Книга - Breakaway

Breakaway
Nancy Warren


Welcome to Last Bachelor Standing!How long can three sexy single men hold out?Our next bachelor? Mr. Business-Before-Pleasure, Max Varo. He's a genius billionaire with the cojones to go after anything he wants–and win. Now this tempting man is disguised as a "pilot" while he checks out a small Alaskan airline he wants to buy. But he's about to meet his (very sexy) Waterloo….Pilot Claire Lundstrom hasn't a clue that her family's struggling business is on the cusp of a takeover. What she does know is that she has some rather unbosslike lusty thoughts for Max. But Claire will have to convince him–in the most exquisite ways possible–that losing can be way more fun than winning!







Welcome to Last Bachelor Standing!

How long can three sexy single men hold out?

Our next bachelor? Mr. Business-Before-Pleasure, Max Varo. He’s a genius billionaire with the cojones to go after anything he wants—and win. Now this tempting man is disguised as a “pilot” while he checks out a small Alaskan airline he wants to buy. But he’s about to meet his (very sexy) Waterloo….

Pilot Claire Lundstrom hasn’t a clue that her family’s struggling business is on the cusp of a takeover. What she does know is that she has some rather unbosslike lusty thoughts for Max. But Claire will have to convince him—in the most exquisite ways possible—that losing can be way more fun than winning!


She felt a surge of sexual heat so strong she caught her breath…

Max rose, never letting his gaze drop, and Claire felt powerless herself to break the connection.

Closer.

Never breaking stride until he stood right up in front of her, so close she could see the stubble on his face and glimpse the black flecks in his dark brown eyes. Eyes that stared at her with an intensity that made her shiver.

He moved even closer. She didn’t step back but held her ground, held his gaze.

He grabbed her shoulders, pulled her to him and kissed her with the same urgency he’d drunk deep of the stream only moments ago.

She felt the roughness of a face that hadn’t seen a razor in two days, the coldness of the river water on his lips, the hot, potent energy of the man flowing through him and into her.

She wanted more.

More of that energy, more of his solid sexiness in her arms.

And more of the feeling that something positive and wonderful was happening in the midst of this madness….







Dear Reader,

In Breakaway, book two in the Last Bachelor Standing trilogy, aeronautics billionaire Max Varo is looking for a challenge. He finds it in Alaska with sexy bush pilot Claire Lundstrom. Max and Claire also love playing hockey and it was great fun watching them challenge each other on the ice and off.

A thirty-five-year-old bachelor, Max is a little tired of being courted for his wealth. Going undercover for his company to see what’s up with Polar Air, the small airline owned by Claire and her grandmother, is supposed to be a lark, not change his whole life. For Claire, having an affair with the newest bush pilot is only supposed to be a lark. Not change her whole life. It’s funny how love can mess up a perfectly good plan.

An avid hiker myself, I based Polar Air on some of the small airlines I’ve flown with to get into remote hiking areas. And the bear encounter? That’s based on my own experiences.

Up next? Look for bachelor number three Dylan’s story, Final Score, coming in June 2014.

Visit me on the web at www.nancywarren.net (http://www.nancywarren.net).

Happy reading!

Nancy Warren


Breakaway

Nancy Warren




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

USA TODAY bestselling author Nancy Warren lives in the Pacific Northwest, where her hobbies include skiing, hiking and snowshoeing. She’s an author of more than thirty novels and novellas for Mills & Boon and has won numerous awards. Visit her website at www.nancywarren.net (http://www.nancywarren.net) for news on upcoming titles.


I dedicate this book to Sharon and Stewart McKenzie

for their many years of friendship and career help.

I love you guys.


Acknowledgments:

I have come to rely on friends, friends of friends, and in this book, husbands and sons of friends who are so generous in spilling about things they know. Thanks to Mary, Trish and Ted for their assistance in flying and crashing a plane. Thanks to Karen, her son Guillaume and his friend Leo for brilliantly helping with the big hockey scene. Thanks to John for all his wilderness backpacking expertise. I dedicate this book to all of you, with thanks.


Contents

Chapter 1 (#u5fcf147c-ed73-50a9-8974-858576ebe7cf)

Chapter 2 (#u5333fe0f-e74f-5c6f-8439-912ee7f51542)

Chapter 3 (#u5e7e3492-4f78-51ba-a5ba-52ba7e07a316)

Chapter 4 (#u28ce2a38-ecd5-5496-9e8f-bebeeaafb343)

Chapter 5 (#u93855847-1a55-5594-91f9-94cf5e8ecc34)

Chapter 6 (#uceba6a06-a6c2-5f81-986f-a22b667f0208)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


1

THREE MEN SAT around a campfire on a warm June evening at a wilderness site in Oregon. All were rugged, fit and experienced outdoorsmen. Two were single. One was about to be married. Four days of kayaking had seemed like the perfect choice for their last trip as three single guys. Max Varo, Adam Shawnigan and Dylan Cross had known each other since they started playing together in the sandbox three decades earlier. Now in their mid-thirties, they had successful careers and still played together, though now their sandbox was a hockey rink.

The fire crackled, throwing a little light and a little warmth their way. Max’s muscles ached from paddling all day against choppy currents. He rolled his shoulders, knowing tomorrow would bring more of the same. Their dinner, beef Stroganoff that came in a foil pack from someplace called Backpackers’ Pantry, had been eaten. Now they sat around holding metal mugs of campfire coffee, their tents pitched behind them, kayaks pulled up for the night. Max and Adam stared into the fire, each lost in his own thoughts, while Dylan, always the restless one, built an inuksuk out of nearby stones. Then, bored with that, he suddenly said, “So, Adam, any regrets about getting hitched?”

Adam turned from the fire to glance over at his old friend. “No,” he said simply. “In fact, if I could be granted one wish, it would be to have met Serena earlier.”

Recalling some of the women Adam had dated in his very full bachelor life, Max was inclined to wish the same thing. He’d been forced to spend time with some of Adam’s women and they tended to be—well, flaky would be putting it kindly. But Serena Long had been right for Adam from the first day they’d met. Not that either of them had known that, of course.

Max took some pride in the fact that he’d been the one to introduce his old friend, a performance coach, to his buddy, a cop who was having some performance issues in the hockey arena. When Serena started getting threatening emails, Adam had done everything he could to keep her safe, even as the crazy psycho who was stalking her stepped up the threats. But some good had come out of it. A notorious killer was behind bars, and Adam and Serena were getting married.

“One wish. Wow,” Dylan said. “Hey, Max, if you could have one wish what would it be?”

As he opened his mouth Dylan held up a hand. “And no ‘world peace’ or ‘cure cancer’ allowed. Let’s hope we’d all man up and choose something noble if we actually stumbled across some genie who could give us anything. But, you know, what would you want for yourself?”

Max hoped he’d be big enough to ask for world peace if this magic genie appeared, but he suspected he was too weak. There was one thing that all the money and hard work in the world couldn’t buy. “I’d ask for infection-proof ears. Retroactive to childhood.”

There weren’t many people in the world who knew his secret regret, but these two guys were the closest friends he had. They knew that he’d always dreamed of being an astronaut. And that a couple of stupid childhood ear infections had weakened his ears to the point that he was out of the running before he even started. By the time he finished high school he knew he’d never be an astronaut.

“Yeah, that really sucked. But, you know, how many people get to be astronauts? For real?”

“I would have made it,” he said with the simple certainty of a man who had the tenacity to set his sights on a goal and pursue it single-mindedly. He had the smarts and the right temperament. What he didn’t have were the ears. He’d been ridiculously successful at everything he’d set his mind to. Except his dream.

“Life didn’t turn out too bad for you,” Adam said. “I bet most astronauts would trade their jobs for the billions you’re worth.”

Max shrugged. “I’d take the trade.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Money was easy to make in Max’s experience. Even though he couldn’t take part in space missions he’d studied astrophysics and invented a climate-control system that was eventually purchased by NASA. He’d refined his system and licensed it to most of the world’s major airlines. Obscenely rich at thirty-five, he now spent his time working as a venture capitalist. Money wasn’t the problem. If he had a problem, he suspected that it was boredom.

“Bought any companies lately?” Dylan asked.

“As a matter of fact, I am thinking of buying an airline.”

“I hope it’s a big American one because I have to tell you, last time I flew—”

“Nope. It’s called Polar Air.”

“Polar Air? Are you kidding me? Sounds like an air-conditioning system.”

“Well, it’s an airline. A small outfit that operates in Alaska.”

“If I had your money I’d buy yachts. And really big jewelry for bathing-suit models.” Dylan shook his head. “You buy Bush League air.”

“And that’s why he’s rich and you’re not,” Adam said.

“What about you, smart-ass?” Max said to Dylan. “What would you have if you were granted one wish? And no world peace for you, either.”

“Or Max’s billions.”

Dylan grinned, his teeth gleaming white in the firelight. He thought for a moment then grew serious. “I’d choose a superpower, obviously. Superstrength? X-ray vision? I can never decide.”

“Come on, dude. Quit messing around.”

Adam said, “You know, I think he’s being serious.”

“Bet your ass I am.”

Max shook his head and asked Adam, “Why are we friends with this guy?”

“Comic relief?” Adam tipped his head to the side and caught the coffee cup that came flying toward him. Having a serious conversation with Dylan was like talking physics with a golden retriever.

Dylan stood, stretched his arms high. “Well, one thing is for sure, I’m still in the running for Last Bachelor Standing and the odds are getting shorter.”

Max laughed. “It’s down to you and me now, buddy. And I play to win.”

* * *

MAX RETURNED TO his office in Hunter, Washington, after his long weekend of kayaking and found that, as usual, everything was running smoothly. His staff looked happy to see him, but it wasn’t like there was a lineup of people needing his input.

He was smart enough to hire the best people he could find to work for him. He gave them autonomy, paid them well and was generous in praise and bonuses. As a result, his staff members were loyal, hardworking and proactive. His business ran like clockwork, his wealth grew exponentially every day.

Varo Enterprises was so successful it even had an entire division devoted to funding charities and worthy causes.

And Maximilian Varo, CEO of Varo Enterprises, was bored.

After a meeting with his key people at which he mostly agreed with their suggestions and approved decisions and expenditures, he asked Leslie Adamson, the manager he’d put in charge of the Polar Air acquisition, how it was going. Leslie pulled out the relevant file. “It’s going all right. It’s a pretty small deal by our standards. Shouldn’t be any problem buying for the right price and then putting in some good people to turn it around.” She flipped back a few pages in the file. “Polar Air used to be a successful regional airline. Started in the ’50s with a couple of bush pilots, husband and wife. Lynette and Carl Lundstrom.

“They flew supplies to hunting and fishing lodges, carried mail, flew equipment to logging and mining operations. Got bigger, and more successful. They flew hikers, hunters, geologists, kayakers all over Alaska. Then in the last five years things have gone south. The recession had an impact, but they are way behind on payments to suppliers and they aren’t keeping up with the times. We think there’s plenty of business that they aren’t going after. The fleet’s in good shape, there’s a small but loyal customer base. Could be a turnaround candidate to flip or we could keep it, maybe look at further acquisitions, expand as a regional airline.”

He knew all about the financials of Polar Air. Max never bought a business he didn’t understand and believe in. The small airline had some troubles, but the equipment was good, the pilots well trained. “You’re right. The airline should be more successful.”

Leslie nodded. “I don’t like not knowing what the problems really are. What we need is somebody on the ground.”

“Or in the air,” he said.

Leslie agreed. “They’ve got an opening for a pilot. Somebody with a commercial pilot’s license and some smarts could find out what’s going on from inside the operation.”

Some of his boredom began to lift. “You think we could get somebody in there?”

“My contact would definitely put in a good word with the management of Polar Air if we had a pilot. Sure.”

“Then do it. I know just the person.”

Max had learned to fly in high school, working construction in the summers so he could afford lessons. He’d trained for his commercial pilot’s license a decade later. Even though his life had taken a different turn, he kept his license current. He owned a Cessna and an Otter and flew at every opportunity. He didn’t have a ton of hours logged in Alaska but he had plenty logged in Washington and Oregon and he figured that had to count.

He was sure that Leslie would make it happen. She was that good.

She didn’t even question his suitability for the bush-pilot job because she knew that he was also that good.

Max was about to do the thing he loved best. He was going to fly.

* * *

CLAIRE LUNDSTROM FLEW the Beaver floatplane over Spruce Bay, cruising along with the air currents. Her passengers, a father and son from Tennessee, were headed for Takwalnot, a wilderness fishing lodge, for a week. The dad, Don Carpenter, sat in the back, eyes glued to the rattling window. His son, Kyle, sat beside her in the front seat. He was eighteen and trying to be cool, but she could tell it was a thrill for him to be flying beside the pilot, enjoying an aerial view of some of the most spectacular scenery in the world. All three of them were linked by headsets.

“You picked a great day to fly,” she said, enjoying the sunshine as much, or more, than her passengers. “That’s Mount McKinley in the distance,” she said. It was magnificent, snow-capped and majestic. She glanced down. Smiled. “Look to your left,” she said. “See the whales?”

She dropped the plane lower, took a pass over a pod of grays breaching and playing in the water. Sun sparkled off a dorsal fin and one of the whales surfaced, blowing a plume of mist into the air. “Look,” cried Kyle. “You can see the whole body under the water.” Cameras came out and father and son had a moment of bonding. She imagined that was the point of the trip.

She never got tired of this. Of sharing the place she loved with those who came to visit. She turned and took another pass so her clients could enjoy watching the whales at play, banked the plane so Don could get a clearer photo. Then she turned and headed for the lodge.

“You’re a fine pilot, ma’am, thank you,” Don Carpenter said as she unloaded their fishing gear onto the dock.

“You’re welcome.”

“You seem too young to be flying planes.”

She laughed. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard such a comment. “My grandparents started Polar Air. I’ve been flying since I was sixteen years old.” She didn’t bother telling the Carpenters the sad part of her history. That her parents had been killed in a car crash coming home from a dinner party one night. Nobody’s fault. The car had gone into a turn and skidded off a cliff thanks to a deadly combination of ice, poor visibility and old snow tires. Fifteen and grieving, she’d been sent to live with her grandparents. She’d planned on hating Spruce Bay and running away. But a lot of love, good food and time had helped ease her hurt. And when she was sixteen her grandfather put her in the copilot’s seat and gave her the controls for a few amazing minutes.

From that moment she’d known what she wanted to do with her life.

She wasn’t sixteen anymore. She was nearly thirty. And she still loved flying more than anything else she could think of.

Once she’d finished unloading the Carpenters and their baggage, three businessmen from Albuquerque were waiting for their return trip. She loaded them onto the plane, then assessed the trio. Some sunburns and a general air of satisfaction told her their week had gone well. “How was your trip?” she asked.

“Fantastic. We caught some of the nicest sockeye I’ve ever tasted.”

For the price she knew they were paying for their week, she was glad they’d caught some salmon. Meant they’d tell their friends, maybe come back. “You’ll never get better fishing than up here,” she said into her headset.

Even the whales cooperated with her tour guide routine, hanging around in the same area where she’d last seen them. Once more she dipped down low, giving the men an up-close view of whales at play.

When she landed at the dock of Polar Air, she powered down and took a moment to enjoy the silence, before hopping down from the plane and tying up to the dock.

She had a couple of hours before her next flight, so she headed up the dock and turned, not to the office, but in the direction of her grandmother’s house.

Lynette Lundstrom was nearing seventy-three and Claire’s favorite person in the world. She usually found time to visit her grandmother every day, either for coffee or a sandwich. They ate dinner together at least twice a week.

She banged open the front door and headed for the kitchen, cheerfully calling out, “Coffee on?” She didn’t immediately get a response.

She quickened her step and found her grandmother sitting at the big oak kitchen table with a scatter of papers fanned in front of her.

She pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her grandmother, concern building when she saw the expression on Lynette’s face. “What’s up?”

Lynette looked up at her, looking like an old woman for the first time Claire could remember. “I think we’re in trouble. The bank is threatening to call in the mortgage.”

Claire glanced at the fan of papers on the table. “What mortgage?”

The older woman was obviously upset. Her voice wavered. “Your grandfather and I started that airline back in the ’50s,” she reminded Claire as though she could possibly have forgotten the family history. “We used to fly in supplies for miners, fly in timber cruisers and transport Indian chiefs. We’ve helped with rescue missions. We delivered mail.” She tapped her fingers angrily against the table. “My whole life is here and connected to Polar Air. How can a bank take this airline away?”

“Calm down, Grandma. Nobody’s going to take our airline away from us. I don’t think they can.” She swallowed. “Can they?”

“The trouble is I’ve let things go a little. I know there have been some problems, but—”

“What problems?” Everything seemed fine to Claire. But she was busy with flights, and didn’t have a lot of patience for paperwork and administration. Some of their previous business had dropped off, it was true, but they’d added a lot of new business through tourism.

Claire frowned over the sheets of paper Lynette passed to her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She glanced up at her grandmother’s worried face.

“I didn’t want to bother you. You’re busy flying. Now that I don’t fly anymore, I feel that I should at least be able to run the place. I thought business would pick up and we’d be able to pay the mortgages back.”

Lynette turned to gaze out over a pair of old armchairs that sat by the window of her log house. The window faced one of the most spectacular views in Alaska. Probably the entire world. Set on a bluff overlooking the ocean, the house commanded views of crashing waves, of the islands out in the strait, and of the otters, whales, dolphins and seals that called the area home.

And they weren’t the only ones. Lynette had called Spruce Bay home her whole life. Claire realized she’d been doing the same for almost half of hers.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Lynette said once more.

“Well, I’m worried now. What’s going on?”

“After your grandfather died, I left Frank in charge of day-to-day operations. They won’t let me fly anymore and I’m not good in the office.”

“I know.” Lynette had been a bush pilot for forty years. It had nearly killed her when she’d had to give up her license after a mild heart attack. The irony was that the heart trouble hadn’t slowed her grandmother down at all. It was losing her license that had devastated her. Fortunately, she’d found a new calling coaching the women’s hockey team in Spruce Bay. It was something she’d done back when Claire first turned in her figure skates for a pair of speed skates.

Sometimes Claire felt guilty that she hadn’t stepped in to run the airline after her grandfather died, but she loved to fly and she had no interest in running an airline. Like Lynette, she’d believed Frank Carmondy was both capable and honest.

“Oh, honey, I’m not sure. Frank came to me around five years ago and said we needed to get a bigger credit line. You know, we always used to have one. The recession was on and we needed to access some capital. He arranged it all and I signed the papers.”

“Grandma,” she said, making an effort to keep her voice calm, “how much money are we talking? And why the hell is the bank calling the loan?”


2

MAX LOVED TO FLY almost as much as he loved sex. In some ways the two were similar. The freedom, the feeling of utter contentment. The ride was sometimes wild, sometimes smooth and familiar but he always, always ended up with a thrill.

Today was no different. He flew over majestic stands of evergreens, interspersed with logging clear-cuts as he skirted the coast. His flight plan took him over tankers and cruise ships, a pod of hunting orcas. He landed his Cessna at Polar Air’s airfield in Spruce Bay, and coasted until he came to a stop on a serviceable strip.

He turned off the engine, took off his headset. Climbed out of the plane and grabbed his battered briefcase.

He secured his plane and then entered the small, squat building that housed Polar Air.

And walked right into a very interesting situation.

The first thing he noted was the shapeliest backside he had ever seen. The rounded hips belonged to a dark-haired woman with a ponytail hanging down her back who was currently asking a portly middle-aged man in a Polar Air jacket some very pointed questions.

They were so deep in conversation that neither of them had heard his entrance. He was about to cough or announce himself in some way, when she said, “I spent the last couple of hours looking at the financial records on the computer. It seems to me that this company’s financial situation is worse than it should be.” Max bit back his fake cough and listened. Seemed his flight up here was already paying off.

An ugly look came over the face of the guy at the desk. “What right do you have to study the books?”

“My grandmother asked me to.”

“And you’re an accountant now?”

“I’ve got eyes and a brain, Frank. I don’t like what I discovered.”

A deep flush began to mottle his ugly face. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting,” she said in a cool, even tone that was steel all the way through, “that the numbers aren’t adding up.”

“You and your grandmother would be lost without me. I think you’d better watch your tone, young lady.”

“Where’s the money, Frank?”

“I’m not listening to this, Claire. I’ll call my lawyer if you don’t shut up.”

There was a beat of charged silence.

“I think that’s a good idea. You should definitely call a lawyer. You’re fired,” she said.

Max didn’t like the expression in the fat man’s eyes. He didn’t like the way he rose from his chair so he could loom over the woman. “You can’t fire me.”

“Yes. I can. And I just did. I think you’d better leave.”

“You little bitch.” The guy moved an inch closer to her and she didn’t budge. “You can’t make—”

Max decided it was time to make his presence felt. “I think you were asked to leave,” he said pleasantly, walking slowly toward the desk.

Both of the combatants turned to face him. He got his first glimpse of the front of the woman with the great ass. As he’d hoped, her front was as alluring—more so—than her back.

She might only stand as tall as his chin but she packed a lot of authority into her curvy body. He liked the way she filled out her jeans and the flight jacket that featured the Polar Air logo.

She’d fed her ponytail through a Polar Air ball cap and she wore sturdy boots.

No rings, he noted absently. In fact, the only jewelry she wore were small gold hoops in her earlobes. Her hazel eyes were big and round, with flecks of green and gold that fascinated him as he drew closer.

She didn’t look thrilled at his interference, so he turned his attention to the fat guy who looked even less thrilled.

“Let me get the door for you.”

Max wasn’t a big man, but he was fit and tough. He took in the measure of the guy who’d been fired and decided he wasn’t going to end up engaging in a barbarian fistfight. This guy was all blubber and bluster. Still, he kept his muscles on alert, stayed light on the balls of his feet in case he was wrong.

The man sneered at him. And at the woman. “This isn’t over. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

“Good,” she said.

The guy shoved Max’s shoulder on his way out and then slammed the door.

The slam was still echoing when he turned back to face the pretty woman. She didn’t thank him for his assistance. Instead she said, “I was handling that. I didn’t need your help.”

“I know you didn’t,” he said reasonably. “But look at it from my point of view. Once I’d walked in and heard him threaten you, what was I going to do? Creep outside? You’d think I was a coward.”

He saw her lips twitch as she tried to hold back a smile. “I’m Claire Lundstrom,” she said. “How can I help you?”

“Max Varo,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m a pilot. Heard there was a job.”

“Do you have an interview?”

“I did, but I think the guy I was interviewing with just got fired.”

* * *

CLAIRE LIKED THE look of Max Varo. Nice-looking guy, she noted. Neatly trimmed dark hair, Latino, even features. Great body. His jeans and navy fleece couldn’t hide a muscular build. He wasn’t much taller than she was, but the package was nice. Sexy. He had big brown eyes with ridiculously thick, curly eyelashes that most women would kill for. They didn’t make him look feminine, though. Simply added to the impact of those eyes.

She didn’t know how loyal the dozen existing Polar Air pilots were to Frank, but she thought it would be good to have at least one pilot who was a new hire.

Even though she hadn’t appreciated him butting in to go all Sir Galahad on her, she understood that his behavior showed courage and a sense of justice.

“Come into the back office and sit down,” she said, leading him to a small room behind the main counter.

He settled himself in the vinyl visitor’s chair and pulled out a résumé.

She scanned it quickly. “You’ve got all the right certifications. But you haven’t flown for a commercial airline in five years.”

“That’s true. I was running my own business, but I fly every weekend. I’ve logged 500 hours in the last year. The truth is, I needed a change.”

As she knew only too well, people who chose to live in a place like Spruce Bay weren’t your run-of-the-mill types. They were adventurers, dreamers, people who were running away from any number of things. They were different.

Max didn’t really seem all that different. But she caught the gleam of adventure in his eye. A thrill-seeker, she thought.

“I’ll need to see you fly. Check your references. Then you’ll have a second interview.”

“Second interview?” He glanced around as though wondering where she was hiding the rest of the staff.

“My grandmother. She owns the business. She has the final say.”

* * *

LYNETTE LOVED HIM. Not that Claire was surprised. When her grandmother heard the story of how Max had walked in while she was firing Frank Carmondy she laughed her earthy laugh. It was good to hear that sound after seeing her despair the previous day, but then Lynette was never one to stay in the dumps.

“It’s not funny, Grandma. I am pretty sure Frank Carmondy was stealing from you.”

“And he’ll have to pay back whatever he stole. Maybe go to jail.” Lynette was settled in an oak chair at her big, round kitchen table. It was where all important family business was conducted. “But I bet none of that would hurt his pride as much as getting fired by a little snip of a thing like you.”

Very conscious that Max was there with them, Claire argued, “I am not a little snip of a thing. I’m a grown woman.”

“When Frank first started working here you were, what, eighteen? He won’t take kindly to the fact that it was you, a young woman, the granddaughter of the man who hired him, who gave him the boot.” She cackled again, blue eyes twinkling. “Lord, I wish I could have seen his face.” She stopped laughing. Looked Max over with her shrewd old eyes. “So, we lost one troublesome male and got ourselves another one, did we?”

“I’m here on approval, Ms. Lundstrom,” he said. “If you don’t agree to hire me, I’ll get the boot too.”

She chuckled again. “Well, he’s smooth, I’ll give him that,” she said to Claire. “Good-looking, too. Looks like that Spanish fellow I like. What’s his name?”

“Javier Bardem?”

“No. The other one.”

“Antonio Banderas?”

“That’s it. You Spanish, Max?”

“Argentinian. Well, my parents are. I was born in the States.”

“Speak Spanish?”

“Yes. Also Portuguese and French.”

“Could be handy with international passengers. If we ever had any.”

She tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair. Her gold wedding ring was the only jewelry she wore. “How’d he do on the flight test?” she asked Claire.

“He’s got good hands and feet. Knows his way around a plane.” If he was uncomfortable with listening to them talk about him, Max gave no sign of it.

“Where you living?”

“I was going to look for a place in town.”

She shook her head. “Tough to find accommodation. The rentals are awful and overpriced. You’d better have the caretaker’s old quarters here on the property.”

“Grandma,” Claire said. “Don’t you think we should talk about this?”

“I think that the sooner Frank Carmondy knows there’s a man living on the property with us the better. He’s got a temper on him, that one. Better he knows we’re not unprotected.”

Claire wondered what her grandmother was doing. The woman had been flying bush planes back when Betty Crocker was learning to cook. She’d faced down grizzlies, blizzards, drunken prospectors, lecherous passengers and she’d never once felt the need for a man’s protection. Lynette could still shoot the O out of a Coke can at fifty feet. She’d taught Claire how to do the same. She did not need to be protected from a blustering bully of an ex-employee.

But Claire wasn’t about to get into all that with Max sitting there, so she said, “It will take a couple of days to clean out the old place and get it habitable. There’s a hotel downtown that will put you up for a few days.”

He turned those liquid brown eyes her way. She suspected he heard subtext the way other people hear regular conversation. He nodded. “That’s fine. I flew in. Is there a taxi?”

Before she could speak, Lynette said, “Claire will drive you into town. We pride ourselves on Northern hospitality.”

Claire smiled through gritted teeth and decided she and her beloved grandmother were going to have a serious talk before too long. She strongly suspected there was some very unsubtle matchmaking going on. As she’d told her grandmother on many an occasion, simply because Lynette had married another bush pilot didn’t mean Claire was going to follow suit.

She even made a point of dating men who kept both feet on the ground most of the time. She’d gone out with the town’s only dentist, a tugboat captain and a mining engineer. All lovely, interesting men. Didn’t matter. Lynette checked out every new bush pilot as though she were measuring him for his wedding tux.

“Come on,” she said to Max. “I’ll drive you into town.”

“Did I pass the interview?” he asked as they headed to the old Yukon. The SUV was pitted with rust and caked with dust, but it was still as serviceable as when she’d learned to drive on it a dozen years ago.

“Are you kidding? She didn’t just hire you. She practically adopted you. She never invites anyone to stay on the property.”

She hiked herself up into the driver’s seat. Max threw his duffel into the back and climbed in beside her.

“Is that a problem for you?”

She gazed at him. She was a pretty good judge of character and, if you didn’t count Carmondy, she’d say her grandmother was even better. Her instincts told her that she could trust Max Varo. “No. It’s not a problem.”

They headed past the Cessna she knew was his.

“You brought your own plane?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Like an old cowboy would bring his own horse.”

She smiled. He must have saved for years to afford his own plane. She sensed he was as avid a flyer as she was. And that her grandmother was completely smitten.

As they rattled down the road she saw him looking out the dirt-specked window, at the runway, the ocean. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

“See if you still feel that way in January when the mercury dips below zero. That’s when you find out if Spruce Bay is for you or not.”

He glanced over at her. “And is it? For you?”

“Honestly? I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Oh, sure, I love a trip to New York or L.A. to go shopping and eat in great restaurants, but I’m always glad to come back. Spruce Bay is in my blood.”

Though it might not be in her family much longer if she didn’t figure out how to save the business.

She pulled up to the Spruce Bay Inn. “This is the one I recommend. It’s the priciest, but the beds are firm, the restaurant’s good and they have Wi-Fi.”

He turned to her and said, “Have dinner with me.”

“What?”

The term Latin lover flitted through her mind when he turned the full force of those eyes and that charm on her. “Have dinner with me, tonight.”

“I can’t have dinner with you. I’m your boss.”

“No. You’re not. First, I don’t start work until tomorrow. Second, Lynette told me she is my boss.”

“I don’t—”

“I understand if you prefer not to be seen with the hired help.”

“It’s not—I’m not a snob!”

When he smiled that slow, come-to-bed smile, she knew he had her. “I’m new in town. I have a lot of questions and I hate eating alone.” He shrugged. “That’s part of my heritage.”

“It’s just dinner,” she told him.

“Of course.”

She glanced at her watch. “It’s four-thirty. Get a room and get settled. I’ll come back at seven.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

He got out of the Yukon, didn’t seem to notice the way the door screeched when he opened it, pulled his bag out of the back, then leaned in and said, “Thanks for the ride. See you at seven.”

She checked email on her phone for ten minutes, figured that should be enough time for Max to get settled in his room, and then walked into the inn. She walked straight past the front desk to the back offices, looking for the hotel manager.

Laurel Enright was her best friend and the person she most needed to talk to. Fortunately, she was in her office, talking on the phone. When she spied Claire she waved her in and made a face.

“No. I completely understand. Of course, a moose charging your car could make anyone miss their reservation. Absolutely. I quite understand. I don’t blame your husband. I’d probably drink a bottle of scotch, too. Let’s just be glad no one was hurt. Not even the moose. Of course I won’t charge you for tonight. We’ll look forward to welcoming you to the Spruce Bay Inn tomorrow. Uh-huh. You’re welcome. You, too.”

“Don’t even ask,” Laurel said when she put down the phone. She leaned forward. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?”

“Crazy busy, but good.”

Laurel stood and walked around her desk. “Check out these babies. I bought them online.”

Laurel was a vivacious redhead who’d been fighting to lose twenty pounds ever since Claire had known her. Claire thought she looked wonderful with her full breasts and hips, but she knew her friend didn’t share her opinion. One thing they both agreed on, however, was that no matter how bad the climate, how deep the snowbanks or how sloppy the mud, shoes mattered. It had taken Claire a while to get used to carrying her good shoes in a shopping bag when she went out in the winter months, wearing her winter boots and parka and then changing into real shoes in the mudroom. But now she’d been doing it for so many years it seemed normal.

But it was summer now and Laurel had worn a kicking pair of cream half boots to work. “I love them.”

“I know. Online shopping makes me feel a tiny bit less isolated. Too bad you can’t mail-order men.” She sighed and sat back down. “So, what brings you here?”

“I was dropping off our new pilot. He’s going to stay here at the inn for a couple of days. Then Lynette wants him to move into the old caretaker’s cottage.”

“Hah. Is she trying to match you up with him?”

“Of course.”

Laurel knew of her grandmother’s attempts to get her attached to another bush pilot. “I think it’s kind of sweet. She wants you to marry a pilot so you can take over Polar Air. Just like her and your grandfather.”

“I know. I guess it is sweet, but it’s also annoying. I’d like to pick my own men.”

“What’s he like?”

“His name is Max. His family’s from Argentina, but he’s American. He’s...” How to describe the man? “He’s very self-assured. Seemed like he didn’t care whether he got the job or not, and yet he’d flown all the way up from Seattle for an interview. Good pilot.”

“I don’t want his résumé. I mean, what’s he like?”

“Okay. He’s hot. Really hot.” She pushed her hair back. “He’s also a bit pushy. He asked me for dinner.”

“Already? You just met him.”

“I know.”

“Are you going?”

“He conned me. Made me feel like I’d be a snob if I didn’t go out with him, like I thought I was too good for him since my family owns the company. So of course I said yes to prove him wrong.”

“Well, the halibut is fresh tonight. Looks amazing.” There was no question they’d be eating in the Inn dining room. It was the only decent place to eat in Spruce Bay.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll try and scope him out while he’s here. I’m off tonight, so I can’t hang around the bar and watch how your date is going.”

“Thank goodness.”

She chuckled. “Besides, I can’t go near the restaurant. I’m on this juice diet. I see real food and I want to weep.”

“How long does this juice diet last?”

“As long as I can stand it. I’m on day two. If I make day three I’m treating myself to a big steak dinner as a reward.”


3

WHEN CLAIRE WALKED into the dining room of the Spruce Bay Inn, Max had a moment to enjoy the sight of her as she paused at the entrance to look for him. She was a truly lovely woman.

He hadn’t been certain she’d show up, but here she was, and she’d dressed for dinner, he noted, in a flowered dress. Her legs were bare and her sandals celebrated the short summer season.

She’d left her hair long so it swung when she moved. He rose from his seat at the bar, walked to greet her.

Max reached for her hand.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said.

She gave him a sideways look. “I always keep my promises.”

“Do you?” He thought of all the things he’d like her to promise him, decided he was getting ahead of himself. “Good.”

He held out a chair for her and she seated herself across from him in the lounge.

“What are you drinking?” she asked.

“A caipirinha. It’s Brazilian. Try it. Mostly rum and fruit juice.” He held out his glass. She glanced up at him, then took the glass and sipped.

“Mmm,” she said, then licked her lips. He felt a shaft of heat go right through him. If she’d done it deliberately to look sexy, the move would have left him cold. But her response was so natural, so unstudied that it caught at him. Made him wonder about how she might respond to other things.

What would she taste like when he kissed her? What kind of sounds would she make in bed? What would her skin feel like when he ran his fingers down her bare back? What did she look like when she came? The questions crowded his mind, as unbidden as they were inconvenient. He didn’t want to fall for this woman. He was here for business reasons. And yet, from the moment he’d seen her in the office, both dainty and tough, giving a thieving employee his walking papers, he’d felt inexplicably drawn to her.

But Max was enough of a romantic to understand that passion couldn’t be controlled or understood. You welcomed it when it came, like the bush pilots out here in Alaska welcomed the wild weather. You rode it, dove through it, embraced it.

“Would you like one?”

“Yes, please.”

He motioned to their waitress and ordered her a drink.

“You’re adventurous,” he said when he’d given the order.

“And you’re a charmer.”

She said it matter-of-factly, not in an accusing way. So, he tried to consider whether he was, in fact, a charmer. “I don’t consciously try to charm anyone.”

“You certainly charmed my grandmother.”

“I like your grandmother. She’s an amazing woman.”

She tilted her head to one side and her hair slid over her shoulders. “And I think you’re trying to charm me.”

“Do you suspect me of manipulation?” He shook his head. “It’s not my intention. I like you. I think you’re incredible. One day you’ll be like your grandmother.”

He could see she was pleased by the notion. “I hope so.”

“And I also find you very beautiful.”

“Definitely a charmer.”

“A truth-teller,” he corrected.

They moved to a window table for dinner. She ordered the halibut which their waitress told them was today’s special. He ordered steak with Alaska king-crab legs and she laughed at him. “That’s what the tourists order.”

“It’s my first day. Give me a break.”

He kept things light. Asked her about her family, her life. Tried to imagine her orphaned in the critical teenage years. Coming here to live with her grandparents. He admired them for doing such a good job, and he admired her for overcoming tragedy and becoming the woman she was.

“I only wish I hadn’t been an only child. It would have been nice to have a brother or sister to grow up with.” She was solemn a moment, then gazed at him with those hazel eyes. “What about you? Family? Brothers and sisters?”

“My parents came to the States before I was born. My dad was an airline mechanic. My mother taught Spanish and looked after my sister and me.

“I had two best friends growing up, Dylan and Adam, who are still my best friends. My parents were strict, but they loved us. My sister’s a teacher and she married a family friend. Moved back to Argentina.”

“And you’re a pilot.”

“Yes,” he said, because it was true. He was also a few other things, but there were some details he didn’t feel ready to share with her. Like the fact that he had more money than he could ever spend. Or that his company was thinking of buying her airline.

As they were finishing their main course, he saw her glance over at the bar and stiffen. He followed her gaze. Frank Carmondy was there, drinking what looked like neat scotch and glaring at Claire.

Max felt a wave of irritation wash over him. Really? Did the man have to mess up his first date with this beautiful woman?

“Maybe we should leave,” she said quietly.

“Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble for the people who run this hotel. They’re friends of mine.”

“Ignore him. If he chooses to make a scene it’s his business. Maybe he’ll have a drink and move on.” He smiled at her. “Here, have a bite of crab. It’s fantastic.”

“If you’re still here next April I’ll cook you fresh king crab and you’ll understand the difference.” But she still opened her mouth and let him feed her a bite.

“Well?”

“Pretty good for frozen,” she admitted.

Frank Carmondy banged his glass down on the bar and stormed over, as predictable as thunder after lightning. He came so close to their table he knocked into it and Max realized that scotch was far from his first.

“So, you fired me so you could give your boy toy my job, huh?”

Claire sent Max a sharp glance, essentially saying, “Let me handle this,” so he kept his mouth shut and his temper in control.

“Frank,” she said, “this isn’t the time or place.”

“You think you can fire me? Nobody fires me. You wouldn’t have an airline without me.”

The conversation in the dining room petered out as people turned to stare. Their waitress said something to a girl holding a water jug. She put down the water and hurried into the back, probably getting the manager. Even though Claire had told him to let her handle her ex-employee, Max found it difficult to sit still and stay out of the fray.

Carmondy slurred his words but they were loud and easy to understand. “I bet your grandmother’s real happy you turned out to be such a slut. She used—”

Max was on his feet and had hold of one of Frank’s beefy arms before he could finish the sentence.

He’d been prepared to let Claire handle the situation but he wasn’t about to let a drunk insult her. Not while she was sitting having dinner with him at his invitation. He began to drag the man toward the exit.

“Where you think you’re taking me?”

“Outside.”

“Good,” said a guy sitting with his wife at the next table. He glanced with dislike at the drunk former airline manager.

* * *

CLAIRE WASN’T THE type to swoon over a couple of guys brawling, she’d spent too long in Alaska for that, but she really didn’t appreciate being at the center of controversy.

She was annoyed with Frank for being a drunk, stupid bully. Annoyed with Max for playing the hero yet again when no one had asked him to interfere.

She was annoyed with herself for agreeing to this date. If she hadn’t, the whole embarrassing situation would have been avoided.

She sipped her wine and gazed out the window. She should simply leave, but that would only add more drama to an already overwrought situation.

So, she sat. And waited.

It was a surprisingly short time later when Max returned. He didn’t have a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his crisp white shirt.

He said, “I’m sorry for my absence. Would you like dessert?”

“No, thank you.”

He picked up his napkin and neatly spread it over his lap when he reseated himself. “You’re annoyed with me.”

“I’m annoyed with you, with Frank, with me, with my grandfather for hiring such a creep.”

“I know.”

She fiddled with the stem of her wineglass. “What he said about me—”

She’d thought his eyes were the sexiest thing about him, but now that he was smiling at her so intimately, as though they shared secrets the rest of the world could never understand, she changed her mind. His smile was his sexiest attribute. “Please. I’m not stupid. You’re a beautiful woman. He ever give you trouble?”

“He said a couple of inappropriate things. Nothing I couldn’t ignore. Why?”

“Because if he did I’d have to rethink my earlier restraint.”

A sound of frustration emerged from her throat. “You are from another century.”

“Perhaps. Please join me in dessert.”

“I never eat it. I’ll have coffee.”

“Fine.”

When they were finished and he’d shaken off her offer to buy dinner as though it were an insult, she rose. “Thank you so much for dinner,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” He walked out of the restaurant with her. She greeted people she knew as she passed, embarrassed that they’d all witnessed her encounter with Frank.

Max held the door that led to the gravel parking lot out front. And followed her through it.

She turned to him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m seeing you to your car.”

“You’re very old-fashioned.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Spruce Bay was far enough north that even at nine-thirty at night the sun hadn’t set. There was plenty of light, making it easy to see the word SLUT scrawled with a finger in the dust on the Yukon’s back window.

“Guess we need to wash the car more often,” she said, digging in her bag for a tissue. Max was ahead of her, pulling a cotton handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping off the offensive word.

He didn’t say anything, simply walked to the driver’s side, waited until she’d unlocked the car, then opened the door and held it while she got in. She’d wondered if he’d attempt to kiss her. Hoped she’d be strong enough to resist. But he didn’t. He slammed the door on her without a word.

So much for manners, she thought, putting her key in the ignition and firing up the beast.

The passenger door opened and to her shock, Max got in beside her.

She threw up both hands. “Now what are you doing?”

“Escorting you home.”

“But you’re staying at the hotel.”

“Yes. I am.”

“Max, this is ridiculous.”

“I’m old-fashioned, remember?” And then she got it. He didn’t want her going home alone in case Frank Carmondy wanted to cause more trouble than scrawling insults on her back window.

She looked at him. “You’re going to drive me nuts, aren’t you?”

His grin was both wolfish and understanding. “Probably.”

* * *

THEY WERE MOSTLY quiet on the way home. John Mayer played on the radio. The old Yukon bumped and rattled on its way back to the barn. She felt Max’s watchfulness but no drunken, crazed ex-employee jumped out at them.

She turned into the Polar Air property and all was serene.

She parked the car and turned to him, all sexy and mysterious beside her. “Well, Sir Galahad, it seems I’m home safe.”

“Good.” He began to lean toward her, slow and sure, but giving her plenty of time to pull back.

She did pull back, but not all the way. She put a hand to his chest, found it warm and muscular. “Even if I’m not your boss, we’re still coworkers. This is against company policy.”

“As I believe I mentioned, we’re not coworkers until tomorrow.”

He was so close she could see tiny black flecks in the deep brown of his irises, could smell the fresh laundry and hot male scent of him. Her lips began to open. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this attracted to a man. “And what happens tomorrow?” she asked. Her voice came out breathless.

“We’ll worry about that tomorrow,” he said, and closed the last few inches between them, covering her mouth with his own.

His kiss was hot and sweet. Demanding and restrained. Such a mass of contradictions she found herself pulling him against her, demanding more.

He didn’t need much encouragement. He plunged his hands into her hair, holding her so he could kiss her thoroughly. He licked into her mouth, teased her tongue. He tasted of the coffee they’d drunk, a hint of wine, and deeper of sexy, potent, demanding man.

A tiny cry came from her throat, part protest, part acquiescence. He was so hot. When she ran her hands over his chest and back she found that he was muscular and toned, as she’d guessed.

Seat belts were a hindrance. He snapped his free with a curse. Then reached and unsnapped hers.

He turned her toward him and let his own hands play. He didn’t grab straight for her breasts, but traced the scoop of her neckline with one fingertip. Her nipples came to life. She felt them bloom against her dress, hard and insistent.

His single fingertip, seemingly oblivious, traced her shoulder, tracked to her upper back and moved up her spine into her hairline. She shivered. How had she never known how sensitive she was in that spot?

She copied his movement, lightly dragging her index finger into the V of his open shirt, so she touched warm, warm skin and springy hair. His subtle caress reminded her of how long it had been since she’d been touched like this.

No, she realized, she’d never been touched like this.

Not with this slow abandon. This controlled madness.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone as much as I want you right now,” he said, all huskiness and passion.

“Mmmm,” she said.

“Come back to the hotel with me?”

She let her fingers play in his thick, gorgeous hair. “I can’t,” she almost wailed.

He kissed her one more time. Then broke away and pulled out his phone. “Do you know the number of a cab?”

“Take the car,” she said, feeling breathless and out of control. “Bring it back in the morning.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

She got out of the vehicle and found her legs were trembling. He came around the back and met her, reaching for her arms as though he couldn’t stop himself from touching her. “I will dream of you tonight,” he said, and kissed her; one last, lingering kiss.

As he drove away, she suspected he’d be in her dreams, too.

If she slept.


4

SPRUCE BAY WAS full of self-sufficient people who were proud of their toughness and ability to survive the harsh climate. Max discovered all of this as he strolled the town on foot, getting a feel for his home for the next while.

There were outdoor equipment stores, hunting and fishing shops as well as a Realtor, financial planners, a grocery store and a pharmacy.

He found the local rec center, where, due to the long winter, the main sports were curling, figure skating and hockey.

Needless to say, the ice rink was in perfect condition.

After some asking around, he tracked down the manager of the facility. “Hi,” he said, “I’m Max Varo. New hire at Polar Air.”

“I know who you are,” the guy said. “Heard you took care of Frank Carmondy pretty good the other night.”

Max had no idea whether this was a good or a bad thing in the other man’s opinion. “He was bothering my date,” he said.

The guy nodded. “Time somebody called him on his crap.” He held out his hand. “Ted Lowenbrau. What can I do for you?”

“I need some ice time. I’m practicing for a big tournament. Badges on Ice.”

“I’ve heard of it. We’ve sent a few teams from here over the years. They letting in pilots now? Thought you had to be a cop or a firefighter.”

“The tournament’s for emergency services, you’re right. I’m an ambulance reserve guy. I play on a team with my buddies. We really need to keep up the practicing if we have a hope of winning.” He wondered if he could fly Adam and Dylan up for a few sessions. Depending on his schedule, he might also be able to head south for the odd practice.

“What’s your schedule like? Could I rent the rink for a few hours a week?”

“Be real early in the morning or late at night.”

He nodded. “I’m used to that.”

“Give me your details. We’ll work something out.”

“Thanks.”

Max had already decided that he needed to keep up his workouts even without the Hunter Hurricanes. He figured he’d work out on his own, and if that didn’t do the trick, he’d hire some kids from a local hockey team to practice with him. They’d get free ice time and he’d get to keep up his skills and fitness level. Everyone would be happy.

In the meantime, he started flying for Polar Air, getting to know the rest of the pilots, learning about each of the five aircrafts.

And, as promised, within three days, he had a place to live right on the Polar Air site. The caretaker’s cottage was a small log cabin built of cedar. There was a bedroom, a living area, a kitchen, a bathroom with shower and a porch out front.

It looked as though it had been built in the ’50s and any updating had been minor. However, there was cable and Wi-Fi and the place came furnished. Max knew there were aspects of his own home he was going to miss, like his in-home gym, infrared sauna and top-of-the-line electronics. But he’d never been a man who needed luxury. He suspected he’d do just fine in his little cottage.

When Ted called him at the end of the week, he said, “I’ve got Tuesdays and Thursdays at 10:00 p.m. open. You get the ice for an hour.”

“That’s fantastic. Thanks.”

“There’s one other hockey player who will be on the rink at that time. I figure you can do drills together or skate around each other or something.”

“Yeah. Sure. Sounds good.” He hoped the other guy was as good as he was. Maybe they could work together, spur each other on.

Maybe even have a beer together once in a while.

* * *

MAX FELL INTO A routine over the next few weeks. There were twelve pilots altogether. The planes, a fleet of Beavers and Cessnas, serviced fishing lodges and dropped mail, supplies and parts to mining and logging operations. They also transported hunters and hikers and geologists and photographers and anybody who wanted to fly someplace in Alaska.

Lynette was often on duty at the office. But Claire made sure she was around regularly as well. Max saw how protective she was of her grandmother while trying not to let it show to anyone, least of all to Lynette.

Max was the perfect employee, efficient, respectful, always willing. Claire was wary around him, a little jumpy, he suspected because of the kisses they’d shared and the sizzle that burned the air between them whenever they were together. He wasn’t a man who would ever regret kissing a beautiful woman, but he admitted to himself that having tasted her it was impossible not to want more.

However, he knew the next move would be up to her, so he got on with his job and tried to keep his fantasies about Claire to a respectable minimum.

He liked the work. Enjoyed flying terrain he wasn’t familiar with. Liked the other pilots, though he didn’t want to get too close to them. He knew something they didn’t: that he’d likely own the company they worked for at some point in the near future. He didn’t want to earn their contempt by pretending to be one of them when it was only temporary.

He kept in touch with his assistant daily, but Varo Enterprises was running as smoothly as he’d expected it would.

And he was having fun. He loved turnarounds. Didn’t matter to him that this was a much smaller company than most he’d worked on recently. He liked being on the ground—and in the air—seeing the potential.

What he didn’t like was seeing the crease between Claire’s brows. He suspected she hadn’t known about the mortgage being called until recently. He knew that with the purchase price he had in mind for Polar Air she and her grandmother would be able to pay off the mortgages and still have enough left over for a decent life. But he didn’t want to tell her who he was. Not yet. If he decided not to buy Polar Air he didn’t want her to be disappointed.

So he kept his mouth shut and his eyes open.

He spent some of his downtime getting to know Spruce Bay. It wasn’t a big town and in a lot of ways it had let progress pull out into the fast lane and speed on by, leaving it puttering along contentedly at its own slow pace.

One thing soon became clear. He needed a vehicle if he was going to spend any time at all here. He got a ride into town with Will Runningbear, a younger pilot. “I need to buy a truck, Will. Where do you suggest?”

“You got two choices. Spruce Bay Motors if you want a new vehicle or if you want to get ripped off on a used one. Or you can go to Tough Beans and look at the notice board. Most everything gets posted there.”

“What about Craigslist?”

Will shrugged large shoulders. “You can try.”

So, Max got Will to drop him off at Tough Beans. As promised, there was a big cork notice board offering apartment rentals, jobs, massage therapists, financial planners and guys to clean out your gutters or remove snow. And there was a section where people were advertising goods for sale from property to bowling shoes. There were three trucks on offer. One was fifteen years old and so full of rust he figured it would need to be towed, not driven. The second truck was too new and shiny. Truck number three was a five-year-old F-150. Mileage looked reasonable and the condition was listed as good. He called the number on his cell phone.

Within hours he was the proud owner of a Ford truck. He drove it back to the property and parked behind the small house they’d given him.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING he walked into the office at six-thirty and headed straight for the coffee machine. Claire was already there, sitting behind one of the desks, tapping at a computer. “Morning, Claire.”

“Morning, Max.”

She rose, and walked over to stand beside him. She seemed ill at ease.

“Everything all right?”

“I don’t know. Look, I’m not one to pry into other people’s business but I’m wondering how you managed to pay cash for a truck yesterday. That’s a lot of money on a bush pilot’s salary.”

He cursed himself for a fool. Of course this was a town where gossiping was as common as breathing. He could imagine the speculation going on behind her pretty eyes. Knew he’d be doing the same if their positions were reversed.

He stirred cream into his coffee, added two sugars. Then he leaned back against the counter, took a sip of the brew. “I had some money sitting in an account.” It was true enough. “I came by that money honestly. Don’t worry, I’m not another Frank Carmondy.”

She gazed at him searchingly. “Okay.”

He felt twitchy inside. He didn’t like hiding things from Claire. He didn’t want to mislead a woman he liked, especially one who was suffering because of a crooked employee. He couldn’t raise false hopes though, not until he was sure Polar Air was a sensible acquisition for his company. And the fact that he had a crush on the owner’s granddaughter was not a sound reason to rush into this deal. Not for his management team or for himself.

She turned to go back to her computer but he felt her unease. She deserved to know more. “I’m not a poor man.” He shrugged his shoulders. “In fact, I’m pretty good with money. Okay? My family raised me to be careful. They never had any debt apart from their mortgage, which they paid off as soon as they could by hard work and saving. Those habits are hard to break. In fact, no matter how much money I had, I wouldn’t want to.”

His reward for telling her a little of the truth was seeing her relief. “Your parents sound like my grandparents. They only ever borrowed money for land and equipment. They worked so hard to build this airline.” He saw her hand clench into a fist and knew she was thinking of the man who had stolen so much of that hard-earned wealth. The man who had put the entire company’s future into jeopardy, if Leslie’s sources were to be believed.

Of course, Claire had no idea how much he already knew.

“Is it bad?” he asked gently, wanting her to trust him.

For a second he thought she might blurt it all out. There was a moment of vulnerability on her face and she opened her lips. Then, she must have reconsidered. As he watched emotions flit across her face, he was fairly certain he could tell what she was thinking. He was only a new hire, after all. They’d enjoyed dinner together and some hot, steamy kissing in the old Yukon, but could she really trust him?

She gave a firm shake of her head. “Not too bad. I promise your paycheck won’t bounce.”

A wise man would nod, make a wisecrack and back away. But he couldn’t let it go at that. He thought he understood how much the financial difficulty was hurting her. Since her grandparents and his folks obviously shared a loathing of debt he could only imagine how he’d feel if somebody swindled his mom and dad and he felt helpless to fix it.

He put his two hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. “You can trust me, Claire. That I promise.”

When she looked at him like that he wanted to pull her to him and kiss her, to tell her he was her knight in shining armor, here to save her airline, make sure there was enough money for Lynette to enjoy her retirement in comfort and for Polar Air to continue to operate with its books balanced and its reputation restored.

The moment hovered, he moved a tiny bit closer, she tilted her head in his direction. He could already taste her lips.

The bell on the door jangled, pulling them both sharply back to reality. What was he thinking? He didn’t make business decisions based on a pair of big hazel eyes and the sweetest lips he’d ever kissed. He needed to get a grip.

They both greeted Will, also headed for the coffee machine. Claire gave Max his schedule for the day. He was doing a food-and-supply drop-off for a group of hikers. He understood that she was giving him the least challenging runs until she felt confident that he could handle more.

It was a funny thing to realize he wanted to prove to her that he could handle more.

How long had it been since he’d been forced to prove himself?

Max wondered if he’d grown soft, too accustomed to having people agree with him and suck up to him because of his wealth. He suspected the experience of showing Claire and the rest of the Polar Air team that he was good enough to fly their toughest routes would be good for him.

Whatever ended up happening with Polar Air he knew one thing.

He was no longer bored.


5

WHEN TUESDAY EVENING arrived, Max pulled together his hockey bag, threw it in the back of his new truck and headed for the town rink. He was early, so he had a few minutes to watch the tail end of a figure skating class. The eight girls and two boys were at all ages and levels but he watched a few moves that impressed the hell out of him. He supposed in a town where winter dominated, ice sports were the best way to keep kids out of trouble.

After the skaters left the ice the Zamboni rolled onto the surface and he headed to the men’s change room to get suited up.

When he emerged onto the empty rink, he wondered how the Hunter Hurricanes were doing without him. He knew he was going to have to get back for a few games or he’d lose his spot on the team. Much as Dylan, Adam and he were the best front line the Hurricanes had ever had, he knew they’d replace him if he didn’t get down there regularly.

He decided right then what he needed to do, and before he could forget or change his mind, he pulled out his cell phone and sent a text to Dylan and Adam. Need you guys to come practice with me in Spruce Bay. See if you can work it into your schedules. You know you’ll never win BOI without me.

He sent the text and wondered if they’d come. Knew he had to entice them with more than a rink in Alaska. Sent a second text. Really hot women here. He thought of Claire and smiled.

He stepped onto the ice, warmed up a little and then practiced power skating. He turned to his left, turned to his right. He was stronger on his right side, could shoot much tighter.

He could buttonhook around on the right, but going to the left took thought and effort so he practiced both. He practiced crossovers. He’d start on the goal line, skate to the blue line, back to goal then past blue to center, then back to the goal line in figure eights that grew increasingly fast. He slowed down when he became aware of another person entering the rink.

He slowed and glanced up, wondering who the other guy was and if they’d be able to practice together. Then he realized it was a woman. And she was wearing a pink helmet. Ted Lowenbrau had made him think he’d be practicing with another guy.

She stilled when she saw him. He noticed her compact, curvy body and as she began coming toward him he realized it was a very familiar shape.

“Claire?” he said when she skated closer. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same question. I always practice at this time.”

“Ted Lowenbrau, the guy who runs the rink, told me I could practice Tuesdays and Thursdays. He said there’d be somebody else to do drills with. He didn’t mention it was you.”

She made a frustrated sound. “You’d think you were the only man in Spruce Bay and I was a desperate spinster,” she snapped. “In fact, there are far more men here than women. I happen to be particular, that’s all.”

Since she’d seen fit to have dinner with him and do some seriously nice kissing and fondling, he decided that this was a compliment.

* * *

SHE NEVER SHOULD have had dinner with him, Claire thought. She’d known it the moment Max asked her out, but the combination of her bad afternoon with Frank, and the chance to get to know her new impulse hire, had won out against common sense. Also, as she couldn’t help noticing, he was hot.

So, she’d dressed up and gone to dinner.

And this was the result. Guys like Ted, who’d be too busy come ice-fishing season to give her a thought, had decided to do a little matchmaking.

For all she knew, her darling grandmother had put Ted up to it.

There were times that Claire longed to live in a nice big anonymous town like New York where nine million people didn’t know your name and didn’t care about your business. No, she thought, Mumbai, that’s where she’d go. The weather was better and most of the nineteen million inhabitants didn’t speak English, making it more difficult for her neighbors to interfere in her personal life.

She adjusted her helmet.

Apparently the people of her town were right since Max hadn’t made a single attempt to get close and personal with her after that one steamy kiss—when was it, two weeks ago? She said, “Probably a prank.”

Max rested his chin on the top of his stick. Regarded her. “You any good?”

She kept her features schooled. She’d gone to college on a hockey scholarship. Been scouted for the women’s Olympic team. She could kick his ass on the ice from here to Sunday. But he didn’t have to know that.

She toggled her hand back and forth. “Not bad for a girl. You?”

“I’ve never played hockey with a woman. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She knew it was foolish of her to care that he hadn’t asked her out again or tried to increase the intimacy after that one steamy kiss. A kiss that had been so unforgettable she had trouble thinking about anything else when he was around. While he seemed to have completely forgotten the experience.

So, she was foolish. Max wanted to play it cool. That was fine by her. But here they were on a rink, which, second to sitting in a cockpit in midair, was the place she felt most at ease. Was she good enough? Hah! She decided she was going to enjoy herself.

In Moscow at an international college championship she’d shot a puck that had been clocked at 80 mph. She said, “Let’s take it slow. I’ll try to keep up.”

Normally, she shot left, but she transferred her stick to the other hand, knowing that he was the one most likely to get hurt if she didn’t watch herself.

“Sure. What do you want to practice?”

“Let’s try some passing.”

“Okay.”

They started slowly with some soft passes, then they tried passing on the move and soon they were into hard passes, back passes, open-ice passes.

He wasn’t bad, she admitted to herself as she watched him move. He had the natural grace of a born athlete, was quick on his feet, with good skills and an easy way with the stick.

In spite of herself, she was impressed.

* * *

SHE WAS GOOD for a girl, Max thought, impressed in spite of himself. She skated smoothly, as though she’d been born on skates. Which, considering she’d grown up in Spruce Bay, was probably true. She was a little tentative shooting the puck and she sometimes stopped to scan the ice as though trying to figure out where he was and where the net was, but those were things that improved with practice.

And clearly, she liked to practice.

“What are you practicing for?” he asked, when they took a quick water break.

“I like the exercise,” she said as she skated by. “And for me shooting pucks is good stress relief. You?”

“I’m part of an emergency-services league team. I need to stay in shape. We want to win the championship game this year.”

“Since when is a pilot part of emergency services?”

“I’m also a reserve ambulance attendant. Two of my oldest friends play on the same league so they let me stay.”

“Sounds like fun.” She glanced at him. “So, you’ll need time off?”

“Yeah. But it’s months away. There’s lots of time.”

At the end of an hour they were both breathing heavily. She didn’t know when it had happened but slowly she’d let go of her control and he’d matched her. Now they were both putting a little effort into the practice and she was having fun.

When the clock showed it was eleven o’clock she realized the time had flown by. Usually by the end of practice she was fighting boredom.

Not tonight.

“That was fun,” she said.

“It was. And you are a hell of a lot better than ‘not bad.’ You could beat half the guys on my team.”

“Thanks.”

He skated up until he was standing in front of her, blocking her exit. “Want to go for a beer?”

“Is that what you do with your buddies after practice?” She removed her pink helmet, gave her head a shake so her ponytail settled down her back.

“Sometimes.”

She glared up at him. “I am not your buddy.”

Little puffs of white came out of her mouth as she said the words. She was still breathing fairly hard. This was the best workout she’d had in months.

“I know. But I can’t figure out what the hell you are. My coworker? My boss? My hockey practice partner?” He shook his head. “Not what I want you to be.” His eyes seemed to caress her face and she felt warmth all around her in spite of the cold rink.

Her heart jumped stupidly. “No?”

“No.”

There was a slight buzzing sound coming from the industrial lights above them, otherwise the world was cold and silent. She said, “What do you want me to be?”

He moved closer, so smooth on the ice she’d barely noticed. “I want to be your lover.”

Even as her heart skipped a beat, she said, “You’ve got a funny way of showing it. You act like the other night never happened.”

She felt his gaze increase in intensity. “Oh, it happened. And it’s going to happen again.”

He wrapped one arm around her, pulled her closer and kissed her.

His lips were cold and he tasted of sweat, but she didn’t care. In seconds they were warm and as seductive as she remembered. A tiny sound came out of her throat and she slid forward, so close their skates touched. It had been so long since she’d felt this potent rush of want, need and passion that wouldn’t be denied. Her last relationship, with the dentist, had ended six months ago when he’d got a better offer and relocated to Minneapolis. She had missed him a little. They’d managed a few weekends together and then he’d asked her to move to be with him, and she knew then that she didn’t care enough about him to give up her life here in Spruce Bay. Frankly, she doubted she’d ever love a man enough to leave her home, her job and her family. Which made Max a tantalizingly attractive prospect.

He worked in her business, lived right on the property. Her grandmother would be thrilled.

Which was exactly why she had to be so careful.

That’s what her rational mind was thinking.

Her body was reminding her that she was a young, healthy woman and she hadn’t had sex in almost six months.

She pulled away from the sexiest mouth she had ever kissed. “I have to shower,” she said, knowing it ought to be a cold one.

Max flashed his killer grin. “Me, too. But I don’t want to let you go.”

“I’m not going far.”

He tilted his head to the side, arms still loosely wrapped around her. “Come back to my place?”

She shook her head. “Everybody in town would know by breakfast time tomorrow.”

“Then take me back to your place.”

She bit her lip, wishing she could, knowing she shouldn’t. “I can’t. The crew will figure it out right away.”

“No, they won’t. They’ll come to work in the morning and I’ll already be hard at it. They’ll think I’m a keener, a brown-noser. Not that I spent the night with you.”

She’d wanted to know that he still thought about her, still found her attractive. But now that he was suggesting a night in her bed she felt suddenly unsure.

He gazed at her evenly. “I’m not that guy, you know. The one who boasts about his conquests.”

Instinctively, she knew he was telling the truth. She shook her head. “It’s not that. I just—” She let out a breath that puffed like smoke in the cold rink. “It’s a small town. We work together. What if—”

He kissed her before she could finish the sentence. When he pulled away, he said, “What if you stop worrying so much about the future and think about enjoying the present.”

Oh, how she wanted to. She knew somehow that he’d be amazing in bed. It was the way he looked at her, as though he genuinely appreciated and enjoyed women. The way he moved, athletic and graceful. The way he kissed.

She was a young woman in her prime and she loved sex. Right now she was so hot she was grateful that the rink was cool enough to stop her from exploding on the spot.

Finally, she said, “I’m not ready.” And found, in spite of the incredibly strong attraction between them, that it was true. She wasn’t ready.

Instead of arguing, as she’d half expected him to, he said, “I understand. But, just so you know, I am so ready I can hardly stand it.”

She smiled, because she was flattered and horny and enjoying the feeling of being attracted to a man for the first time in a while.

He took off his right-hand glove, reached out and touched her face. “When you’re ready, all you have to do is lift a finger, an eyebrow, a strand of hair, and I’ll be there.”

She chuckled, thinking of all the times it got windy in Spruce Bay. “A strand of hair, huh?”

“Figuratively speaking,” he replied with dignity.

“Okay.”

“Go shower. I’ll meet you out front. At least let me walk you to your car.”

He was so old-fashioned in some ways that it made her smile. “Deal.”

As they walked out together, he said, “Any more messages from your former manager?” He glanced pointedly at the spot where the word SLUT had been scrawled on the rear window of the Yukon Max’s first night in town.

“No. But he’s asked me to meet with him.”

Max’s brows rose. “Not his lawyer?”

“No. He wants a meeting with only the two of us.”

“Where and when?” He said the words sharply and she realized that Max was being protective again.

“I’m not stupid, Max. He’s coming to the office.”

“When?”

“Look, I appreciate that you’re trying to protect me, but I’ve been managing fine on my own. I’m grown up, independent and can handle one ex-employee without having to cast myself on your big chest for help.”

Instead of taking offense, he grinned, puffed out his chest in an exaggerated fashion and said, “You noticed.”

She laughed, but still didn’t give him the information he wanted.

“Okay,” he said. “But promise me if he gets out of line or you don’t like the way he’s talking to you that you’ll call me.”

“No. I won’t. If he in any way makes me uncomfortable I’ll call the sheriff. We’ve known Frank for years.” She felt regret pull at her. Frank had been part of Polar Air almost as long as she had. She couldn’t bear the thought that he’d stolen from them or that she might have to press charges against the man who’d been as much a family friend as an employee.

“Hey,” he said, as though reading her thoughts, “I’m sure it won’t come to anything.”

“Yeah.”

“You sure you won’t change your mind?” he asked as she opened the Yukon’s door.

She wavered, looking into those dark, sexy eyes and reliving for a moment the feel of his body against hers, his mouth teasing and promising. But resolutely she shook her head.

“Rain check,” she said.


6

MAX WATCHED THE old Yukon bounce and rumble its way out of the parking lot and onto the main street.

Rain check. What kind of an expression was that anyway? All it conjured up in his mind was an image of him and Claire in a cabin somewhere. Or a loft with skylights. A tropical hut in the jungle. Someplace where the rain would pound down around them. He imagined her, naked and passionate, while water pattered on the roof and her sighs mingled with the sounds of a storm raging.

He had to shake his head to clear it. What the hell was wrong with him?

Max had been singularly lucky in his life and he knew it. He’d always liked women. Maybe because he adored his mother and even though he hadn’t always adored his bossy older sister, he still loved her. Knew she had his back as he had hers.

But the combination of his financial success at such a young age and his genuine appreciation of women had meant that he hadn’t encountered many challenges in his dealings with the opposite sex.

He met lots of women. Polished beauties who were only too happy to trade their undeniable physical assets for the more worldly assets he could provide, high-powered businesswomen who were colleagues and sometimes more. But in every case, who he was—and what he could offer—were a part of the attraction.





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