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Chapter One: Finn
Damn, baby, c’mon. Just open up a little more for me,I mentally plead as I try to shove my fingers deeper through the narrow opening. But she’s stubborn as hell and my fingers are big.Aww, fuck. She’s too tight.
With a frustrated groan, I pull my digits out of the jammed compartment, skinning the tops of my knuckles on the metal. She’s clamped shut tighter than a virgin tease on prom night. Not that I would know. Never went to Prom. Or any other high school dance, for that matter. Too many other things on my mind back then.
Gritting my teeth together, I accept that I’m going to have to use a screwdriver and potentially scratch her up. Breaks my heart a little, but what’s a pilot to do? I’m just about done restoring this P-51 Mustang, and the thought of finally taking her up in the air gives me a thrill like nothing else. Definitely more than any flesh and blood woman ever has.
Well, if I’m being honest with myself, I suppose there’s one particular female who elevated my heart rate and knocked me flat on my ass in the most unexpected way.
Ivy Monroe.
Long blonde hair. Kaleidoscope eyes. And legs for days. I couldn’t have created a more perfect woman if you let me go allWeird Scienceand build her from scratch.
The Beatles’Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Bandalbum echoes through the hangar and I step out from beneath the belly of the plane and wipe my greasy hands down the front of my white t-shirt. Well, it was white at one point. Now it’s streaked with grime, but restoring a classic like this takes blood, sweat and tears. It also takes a good chunk of change and I’m lucky my boss, Dash Slater, pays me well.
What can I say? I’ve always had a thing for classics. Music, records, warbirds, muscle cars and anything else you might find a little dusty or rusty. Sometimes it just takes some work, finesse and care to make something shiny again. Return it to the luster of its glory days.
This plane, for example. It was found abandoned in an Ohio barn and ended up going to auction. Since it was basically a bucket of bolts, I got a far better deal than the $1.5 million a perfectly restored P-51 goes for. I had the time, resources and know-how to bring her back to life, so I grabbed the opportunity. And now here she is—so close to being flight-ready after nearly two years of restoration I can taste it.
The P-51 officially entered my daydreams when eight-year-old me snuck into an airshow. I vividly remember staring at the beautiful, red-nosed airplane in complete awe and it sparked a life-long love affair with this classic North American fighter. When the pilot fired up the Merlin and smoke rolled down the fuselage, my heart rate tripled. It’s that Rolls-Royce Merlin engine that gives it such incredible power and left my jaw on the ground. After watching the incredible aerobatics that warbird was capable of, I was hooked.
I’d always hoped to one day be the proud owner of the world’s fastest propeller-driven plane, and now here we are. And I couldn’t be more excited. Well, except maybe if I had someone to take up with me.
A certain blonde, perhaps?
Turning my hands over, I study the dirt under my short nails and my normal confidence disintegrates at the thought of Ivy. She’s perfect in so many ways, and I’m a former Night Stalker whose best days are behind him. I pride myself on being the best, and I’ve proven it over and again to my boss and coworkers, but after she walked away, I never felt more like a has-been.
With a sigh, I head over to my work table, grab my water bottle and take a long drink. Gazing out the large hangar door and at the fields beyond, my thoughts inevitably return to the night I met Ivy.
Maybe it’s best that things happened the way they did.
Or so I try to convince myself for the thousandth time.
But I still can’t forget that night…
We’d just helped Blue Squadron defeat the bastards behind Project Phoenix and the party to celebrate was in full swing at Rex’s beachside restaurant. I was drinking my usual ginger ale and lime when I first laid eyes on the leggy blonde. Fucking gorgeous. I have a weakness for long legs and could easily picture hers wrapped around my waist. Normally, I’d saunter right over and start flirting up a storm but, for whatever reason, I held back.
Normally, that’s not my style and I wasn’t sure where the hesitation was coming from. But my gut was telling me to be careful. That either she belonged to somebody or I shouldn’t screw around with her. Then I found out she was Kennedy Hart’s sister.
Yeah, that pertinent piece of information explained my initial reaction to hang back and not immediately go into seduction mode. I respected these men, their significant others and their family.
And Ivy was family. That meant I’d have to play things carefully. The last thing I wanted was to get on Aidan Wolf’s bad side. He could be a scary motherfucker.
A little later, after Aidan and Kennedy announced their engagement, I noticed Ivy sending me some interested looks, so I finally mustered up the courage to say hello. Hell, no woman ever made me feel nervous like that before. Wiping my sweating palms down the front of my jeans, I put on my best smirk and sauntered over. Time to project Mr. Confidence.
“You’re Kennedy’s sister, right?” I asked.
“Yes.” Her breathy voice made my dick twitch. “By choice, not blood. I’m Ivy Monroe.”
“Eric Finn,” I said and offered my hand. “But everyone just calls me Finn.”
Her hand felt small in mine, but her grip was firm and warm. Some kind of spark flared between us as our gazes met and locked. Even though the lighting was a little dim in the corner where we stood, there was no mistaking her stunning eyes—pupils surrounded by a ring of brown which bled into blue with flecks of green. Kaleidoscope eyes. Just like in the Beatles’ song “Lucy In The Sky.”
I’d never seen eyes so mesmerizing, so I told her.
“Oh, thanks,” she murmured, turning shy and pulling her hand back. “They’re definitely unusual.”
“They’re gorgeous.” So was the rest of her, but I kept that thought to myself. “So what are you? A model?”
