Get a Clue (28 page)

“I meant it.”

“So this is—”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I love you, Cooper Scott.” Her eyes stung with it, but she smiled because nothing had ever felt so right. “Now, pretty please may I ravish you?”

“For as long as you want, Princess. For as long as you want.”

Look for AUSSIE RULES by Jill Shalvis!

It's bad enough that gutsy pilot Mel Anderson has to
clean up after her lovable by completely disorganized best
friend and business partner, Dimi, while her certifiable
employees make more work than they do. Now, the one
man she hoped she'd never see is back and looking for
trouble. Scratch that, he
is
trouble. Amazing, holy-cow,
more-please trouble . . .

 

Bo Black wants his family's airport back, and he's determined
to get it. This laid-back Aussie is nobody's
fool. Thing is, neither is Mel. She's intense. Uptight. Sexy.
And very, very tempting. Suddenly, Bo's thinking less
about revenge and more about kissing and touching and
falling into a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-underpants kind
of forever love . . .

The Gulfstream was a beauty, and her pilot's heart gave one vivacious kick of envy as the plane swept in for a honey of a landing, perfectly controlled by a pilot who was clearly a master of his craft.

When the engine shut off, Mel moved in, squinting against the early chill and wind, using the tie-down blocks to hold the plane steady, her mind wandering as she worked. The oven had gone out twice this month. She needed to look into the cost of a new one. The linemen clearly needed another ass chewing regarding responsibilities, specifically theirs. And then there was the little matter of fuel. She'd have to find a way to pay that bill pronto.

God, her brain hurt.

Finished with the tie-down, she straightened, patted the sleek side of the airplane just for the pleasure of touching it, and blew a stray strand of hair out of her face, wishing she had put on an extra layer of insulation beneath her coveralls because despite its being summer, the early-morning wind off the Pacific cut right through her.

From the other side of the aircraft, the door opened. A set of stairs released. A moment later, two long legs emerged, clad in dark blue trousers, clean work boots, and topped by a most excellent ass. Not averse to enjoying a good view, Mel stayed in place, watching as the rest of the man was revealed. White button-down shirt, sleeves shoved up above his elbows, tawny hair past his collar, blowing in the wind.

Yep, there were a few perks to this job, one of them catering right to Mel's soft spot.

Pilots
. This one looked more like a movie star pretending to be a pilot, but you wouldn't hear her complaining. And just like that, from the inside out, she began to warm up nicely.

The man held a clipboard, which he was looking at as he turned, ducking beneath the nose of the plane to come toe to toe with her, a lock of tawny hair falling carelessly over his forehead, his eyes shaded behind aviator sunglasses.

And right then and there, every single lust-filled thought drained out of Mel's head to make room for one hollow, horror-filled one.

No
.

It couldn't be. After all this time, he wouldn't
dare
show his face.

His only concession to the surprise was a raised brow as he lifted his sunglasses, his sea-green gaze taking its sweet time, touching over her own battered work boots, the dirty coveralls, the fiery, uncontrollable red hair she'd piled on top of her head without thought to her appearance. “Look at you,” he murmured. “All grown up. G'day, Mel.”

Yeah, he'd grown up, too. He was bigger, broader, and taller than the last time she'd seen him, but she couldn't mistake the smile—of pure, devilish, wicked trouble.

Australian accent, check.

Heart-stopping green eyes and long lashes to match the long, thick tumble of light brown hair falling in said eyes, check and check.

Curved mouth that could invoke huge waves of passion or fury . . .
CHECK
. “Bo Black,” she whispered, getting cold all over again.

Cocking his head, he let out a slow smile. “In the flesh, darlin'. Miss me?”

Miss him? Yeah, she'd missed him. Like one might miss a close call with a hand grenade. “Get off my property.”

As if he had all the time in the damn world, he leaned back against his plane, slapping the clipboard lightly against his thigh. “No can do, mate.”

“Oh, yes you can.” Staggering at a strong gust of wind, she planted her feet more firmly as she pointed to his plane. “You just get your Aussie ass back inside that heap of junk and fly it the hell out of here.”

“Heap of junk?” Instead of being insulted, he laughed good over that, the sound scraping at her belly because it'd been a long time since she'd heard it.

Of course, she hadn't seen him in ten years, and the last time she had, he'd been eighteen to her sixteen, all long and lanky, not yet grown into his body.

He was grown into it now, damn him, and how. Reaching back, he lovingly stroked the steel of the plane, making the entirely inappropriate thought take root in her brain:
did he stroke a woman like that?

Clearly she needed caffeine.

And a smack upside the head.

“You know exactly what kind of plane this is,” he noted easily. “And how valuable.”

“Fine,” she granted. “Your toy is bigger than mine, you win.
Now
you can go.”

Tossing his head back, he laughed again, and she made no mistake—he was laughing
at
her.

Nothing new.

The first time she'd ever laid eyes on him, he'd been swaggering through the lobby, having arrived in town with his father, Eddie Black, an antique plane restorer and dealer. Tall and teenage rangy, Bo had smiled at Mel and said, “Hello, mate,” and she'd fallen—both figuratively and literally—as hard as her tender sixteen-year-old heart could, tripping over her own two feet, landing in a potted palm, amusing everyone in the lobby but her.

The second time she'd seen him had been when she'd opened a stock closet to grab something for maintenance, and had found him in there, leaning back against a shelving unit, a pretty blonde customer wrapped around him like a pretzel, straddling his hips. Bo had had his hand beneath her short skirt, doing things Mel had only been able to imagine.

In fact, she'd done just that for many, many uncomfortably sweaty nights afterward.

He'd been so cool, so typically laid-back. When she'd only stood there at the storage door, frozen in shock, Bo had lazily lifted his head, eyes heavy and sexy-lidded as he'd smiled that killer smile. “No worries. Just lock the door for me, darlin'?”

No worries. Right. She'd just lock the door. Only everything inside her head wanted to stay, wanted to beg,
“Can I be next?”

That had so shocked her, the unexpected longing, that she'd lost it.

Completely.

Lost.

It.

Which was her only explanation for why she'd blindly reached out, grabbed the first thing her fingers closed over—an air filter off a shelf—and . . . and beaned him on the head with it.

Not her proudest moment, but she blamed her red hair and the temperament that went with it. Dimi had always been warning her that someday the temper would catch up to the fire in her hair and that she was going to piss off the wrong person.

Only Bo hadn't gotten pissed, he'd laughed.

Laughed
.

Which in turn had made her feel stupid. God, she resented that.

The last time she'd seen him had been several months later, on the day his thieving, conning father had vanished.

The day her life had changed forever.

“Get out,” she said now.

That sexy little smile still in place, Bo slowly pulled out a folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of his white shirt.

She tried to read it but he held the document just out of reach, forcing her to lean in. As close as she was now, she could see his eyes weren't a solid sea green, but flecked with gold specks. This close she could draw in the scent of him—one hundred percent male. This close she could read the paper:

Quit Deed
.

A quit deed to North Beach. Her stomach dropped. “How did you—”

“I recently found a box of my father's things, with a safe deposit box key.” His eyes were no longer smiling. “This was in there.”

“My God.”

He nodded curtly. “Yeah, that's right, Mel. North Beach, and everything in it, is mine. Guess that means you, too.”

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

 

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2005 by Jill Shalvis

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

 

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

 

Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

ISBN: 978-1-6177-3788-6

ISBN-10: 1-61773-788-7
First Kensington Trade Edition: September 2005
First Kensington Mass Market Edition: January 2008

 

eISBN-13: 978-1-61773-789-3
eISBN-10: 1-61773-789-5
Kensington Electronic Edition: May 2015