What’s worse than being stranded on a desert island?
Being stranded on a desert island with a freaking hitman!
I’m a stewardess working on a private jet when in walks the Brambilla Family of mobsters.
They’re my new passengers.
But there’s someone else on the plane and he’s not here for the peanuts.
When I’m serving the wrinkly old Mr. Salvatore Brambilla a double gin and tonic with an orange slice, this maniac assassin pops out and shoots up the place.
The plane goes down and we go down with it.
Now, I’m stranded on a desert island in the middle of the ocean with a psychotic mafia hitman.
Just the two of us…
On a tropical island with no one around for miles.
What’s worse than being stranded on a desert island with a freaking hitman?
Falling in love with him.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
“Who the hell are you?” one of the pilots asks as I walk into the private jet.
The other pilot frowns when he sees my uniform. “Where’s Tracy?”
“Tracy is sick,” I say with a nervous smile. “We work for the same agency. They sent me to replace her.”
They give each other a look. I can tell they’re not happy about it, but why? I’m a good stewardess. I’ve been doing this for three years and have never had a single complaint. I’m sure if they got to know me and saw my work ethic in action, they’d like me.
The pilot with the thin ugly mustache gives me a nasty frown and then closes the cockpit door in my face.
My mouth gapes open as I huff out a breath. “Wow.” So rude. What the hell?
“Whatever,” I whisper to myself as I shake it off. I’m not going to let these assholes ruin my flight.
I smooth out my navy blue dress, take a deep breath, and get to work.
It’s a gorgeous jet. Ultra-luxurious. The cabin is already spotless, so I head into the galley and check the bar. It’s all high-end scotches, whiskeys, and old expensive-looking bottles of wine. We’re headed to the Cayman Islands today from New York, so it’s about a three and a half hour flight.
I’ve never been on this jet before, so I don’t know the owner’s tendencies and what they like to eat. I would knock on the cockpit door to ask the pilots, but I’m sure I’d just get a bunch of nasty scowls.
I find some chocolate chip cookies, so I throw them in the warming oven and start to prepare a few sandwiches. Everyone loves warm gooey cookies and sandwiches, right? Can’t go wrong with that.
I’m humming Shake It Off by Taylor Swift to myself while I work, so I don’t hear the first guest entering the plane until he’s right behind me.
“Hello,” a deep voice suddenly says.
I scream and jump around with my heart pounding; my hand is clenched around the knife I’m holding between us. A big glob of mayo falls off and lands on the shiny hardwood floors with a splat.
He slowly puts his hands up. “I come in peace.”
I quickly dump the knife back into the jar of mayo, grab a paper towel, and scoop the mess off the ground.
“You startled me!” I say, feeling shaky all over.
“I’m sorry,” he says in a soft smooth voice. “I didn’t mean to.”
After I compose myself, I get a good look at this guy. My heart continues to pound away, but it’s for a different reason now. He’s gorgeous.
I have to remember to keep my mouth closed as I stare up at him. He’s at least a foot and a half taller than me and wearing a beautifully-tailored light gray suit. No tie, top few buttons open. I swallow hard as my eyes roam down his body and I see his big arms filling up the sleeves. I can tell he’s got a six-pack hiding under there and he probably doesn’t have an ounce of fat on his entire muscular frame.
His body is perfection, but his face… It’s making my heart race.
Early to mid-thirties. Clean-shaven. Mesmerizing green eyes. Wavy brown hair that’s perfectly messy.
He’s got these luscious lips that look so damn kissable. Grin, smile, frown, pout—I bet those sexy lips look irresistibly tempting no matter what position they’re in.
“Is this the Brambilla family jet?” he asks in that deep sexy voice. This time it gives me goosebumps.
“Yes!” I say, recognizing the name. “Are you Mr. Salvatore Brambilla?”
“No,” he says with a warm smile. “I’m his son.”
“Oh! Nice to meet you. Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll have some cookies ready shortly if you’re interested.”
“Interested in your cookie?” His heated green eyes roam down my body as he says it and I have to consciously make sure my knees don’t buckle. “I’d love to taste your cookie.”
Shit. My cheeks are on fire. I can feel them blushing a scarlet red.
He gives me a confident grin and then backs out of the galley. “Don’t worry about me. Pretend I’m not even here.”
He disappears into the cabin and I take a deep breath as I steady myself against the counter. You meet all kinds of successful people when you work on private jets. I’ve met stunning models, tech geniuses, eccentric billionaires, rock stars, celebrities, and on and on, but I’ve never met anyone who made me react like that.
I know I’m going to be dreaming about that man for a long time.
The warming oven dings and I nearly jump out of my shoes. I’m a little on edge. The new plane, the jerk-head pilots, the gorgeous man in the back—it’s all gotten me a little shaky.
Maybe a cookie will help…
I take them out of the warming oven and scarf one of them down. Mmmmmmm. There’s something about warm chocolate chip cookies that can make all your problems just seem so unimportant.