Fly Me Home: Home is Where the Heat Is, Book 4

He needs her for one reason…but winds up wanting her for a hundred more.

Home is Where the Heat Is
, Book 4

Elizabeth McCarthy needs a scoop for her local newspaper, and the Fashion for the Future Ball is the perfect opportunity—until Murphy’s Law kicks in. But she’s saved from public humiliation by the last man she thought would notice her. Ultra-sexy fashion critic Ian Malcolm.

Ian is tired. Tired of playing games, tired of people letting him down. Elizabeth is a breath of fresh air he didn’t know he was missing. She even makes him laugh. On impulse, he makes her an enticing offer: she gets the story she needs, and he gets a sexy companion to keep the media vultures off his back.

It’s a business deal. Easy as pie. Yet as their association takes them around the world, Ian remembers what it’s like to experience everything for the first time—and fills Elizabeth’s neglected bag of sexual tricks to the brim.

Once the whirlwind trip is over, though, they’re left with one unexpected hunger left unsatisfied—the hunger for something more lasting than lust.

Warning: Contains a sweet country girl steeped in small-town values, and a big-city man who doesn’t hesitate to guide her through his bisexual and ménage-a-licious world of sinful pleasures.

Fly Me Home

Candi Wall

Dedication

This one goes out to the über-talented Erin Dameron-Hill.

Thank you so much for all the wonderful covers in this series! Your talent and patience with my pickiness are so appreciated.

And please, keep the eye candy coming.

Chapter One

San Antonio, Texas

Elizabeth McCarthy got down on her knees and blew out a slow breath.

She could do this.

Grumps Jeans Co.’s hottest model was a sensation in the fashion industry, and she needed to scoop his story. She’d missed her opportunity eight months ago when he’d been in Houston. This time around, her boss had set up an exclusive interview with the model, but he’d missed his flight. Now she had to track him down at the annual Fashion for the Future Charity Ball in San Antonio.

If
she could get in. Since her editor had neglected to acquire her a ticket, she had to improvise. Ugh. She should have bitten the bullet and worried about tuition costs later. She’d never have had to stoop to this level in veterinary school…

Quit stallin’.

Her brain was right. A girl had to do what a girl had to do to make a living.

The guard’s profile revealed deep frown lines, his body rigid as he watched the guests. He’d rejected her first attempt to get in—some bullshit about invite-only, and even if what she was about to do felt wrong, she needed this story. She wasn’t exactly reporter material, but jobs were hard to come by. Liz scooted farther into the dark corner, holding her breath until she felt lightheaded. “Okay, big boy. Let’s dance.”

She lifted the thick crimson curtain surrounding the ballroom. It was heavier than she expected, and by the time she’d made it halfway under, she was panting from the weight, and pretty well stuck. If she’d been in jeans and shit-kickers instead of a fucking Barbie Doll dress and heels, she’d already be inside, away from the guard and his handcuffs.

“You look like you need help.” The deep, somewhat amused voice came from the ass end of the Venus flytrap curtain.

“No,” Liz bluffed, swallowing every curse word known to man. “Just looking for an earring I dropped.”

“I insist.” The man belonging to the voice lifted the curtain and hauled her to her feet. “Seeing a lady on her knees brings out my protective instincts.”

“Great. Gentlemen are conspicuously absent when I need them,” she snapped, brushing the dust off of her dress. “But the universe has a sick sense of humor, inserting one at the perfect time to screw up a bitchin’ sneak attack.”

She looked up then, ready to mangle her rescuer.

“Sneak attack?” he asked, his goatee-framed smile lighting up a very handsome face. Add a great set of shoulders, and yum.

Before she had a second to process anything else, the guard reacted to the commotion. The moment he saw her, she knew she was in trouble. He grabbed her arm. “I think I already told you no invite, no in. Let’s go. Quietly will get you a cab ride, loud will get you handcuffs. Your choice.”

“Check your list again,” Liz stalled. “I’m supposed to be here.”

“She’s with me,” her hotty savior offered into the stalemate.

“Sorry, sir.” The officer’s eyebrows pinched, but he let her go. “I was told not to let anyone in if their name wasn’t on the list.”

“That’s my fault. She agreed to come at the last possible minute. She should have been on the list.” Her savior grinned down at her. “Ready?”

Liz hooked her arm through his and shot the guard a sneer. She wasn’t a fool. She had a gorgeous gift horse offering her a way in. That equaled hello, Yellow Brick Road, in her book. The moment they were far enough away so the guard couldn’t hear, she squeezed his arm to get his attention. “I don’t know why you saved me from Deputy Dawg back there, but thank you. Usually some well-shelved cleavage will do the job.”

“Deputy Da—?” He cut himself off and laughed. “It’s my pleasure, cleavage included.”

She glanced up at him, really taking him in now that the threat of jail was in the past. He had light, wavy brown hair and dark amber eyes rimmed by charcoal lashes. His tailored tuxedo fit a tall, athletic body. The tux was nothing unusual, and by all rights, he should have looked like every other man in attendance. But he damn well didn’t. Maybe it was the fact that he’d saved her that had her wearing rose-colored glasses, but he had that sexy vibe thing going that made a woman forget what her knees were for.

Wait. She shook her head to clear the fog. She knew his face. He’d been in several of the fashion magazines she’d researched. “Are you Ian Malcolm?”

“Yes.” His brows furrowed as he glanced around the room. “And you are officially my date for the evening as payment for saving you.”

“Meaning?” Even if he’d helped her, she had to ask. The fashion world was notorious for uninhibited lifestyles, and she wasn’t about to get roped into more than she was willing to wrangle.

“Relax.” He looked at the people around them and lowered his voice. “All you have to do is worship me for the crowd to witness. I had a tough break-up a few months back and for some reason the media thinks it’s their end game to scoop the dirt. Fucking vultures.”

Liz cringed. Color her a vultur-ette. She’d barely made her mark in the news world, and getting an interview could lead to bigger stories, or even better, a pay raise. Going with her gut, she admitted, “I guess I should tell you that although my end goal is to go to veterinary school, for the time being, I’m one of those vultures.”

Ian’s whole body stiffened. “Are you here for me?”

“No,” she admitted quickly. “I’m supposed to do a story on Grumps Jeans Co.’s
newest sensation. Cash Dillon. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. My editor thought Texas ties might give me an in. As you witnessed, he didn’t think of an invite as a start. Dumbass.”

He nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Elizabeth McCarthy. Well, Liz to my friends, which you are definitely one of now.” She stuck her hand out. Ian was a stroke of good luck she couldn’t have dreamed up. He
was
the inside circle in the fashion world. Every ear and eye leaned in his direction. He could get her near Cash, but she got the feeling he’d turn on her the moment she lied to him.

“Good to know,” he replied. “What press are you with?”

“
Dunstan Gazette
.”

He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Bullshit news, or real-world reporting?”

“A little of both, depending on the reporter.” She met his gaze. “I’m all real. I think it’s why I can’t get ahead. I can’t make myself alter what someone says to make a headline.”

“That’s not a bad trait in the world we live in,” he praised.

“And also not a way to earn a living.” Hell, her checkbook howled in agony every time she opened it. “But at least I can sleep at night.”

“Not that I’m encouraging you to abandon your morals, but there are better ways to ensure a good night’s sleep, my dear.” He guided her past a huge buffet table. “In a world that’s eat or be eaten, you and your scruples might be in the wrong business.”

“Are you saying I should try to get your scoop to get ahead?”

“No.” His gaze was soft, reassuring. “We just became friends. Let’s not ruin it. What I’m saying is, beyond me, you need to think of yourself and what you need to attain your goals.”

“Become a cutthroat? I don’t think so.” Looking for another vein of topic, she ventured, “I have to ask. Why didn’t you bring a date if you wanted to discourage the media?”

He shrugged, his hand sliding around her back to rest at her hip as he maneuvered them through the crowd. “All the people I trust are either already in a relationship or not here. Admittedly, my go-to list is short. I figure you’re a good bet to help my cause, considering you were as desperate to get in as I was to avoid the media. Besides, I liked the way your ass looked on all fours. Very inviting, Elizabeth.”

Liz swallowed hard. Something about the way he said her name was highly erotic, like he was staking a claim no one else could squat. “It’s Liz,” she managed.

He smiled then, and the effect was devastating. He probably dropped panties worldwide with that simple turn of lips. Of course, she was a sucker for a goatee, especially one so neatly trimmed and soft looking. Her fingers twitched with the need to touch.

“I like Elizabeth better.” So did she on his lips. He stepped back and looked her over from head to toe. “I get the feeling you would rather be in jeans and boots.”

“Amen.” Both ’cause he’d read her real comfort zone, and because he hadn’t picked up on her stalker vibes. It was a damn goatee. A sexy-as-hell goatee, but… Ugh. She really needed to relax.

“Pegged you,” he teased and pulled her tight to his side. “And as much as I’d enjoy seeing you in your element, tonight while you’re with me, you have to be Elizabeth, sultry, sexy goddess on my arm, crazy about me and willing to do anything to mend my broken heart. Got it?”

“I can do that,” she said, knowing she could play the part without any issues. What bothered her was the emotion he tried to hide in his flippant explanation of who she needed to be. He was hurting. Badly. Oddly enough, she wanted to help ease that burden, if only because of the honest explanation. Still, parameters needed to be set. “I’ll be anything you want me to be, except a one-night balm. I can see you’re hurting, and I’m sorry for that. The fact is, I don’t need any static in my life. No one-bang wonders, no
I’ll call you in the morning
s. I need a story and, if you’re willing, a friend to get me it. Seems like we can help each other.”

“It does indeed.” His expression didn’t change. He just stood there looking at her like he’d won the lottery. “I like the way you think, Elizabeth.”

Right now, so did she. Taking chances wasn’t exactly her thing. Watching her older brother Britton push the limits of every boundary, and getting into trouble for it over the years, had taught her numerous lessons in right, wrong and ridiculous. She hadn’t seen or talked to Britton in over two years. He didn’t bother much with home. But he’d always been her hero when she was young, and she couldn’t curb the instinct to wonder what he’d think of her decision to take a chance.

Damn him for not being around.

She pushed thoughts of Britton aside. He was who he was. She’d been frustrated with his absence for so long it was the norm. What wasn’t was her taking up his ways. It was an odd sensation knowing she was the one breaking the rules, taking a chance, and it felt good. Not enough to let go completely, though. She had to have some control. “So I need to know two things.”

“And what are those?”

“One, where are you from? I mean, where do you consider home?”

He was silent for a long moment. “I was born and raised in Michigan, but New York is home.”

Big city made sense. It was miles different from her tiny hometown. Just like him.

“What else?”

She smiled. “The only other thing I need is your story.”

He glanced at her suspiciously. “Come again?”

“Relax, New York,” she chided. Man, he was jumpy. Too many cameras would do that to a person, she suspected. “I meant the story I need to tell the vultures homing in on us. Why am I on your arm? Why’d you and your ex split? How did we meet? Oh, and should I be giving them my real name or do you want me to use some weird formula like my first pet’s name and the street I grew up on to figure out a porn-star name?”

He laughed. Hard. The sound was warm and honest, like he felt it all the way to his toes. She wasn’t the only one to notice either. Numerous interested gazes turned in their direction. By this time tomorrow, people in his industry would be talking about the woman that had made Ian Malcolm laugh this way.

“Let’s dance while we figure out the best story possible.” Swinging her around so that they faced the colossal dance floor, he shook his head. “First off, I have to know, what would your porn name be under that formula?”

“Bashful Benner,” she scoffed.

“Only thing better would have been if you grew up on a street called Bent Neck or Bend Over.” He laughed again. “Christ, mine would be Wooly High Point.”

“That’s so bad it’s good.” Liz burst out laughing too. She couldn’t help it. “Now, back to business.”

“I think you need to use your real name.” He grimaced. “People will dig and figure out who you are in days. But our story? That’s another animal. It needs to be something really good, befitting of my celebrity status.”

She let him lead her to the dance floor, enjoying the way he schmoozed his way through the crowd. He was a natural people person, giving just enough attention to let them know he was looking forward to talking to them, but succinct enough that they never completely stopped moving.

“Oh, you’re good.” Liz let him pull her closer than she’d been held in a long, long time. She followed his lead through the slow waltz, trying to ignore the sizzles of attraction buffeting her from every point they touched. This was her job, damn it all.

“Usually hear that after I climb out of a bed,” he teased. “But I’ll bite. Good at what?”

“Every person here is envious that I’m in your arms. You know how to manage people without ostracizing them. It’s an endangered trait, but a damn good one.” He had some sort of magnetic draw that came from somewhere deeper than his handsome face or witty responses. He was one of those guys that commanded a room, not by show or pompous action, but just because he couldn’t be ignored.

“I’ve honed my public appearances and actions well.” A line appeared between his brows. “You learn to understand a person’s wants and needs within seconds if you want to survive in the fashion world.”

“Easier said than done for us laymen,” she shot back. “I’m not the best judge of character, and lying comes second nature to a lot of people.”

“Half the population, at least.” He moved them effortlessly around the dance floor. “So tell me your idea for our story, reporter.”

Liz studied his face for a long moment. She had a funny feeling he already had an idea of what to say to the media. Asking for her take was a test—a competitive evaluation. “We met at a photo shoot? I took some pictures you thought were hot and sultry and asked me out?”

“Overused trope in the fashion world.” His mouth quirked up in a grin. “What else you got?”

Liz bit her lip, not certain what he wanted from her. Going on instinct, Liz latched onto her mama’s favorite charity cause, Broken Acres Farm. Liz had done a story on the therapeutic ranch a while back. “You had to make a charity appearance at a ranch dedicated to helping sick, dying and recovering children and I was volunteering. You were so impressed by my compassion and beauty you just had to ask me out?”