Another thing I was fucking addicted to, dammit.
The phone silenced. Rang again immediately.
I plucked his hand off my breast. “Go.”
He groaned, but wrenched himself away and swaggered naked and perfect into the living room, answered the phone, standing nude in the middle of the room—I just stared at him, feeling just as fortunate and lucky and giddy to get him naked in my life. I mean, look at him. The muscles of his back rippled, his ass flexed into taut marble bubbles as he moved his weight from foot to foot, his bicep flexing as he lifted the phone to his ear. Legs like trees, a little hairy. Hair was a mess, but perfectly so.
Damn, damn, damn. The man was incredible.
And I, stupidly, impossibly, wanted himagain. Right now. I could jump on that cock right now and come just as hard, enjoy him just as much. It was a problem, how insatiable he made me—I was already running a sex-drive of nearly nymphomaniacal levels, and Myles North put me into super-hyper-ultra turbo drive.
All I wanted to do was fuck him, again and again.
If only because as long as we were fucking, we weren’t getting anywhere near discussions of my past, my issues, or putting labels on what Myles and I were or were not.
I wondered if he would ever catch on to that. I hoped not. But he wasn’t dumb—far from it. I had a feeling my days of sexuality as avoidance were numbered—I’d squeeze every last bit out of the time I had left, though. And then some.
Because I was a seriously fucked-up woman. I wondered if Myles knew…and hoped like hell he didn’t.
2
Myles
Sprawled out on the couch, I signed the last of the documents—digitally, on my iPad. Sent them back. Within minutes, I had the paperwork signifying me as the owner of a ten-year-old Cessna ten-passenger jet. The next email from Tony contained his top four picks for pilot and copilot: each was every bit as certified as the last, most former airline pilots now flying private. One was ex-military, certified to fly everything from helicopters to fighter jets, with thousands of hours of flight time on nearly everything imaginable; he was my top pick, just based on his resumé. My other pick was similar—a former Navy pilot with several thousand hours on multi-engine aircraft, now flying as a private aviation pilot. If I was putting my life in their hands, they damn well better be the best.
I sent Tony my choices, and he shot back a quick reply—I knew you’d pick them. I already asked them to be ready for interviews in the next ten minutes.
I sent back a reply:I say we interview them together—see how they interact.
Tony:Agreed. We’ll do an online video conference; you don’t have to say anything unless you want to. I’ll send you a link to the meeting.
While I was busy with paperwork and emails, Lexie went out and came back with coffees and Danish from my favorite neighborhood place. How did she know I needed some caffeine right now? I gave her a quick kiss and then spent the next half an hour listening to Tony interview the pilots—Captain Alan Murphy and Captain Rebecca Callahan. Yeah, the Navy pilot was a woman. Part of why I wanted to be in for the interview, to see how Captain Murphy would treat a female, who would, depending on the flight, be either the lead or the copilot. To his credit, Murphy was respectful, polite, and seemed impressed by Callahan’s qualifications—they spent part of the interview essentially interviewing each other, and sharing military pilot shoptalk.
As the interview was wrapping up, I finally clicked my video on, so they knew who I was—keeping the view shoulders up, seeing as I was still buck naked. “Tony, Captain Murphy, Captain Callahan.” I gave them a moment to absorb who I was. “I’m on board with you both, but the reason I wanted to do this online with both of you was to see how you two get along. I’ll be flying a lot, and you guys need to get along like peanut butter and jelly.”
Captain Murphy—salt and pepper hair in a high-and-tight, good-looking in a severe, hard-eyed way—was first to speak. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. North. I appreciate the opportunity, sir. I’m excited to begin.”
Captain Callahan—younger by ten or fifteen years, in her mid-to-late thirties, pretty, with blond hair in a short, sleek cut—was next. “Let me just get this out of the way, and then I’ll be done—I’m a huge fan, Mr. North.” She grinned. “Okay, that’s it. I just had to get it out of my system. I’m ready to fly, sir. Anytime, anywhere.”
I asked the question Tony had not: “Murphy, I just have one question.”
“Yes, sir?”
“How do you feel about flying with Captain Callahan?”
A pause. “Her qualifications are impeccable, as is her record. I’ll be honored to fly with her.”
I leaned closer to the camera of my iPad. “Honest, now, Murphy. No issues that she’s a woman? I want zero bullshit. So don’t be nice, don’t be politically correct. Just be real.”
He nodded, scratched his clean-shaven jaw. “My daughter is getting her pilot’s license soon. I’ve flown with her several times.” He lifted his hands. “I appreciate your bluntness, Mr. North, so I’ll give it back. I’ll fly with anyone who’s qualified. If she flies as well as her record indicates, we’ll have a happy cockpit. I don’t play favorites and I’m no sexist. My only concern is that we’re professionals.”
“No personal drama, either, right?” I smirked, so they knew what I meant.
Callahan snorted. “No offense meant to you, Captain Murphy, but that’ll never happen. One, I’m a professional. Two, I’m engaged.”
“Three,” Murphy said, grinning, “I’ve been married to the same woman for thirty years, and I plan to be buried next to her, so no worries there.”
I nodded. “You’re both hired. Get to DFW and get familiar with the aircraft.”
