Page 1 of Angel In Armani

Chapter One

It was like having a tiger in the back of the helicopter.

The knowledge of something big and dangerous and ruthless riding behind her. Something that could squish you like a bug and not blink a big golden eye.

Of course, the man behind her had blue eyes, not golden ones. Very blue.

So maybe a tiger wasn’t the right metaphor. Maybe?—

“Got another chopper coming in about five, Sara. You getting airborne sometime soon?” The crisp tones of Ronnie, running control today, broke her train of thought. Just as well. She shook her head. Because you, Sara Charles, are being an idiot. There was no room for distraction when she was flying.

“Any second now,” she replied. She twisted in her seat to look at her passenger. “We’re ready to go, sir.” She called all her passengers sir or ma’am, unless instructed otherwise. Most did—or the regulars, at least. Not this one, though. He seemed to accept “sir” as though it were his due. Which was weird because, unless she was way off the mark, he wasn’t ex-military. And he wasn’t English royalty slumming it in New York. No, his accent was firmly American. Not that he’d spoken more than about six sentences to her in the three trips she’d flown for him so far.

Short sentences. Things like “Good morning.” And “Thank you.” His voice was deep. Cool. Controlled. His silence should have been annoying but instead it was somehow compelling. Made her want to hear more.

“I’ll have us in the air in just a minute,” she added, just in case he might break his streak and say something rash like “Great.”

He didn’t look up. He rarely looked up. He just nodded and kept his eyes on the screen of the slim silver laptop open on his lap. Focused. Intense.

His powers of concentration were clearly excellent. Even with the headsets on, it was loud in the helo, but he didn’t let anything distract him. She had to admit that there’d been the odd idle moment when she’d let herself wonder what it might be like to have all his attention focused on her. What it might be like to hold his focus and be the thing he didn’t want to be distracted from.

But that was about as likely to happen as her sprouting wings and being able to fly without a helo, so she tried to ignore the thoughts when they arose.

She did wonder where he’d learned to shut the world out, though. Maybe it came with being a doctor. She knew that much about him. He was a doctor. Dr. Lucas Angelo.

That was the name on the bookings. She didn’t know much more than that. She refused to Google a man she barely knew and wasn’t likely to. That would just be sad.

Sadder than comparing him to jungle cats?

Suppressing a sigh, she turned back to face the controls. Time to forget about tigers and get this bird in the air.

For the first few minutes, the joy of the flight took her mind away from the puzzle of the man she was flying. The city had turned on a perfect winter day. Fine. Sunny. Just enough breeze to make things interesting. Good light. Good visibility. The helo hummed under her hand, seemingly as pleased as she was to be in the air.

Away from all the problems down there on the ground. Nothing to think about but the sky and her destination for a few hours, at least.

She cut a path around the city, feeling the familiar rush as the gleaming buildings and the swath of the park slipped beneath her. Best view of Manhattan for sure. Best view in the world maybe.

Of course, Dr. Mystery back there was ignoring it as usual.

She frowned and straightened the helo now that she had her heading. She didn’t know how he could just sit there and not even look up, let alone out the window. Focus or no focus there was nothing a laptop could possibly hold that could compete with the view from up here.

Hell, most of the time the passengers were paying her for exactly that view—sightseeing flights made up a good chunk of the charter business. She loved listening to the excited voices of the tourists as they took in her city. Of course, a few of them turned green and spent the flight barfing, but those were the exception.

No barfing from her current passenger, of course.

No, he wouldn’t do anything that might risk ruining his perfectly cut suit.

Three times she’d flown him and every time, no matter where she was taking him, it had been a suit.

Deep charcoal for the time she’d taken him to the hospital in New Jersey.

A medium gray for a hop to Staten Island.

Navy with the faintest of pinstripes to JFK.

She’d liked that one. The navy and the deep-blue tie he’d worn with it had made his eyes even bluer. She’d decided he should always wear blue.

Until he’d walked into the terminal this afternoon wearing a tuxedo. Most guys looked better in a tuxedo, of course, but very few of them actually looked like they were born to wear one. It was unfair. Stark black and white shouldn’t turn a man into a god. But damn, the man’s tailor was genius.

---