Page 6 of Angel In Armani

No, it hadn’t been her dad’s fault—even the NTSB investigation agreed on that point—and he’d had no passengers in the chopper at the time. But it was a crash all the same. It wasn’t a great first impression, and she’d fought for every booking since she’d come home to run things. But couple the crash with the fact that she was operating with only one helo and she was barely covering expenses. She needed clients like Lucas. Rich, frequent fliers who needed to get somewhere fast.

Only less pretty.

Because then she could keep her eyes firmly on the prize.

She drew in a breath. Mistake. Because the air inside of the car carried a hint of whatever it was that he wore as cologne or aftershave. It was faintly spicy, a touch smoky, and seemed purposely designed as Sara-bait.

The scent made her stomach warm. Made her want to lean in and breathe deeper. Which she so wasn’t going to do.

She was quite close enough already, with only a foot or so separating them.

Lucas was focused on driving as they wound their way back from the airfield to the main road. The car might be small but it was powerful, and he steered it with a skill that spoke of confidence and familiarity. The way pilots handled a helo they’d flown a thousand times before.

Maybe he had the same car?

She tried to remember if she’d ever seen his car, but no. He’d booked his first flight through their website, and he’d never been to the small airfield where they hangared the helicopters. She’d always picked him up from a heliport.

But if she had to guess, she’d put money on the fact that he did drive something like this. Something expensive and built for speed.

He’d want a car that would get him where he wanted to go fast.

He didn’t like being delayed, that was clear from his determination to get back to the city.

The rain seemed heavier when they cleared the town and Lucas bumped the windshield wipers to speed them up. Even so, the windshield ran with water, blurring the world outside.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Sara asked. “It’s not too late to turn back. Ellen has a couple of rollaways upstairs at the terminal.” Dumb, Sara. If Lucas needed a bed for the night, he’d probably just pick up his phone and have any number of people who owned ridiculously expensive houses here willing to offer him a bed.

No doubt the females among them would be glad to share it with him.

“I mean, you could get some sleep and leave early. The storm might blow over sooner.” She had her doubts about that but hey, optimism never hurt anyone. That was what her therapist kept telling her.

Lucas glanced in her direction. “We’ll be fine.” He flashed a grin that was almost as brilliant as the lightning flickering above them. “Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

She laughed, startled. A joke? From silent but gorgeous? He’d already spoken more words to her today than in the entire time she’d known him—and now he was cracking jokes? “You did not just say that.”

“Hey, it’s a classic line. And it worked.”

“Worked?” she echoed.

“It made you laugh,” he said with another blinding smile.

He wanted to make her laugh? Why? Was he flirting with her? Dr. Gorgeous?

Surely not. She was headset hair and engine grease. He was designer tuxedos, fancy Hamptons parties, and chartered helicopter flights. It was very clear she was Not His Kind.

Damn it. She squelched the depressing thought and tried to keep herself focused on reality.

“After all,” Lucas said, “you’re meant to be keeping me awake. You can’t do that staring out the windshield.”

“I don’t want to distract you.” There was another flash of lightning as she spoke, and the rain intensified. The sound of it competed with the rumble of the car’s engine, the beat making her neck tense.

“You won’t distract me.”

He sounded confident. At least one of them was. She really didn’t like being out in storms.

She tried to think of the plus side of getting back to the city. Sleeping in her own bed. Being able to get home and get Dougal back from her neighbor early. He didn’t like storms, either. Which made for interesting times when a ninety-pound dog tried to crawl into her lap at the first rumble of thunder. Lightning flashed again, even brighter, and she ran out of ideas. Maybe Lucas Angelo wasn’t going to be distracted, but she was starting to crave a little distraction herself. So. Talking. To the gorgeous doctor. The relatively complete stranger gorgeous doctor.

She flailed for a suitable topic of conversation. Small talk wasn’t her thing. “So,” she managed eventually. “What kind of doctor are you, Dr. Angelo?”

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