations, calling in for confirmation. He reduced power and lowered the flaps, controlling the nose, maintaining altitude, but in yet another unwelcome turn of events, the landing gear didn’t lower.
Un-fucking-believable. He flicked the switch again, prepared to adjust the trim at the drag to stabilize the nose again, but nope, the landing gear definitely did not lower. “Shit.”
“What?” she asked.
He looked into her lovely, terrified face. How to tell her they might be landing on their belly? Well, truthfully, it wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to him. “Come here.”
“Why?” asked his suspicious little hijacker.
There was no sugarcoating the insanity. “We have a little problem.”
“That’s an oxymoron when you’re in the air.”
He let out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah. Listen, the landing gear didn’t lower.”
Her mouth fell open.
“I need you to fly the plane while I go crank it down manually.” Crank, kick…whatever it took.
The color drained completely out of her face. “Ohmigod. Without the landing gear, we can’t land. Right?”
“Sure we can; we just do it on our belly. Not nearly as smooth, though, trust me.”
She swallowed hard. “That’s nowhere close to a little problem.”
“Compared to falling out of the sky, it is. Get over here, Princess.”
“Can you really fix it?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen a guy do it once or twice.”
“Omigod!”
“I’m kidding! Yes, I can fix it. If you get over here.”
“Noah-”
The plane shuddered. More turbulence. Perfect. “Now, goddamnit.” To help her along, he snagged a fistful of the front of her sweatshirt and yanked. With a gasp, she flew toward him, and something slid out of her front pocket, clattering on the floor.
A large, fat pen.
A pen that probably, if shoved up against him, would feel like a gun. He stared down at the thing until it rolled beneath the seat. “You’re kidding me.”
The truth was written all over her face. “I-”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” He couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. “A pen? You held me up with a pen?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, then gasped again when with another tug, he had her on his lap.
He really hated to waste the sensation of her curvy bod against his, but now was not the time to enjoy the fact that her ass was snug to his crotch.
And then there were two other things-her full, soft breasts mashed against his forearm that he had tight around her front.
She rectified that right quick by jerking free, but her hair was in his face, smelling like his own little corner of heaven. It was also in his mouth, stabbing into his eyes…and though he was flying a plane and still struggling with not strangling her, unbelievably he was fully aroused, desire pumping through him right along with the adrenaline, and he took a second to notice how sweet she fit against him.
Then she began to fight in earnest and managed to knee his inner thigh, uncomfortably close to his goods. “Hold still,” he ground out, tightening the arm he had around her middle.
Wriggling to free herself, she continued to grind her ass into his crotch, making him see stars, and not from pain. “Sit still,” he repeated in her ear, running his hands down her arms, grasping her hands to set them to the yoke. “Hold here.”
She looked out the windshield, saw the setting sun, the storm gathering in huge, black billowy clouds just beyond them, and gulped. “Oh, no. I can’t-”
“You held me up with a pen. You can do this.” He slid out from beneath her, but not before his legs and arms entangled with hers. Her chest pressed into his forearm, and when he pulled, her breast slid along his skin, nearly right into his palm. For a flash in time, he actually stopped breathing. By the time he managed to scrape her off his lap, his nostrils were filled with her scent, his eyes had crossed with lust, and his body was twitching.
He’d gone over six months without sex, during which time he hadn’t even thought about it.
Well, other than the rhetorical ski bunny thing…
But he’d been with Bailey Sinclair for what, an hour tops, and suddenly sex was all he could think about. Distance. He needed some serious distance.
“Noah-”
“Look, we need the landing gear.” He stood over her, guiding her hands with his on the yoke. Hers were small, and icy cold, and he refused to care. “I’ve done it the other way, without, and trust me, Princess, you don’t want to go that route.”
“Ohmigod.”
“Okay, I’m going to let go.”
