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Chapter One
Austin
The two women approaching my aircraft look like best friends who just got away with the heist of the century.
The tall one with long braided hair covers her mouth, laughing breathlessly at a story the shorter one is telling. The five-foot-two sun-kissed blonde wears a loose potato-sack of a dress that hides a small frame. “…so I told him, ‘I don’t know where she is. But if she’s not at the church on her wedding day, then that might be a clue she’s not going to participate in your sham of a wedding. Maybe by the time she re-emerges, your head will have re-emerged from your ass, Mr. Pierce.’
The tall brunette shakes her head. “This story is never going to get old.”
I re-check my flight manifest: Sierra Kennedy and Jax Pierce.
The two of them raise their matching bride-and-groom tumblers, clinking them together in an impromptu toast. Curious.
“To ancient history,” says the sun-kissed blonde.
“To new beginnings!” exclaims the tall one.
I’ve flown every type of visitor from island to island in this tiny fringe in the South Pacific. Gangsters, movie stars, politicians, and sketchy financiers flock to this remote stretch of paradise. The things I’ve overheard would fill a book. I could write it, but nobody would believe it. Or I could get myself killed for spilling secrets.
The women in front of me introduce themselves, and I learn the tall one—presumably the subject of the runaway bride story—is Jax. The short blonde who piques my interest is Sierra. Of course, she is. She’s earthy, curvy, sun-kissed, and has the sweetest freckles I’ve ever seen dotting her nose.
A stiff sea breeze blows the straw hat off the petite blonde, whose sheer dress whips upwards at the same time. For the briefest of seconds, I think I see undies. However, I soon realize I’m looking at a navy blue polka dotted string bikini bottoms. The strings hanging down accent a set of curvy hips, the kind of hips that trigger a whole lot of inappropriate thoughts. I know it’s unprofessional to let my mind wander while staring at a female passenger, but I can’t help it. The image is there before I can think to shut it down. And what I’m thinking about is how much I’d love to hold onto those sweet hips while she tells me the whole story of the runaway bride, starting from the beginning. I want to hear her say more, especially while I’m tugging away at those strings. Maybe I’d even let her finish the story before those bottoms fall to the floor.
But that’s not going to happen. I’m not interested in getting involved with a resort guest. Those people don’t stick around for long. And me? I’m a long-haul guy. Not interested in flings. Not even with this charming little spitfire who’s triggering thoughts that make my cock twitch.
Sierra yelps and starts to run after her hat, slightly stumbling in her tall espadrilles. But I’m faster. When I place the hat back on her head, and our eyes meet, I nod and give her a tight smile, trying to keep a hold on my emotions, hoping like hell she doesn’t see the caged animal that she’s awakened with that sweet smile. She blinks up at me, and I can see she’s someone special. Surely, someone back home loves her.
But I can look.
Sierra blushes, and her eyes dart down as she digs through her bag looking for something, then hands me an envelope of bills. “Before I forget,” she says, smiling shyly.
I don’t know what she’s doing at first: I’m too caught up in her lips, curved up slightly. Her suntanned, freckled cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink as I stare down at her.
I frown at the stack of bills in her hand and shake my head. “No tips, ma’am. I’m already paid as part of your all-inclusive trip package,” I explain.
Her friend turns to her. “See? I told you that’s how it works.”
“But surely,” Sierra begins to insist, shaking the envelope at me.
“No, thank you,” I tell her, placing my hands over hers. The warmth that transfers from her hands to mine pushes at my resolve.
The instant connection could burn out one of my aircraft engines by proximity. “I won’t take money from you. But I will need your phone number.”
A pink blotch creeps across Sierra’s collarbones.
“Uh…” She laughs, and I realize what I’ve just said could be taken the wrong way.
Jax exclaims, “Oh! So you can let us know when the plane is ready to take us back to the main island two weeks from today. Obviously. The travel agent said something about how you set your own schedule.”
Sierra’s eyes travel across my shoulders, and I shift my weight, steeling myself, willing my traitorous cock to settle down.
“Exactly.” I keep my eyes locked on Jax, needing to avoid Sierra’s expectant gaze. Those curious eyes and parted lips on the little blonde are a trap.
Sierra stuffs the bills back in her purse and uses her phone to drop her contact info to my phone in an exchange that dares me not to look at her face, her hair, the soft skin of her hands. I don’t want to stare. My mind is made up.
The trouble is that every other part of my body is also made up, directly opposing my rational mind.
Chapter Two
Sierra
It’s a good thing the pilot wears a headset and can’t hear a word that Jax and I are saying to each other. We sound like drunk idiots.
Along with the slightly slurred speech thanks to the margaritas that the airport bartender was so kind to pour into our tumblers, the subject matter is not something I want to share with strangers.
