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“Moresby Island.”
Lexie had never heard of Moresby Island, and she repeated herself, “Where?”
“Sandspit,” the man with the big shoes and pecs answered.
Lexie glanced up at him as he dropped ice into a clear cup. “Sand what?”
“Exactly.” He chuckled, but this time humor didn’t crease the corners of his eyes, as if he found no pleasure in his destination. He opened a short bottle of tonic, and the water fizzed and bubbled over his fingers.
For a few seconds, she wondered who he was and why he’d hired Jimmy to fly somewhere he didn’t seem happy about going, but she had her own problems. At the moment, Mr. Handsome’s happiness wasn’t one of them. She turned her attention to her lap and the veil her mother had helped pin in her hair. A fresh wave of anxiety rolled through her from the toes up. Her mother had hated the veil. Her mother had been right to hate it, but Lexie would rather have stabbed herself in the eye with a blunt stick than admit it. “I’ve done it this time,” she whispered. A quiver in her heart worked its way to her chin. She frowned at the pile of tulle in her lap and pushed it down with her hands. It sprang back up. “I made a fool of myself and my family on live television.” She tucked and smashed and tried to roll it up like a sleeping bag. When she was finished, it looked like a big Pillsbury crescent roll. She punched the middle to flatten it more.
“It’s dead, princess.”
Lexie looked up into the green eyes looking back at her, watching as if he couldn’t quite figure out what he was watching. Not that she blamed him. It probably wasn’t every day a runaway bride boarded the guy’s chartered flight.
He shoved the clear cup filled with ice and a healthy dose of vodka and tonic at her. His free hand motioned for her to hand him the veil. A chartered flight to somewhere called Sandspit. Lexie had never heard of Sandspit, and the way Mr. Handsome had said it, he’d made it sound like maybe Sandspit was next to Siberia. Lexie hoped their destination wasn’t anything like Siberia. Siberia probably didn’t take Visa, and she didn’t have a coat. Plus the cold gave her dry skin and chapped lips.
“Thank you.” She traded him the cup for the tulle crescent. It kind of burst open in his face.
“What the Christ?” He leaned behind him and wrestled the whole mess from the seats.
Lexie rested her head back and took a drink. It tasted like rubbing alcohol, but she didn’t care. She liked the way it burned a path across her tongue and down her throat. It burned away the quiver in her heart and the ache in her stomach. She took a few more sips to settle her chaotic nerves and kicked off her shoes. Alcohol wasn’t a solution to her problems, but at the moment, it helped.
Now, if she could just move a little and get comfortable. The layers of net and crinoline petticoat beneath her dress were constraining and itchy, and she didn’t want to sit on the floor for the next three hours. If it was possible to get out of the underskirt, she’d have to contend with a dozen or so yards of satin and lace and crystals that dug into her skin, but at least she’d be able to move and sit in the cozy leather seat.
Mr. Handsome, aka Mr. Unhappy Helper’s attention returned to the YETI and he pulled out another cup. She watched his long fingers unscrew the little bottle of tonic, then she turned to look at the back of Jimmy’s head and that ridiculous helmet he always insisted on wearing. He was a good friend but a tragic fashion victim. She wondered if the Sea Hopper had autopilot and if that meant Jimmy could leave the cockpit if it did. She thought of no one in control of the plane and got a little light-headed.
“Does the plane have autopilot, Jimmy?”
He laughed. “No. Just me.”
The sound of ice cubes in a plastic cup made her attention return to the guy with the green eyes and big shoulders. Beneath the dome light, his dark brown hair shone. The kind of shine that came from good products. A chunk of his hair escaped the comb job that looked like he’d done it with his fingers, and curved over his forehead as he looked do
wn at the bottle in his hand. He had beautiful eyes, good hair, and nicely defined lips. The uni-brow practically crawling across his supraorbital ridges could use a pair of tweezers. He looked up as if he’d read her mind. He smiled and she thought, Holy crap.
She took a sip from her glass. She didn’t know anything about him, other than he’d chartered the Sea Hopper, drank vodka, and had a smile that was pure trouble. He’d helped her out with the veil—even if he didn’t look too happy about it. All she really knew was that he was a vodka-drinking unhappy helper. He could be a prison escapee on a cross-country killing spree, for all she knew, but needs must. She held out her hand toward him. “Lexie.”
He shoved the vodka bottle back inside the cooler, then looked into her face. His gaze ran down her shoulder and bare arm to her hand. He hesitated for several heartbeats before he took it in his. “Sean.”
She hadn’t realized her fingers were cold until she felt the warmth of his skin. His palm was almost hot against her, and she had an urge to shove her hand beneath the sleeve of his jacket and steal heat from his wrist. Instead she pulled away and kicked her shoes from her feet. “Well, Sean, I need to ask you something,” she said through a sigh as her toes were freed.
“What’s that?”
“How much experience do you have undressing a girl?”
Chapter 3
•love needs time; desire needs opportunity
Tiny bubbles got caught in Sean’s throat and he forced himself to swallow. “Come again?” He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. He’d heard of beer goggles. Maybe he had vodka ears.
“Geez, Lex. What are you planning?” Jimmy asked.
Sean wanted to know the same.
“We need to unbutton the back of my dress so we can get to the zipper on this stupid petticoat. It’s big and itchy and driving me crazy.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen a petticoat, but he was sure he shouldn’t see one now. Not in a small seaplane, and not with Kowalsky’s daughter. He and the Chinooks coach tolerated each other out of respect for the organization, but he knew he probably shouldn’t undress John’s baby girl. “Do you have a knife, Jimmy?” Maybe she could cut her way out without his help.
