“Meanwhile fighting for his life,” Brynn said. “Secretly he’s undergoing chemo and radiation, but that only buys him time. According to Nate, he still refuses to apply for the exemption for fear of disclosure. He says that’s all the media would need to ruin him.”

Another lull ensued. Rye remained fixated on the several inches of thigh visible above her boot. He wanted to start there and kiss his way up.

Before he embarrassed himself, he refocused. “How’s Wes?”

“He caught a shoplifter the other day.”

“That’s what they pay him for.”

“Yes, but he let her go without reporting her. She had three children under three years old, and was shoplifting a home pregnancy test. Dad thought she deserved a break.”

They shared a smile, but after a moment hers turned wistful. She sat up straight and cleared her throat. “The other day, Violet asked me about the man in the old leather coat.” She cut a glance toward his bomber jacket where he’d draped it over the back of a chair. “Seems she saw us kissing outside her house. She asked if you were my boyfriend.” She waited a beat before saying, “I told her no.”

He didn’t say anything, but shifted his position against the dresser, telling himself it was because that spot on his butt had gone numb.

Brynn continued, “I told her no because I could never fall for a man who shuts people out. Strangers. Even people who care about him. I told her that no matter how attractive he was, or how amazingly good sex with him was, or how he’d been willing to sacrifice his pilot’s license—the thing he values above everything else—in order to save her life, I couldn’t pine for a man who takes off in an airplane, indifferent to whether or not he’ll safely land.”

She looked down at her open palm and dusted it with the other. “Knowing how others would grieve the loss of his life, it’s selfish of him to have such careless disregard for it. I asked Violet why in the world a sane woman would want a man like that.”

“No sane woman would,” he said. “He sounds like a loser.”

“That’s just it. He’s not.”

“You were supposed to be building up to calling him a bastard.”

“What good would it do?”

He pushed off the dresser and went over to the window. He flicked the tacky drape open. It was cold out. The wind was brisk. But the sky was crystal clear, not a cloud in sight. It had been a perfect day for Brady’s flight.

“I knew a guy like that,” he said. “He was a sullen and self-centered son of a bitch. Thought he had problems. Thought life wasn’t worth living. He was carrying around all this crap over an accident, an airplane crash. Thirteen people died. Anybody would be sick over that.

“But the thing with him was, he was conceited enough to think that somehow he could’ve prevented it. That he could’ve overturned aviation physics, or outsmarted fate, karma, the alignment of the stars, God’s will, whatever, when, stripped down to basic fact, it was their time.”

Keeping his back to Brynn, he looked up at the sky through the window. He’d been wrong: There was a small cloud drifting past, caressing the crest of a hill.

He took a deep breath. “Anyway, this guy thought he should have died that day, and, because he didn’t, he waited for another opportunity. Sure enough, one night, when he really had no business flying, he lost control of his aircraft.

“Odd as it seems, he didn’t just let it crash and death take him. Instead, he fought like hell to survive. Odder still, the crash turned out to be the best damn thing that could have happened to him. It shook him up. Woke him up.

“Over the course of a couple of days following it, he came to realize that maybe there was a purpose to his still being around. A reason for him not to have flown that C-12 that day. Maybe he could help save a kid’s life. Or give a thrill ride to a guy who couldn’t fly himself. Who knows why things turn out the way they do?” He braced his hands on the windowsill and lowered his head between his hunched shoulders.

In a husky voice, Brynn asked, “What happened to him?”

“He cleaned up his act. Some. He’d made a new buddy who flies for a freight carrier. Big, slick outfit. They need experienced pilots. He’s considering it. A necktie is required, but he’ll have a permanent address, and the pay is good. Good enough for his buddy to afford to have his own plane, and he’s always hoped to own one himself.

“He spent Christmas with his family. Held his nephew. He went so far as to firm up a date for a return visit. Told his folks he might bring somebody along, if they didn’t mind.”

“Who?”

“Aw, there was this girl. Woman, rather. Quite a woman. Smart. Sassy. Took no shit. Thick and silky hair. Eyes the color of fog. Or rain when moonlight shines through it. A body that made him want to take his time, go slow, make it last, hold back. Or speed the hell up. Christ, just looking at her made his mouth water. Once, he got so lost, he forgot a condom, came inside her.” He shook his lowered head. “Before that, he’d thought nothing could top being airborne.”

He paused, ran his hands up and down the front of his thighs. “But, he blew it.”

“How?”

“He was a coward. Kept pushing her away. Shut her out.”

“What was he afraid of? Involvement?”

“Too late for that. He was sunk the minute he tackled her and saw her face for the first time. No, what he was afraid of was that she would see him for what he was, and tell him to stay the hell out of her life.

“But the poor sap held out the hope that one day she would show up unexpectedly. He sort of hoped that if that happened, she wouldn’t be as desirable as he remembered, that he wouldn’t want her any more. Instead, it was all he could do to keep his hands off her.”

Nothing was said for a time, then Brynn said with exasperation, “You’ll fly through zero visibility and a mile and a half of thunderstorms, but you won’t walk across ten feet of ugly carpet? You are a coward.”

He turned and cocked his head to one side. “What? Oh. You thought I was talking about me?”

She ducked her head and laughed, then looked up at him again, challenge in her eyes.

He sighed. “You’re gonna make me come after you, aren’t you?”

“If you want me, it’s required.”

In two long strides, he was cupping her shoulders, pressing her back onto the bed, settling atop her as she stretched out beneath him. He pushed his hands up through her hair, clasped her head, said, “I want you,” then fused his mouth to hers. Though it was broad daylight, they kissed with the unleashed desire reserved for the dark.

He couldn’t get enough of her, of feeling her breasts moving against his chest, her breath rushing across his lips with excitement and happiness, both evident in her glistening eyes when he finally raised his head and looked into them.

“We’ve known each other for less than two full days,” he said. “This could be the worst mistake you ever make, Brynn.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Reaching under her sweater, he unhooked her bra, then put his hands inside the cups, reshaped her breasts with gentle squeezes, tweaked the hard tips, then bared them to his seeking mouth.

She ground the back of her head against the mattress. “I could kill you for putting me through the torture of the last six weeks.”

He fanned his tongue over her nipple.

“But don’t stop that,” she groaned and began to paw at the buttons on his jeans.

He pulled her sweater over her head. She wiggled off the loosened bra. He tore open the buttons of his shirt and lay on her again, skin to skin, their hearts thumping together, their breaths ghosting between their lips, eyes locked.

He slid his hand into the slit of her skirt, caressing her inner thigh to the top, then into her panties, his fingers separating, stroking, slipping inside. She clenched around his fingers, tilting her hips toward him in an appeal for more, even as she worked her underwear down her legs and off.

She opened his fly. He swelled against the fist she made around him. He could feel his pulse pumping hot and thick against her palm, her fingers. Pulling his hand from beneath her skirt, he spread her moisture over the head of his cock. “Guide me in.”

With his hands under her bottom, he lifted her. She planted him snugly just inside her. She squeezed, and he moaned her name. He pulsed, and her breath hitched. Then a strong, swift thrust embedded him. They held there for the endurance of a deep, soulful kiss.

Then, in perfect synchronization, they began to move.

Day faded into dusk. Twilight gave way to full darkness. The passage of time went unnoticed.

They languished in bed, eyes and hands and mouths overindulging in what they’d been able only to sample six weeks earlier, when the pace, even for lovemaking, had been hectic.

The water in the shower turned cool before they got out. When they returned to the bed, he put his bomber jacket on her. Lying facing her, he rested his cheek on one hand and, with the other, opened the jacket.

Lazily, he toyed and teased until her eyes were lambent, her lips parted, her skin flushed with arousal.