Page 17 of His One True Wish

“I do.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I land planes on super small runways for a living. Trust me. I know exactly how much space is around me at all times. Passing a car on the road to Smoke River is a cakewalk.”

“You are a pilot?”

“Yep.”

She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, butstopped. Her chin raised, her wavy black hair fell just below her shoulders in soft curls. The reflecting snow outside filled the room with an ethereal blue light. Billie’s chest rose and fell, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of her skin looked like under her hoodie.

My traitorous dick pulsed. Damn. I needed a cold shower or to jack off.

“So that’s your excuse?” she said. “You had plenty of room?”

“Well, yeah.” I nodded, hands still in my pockets. “I like to think of it as more of an explanation.”

“All pilots are good drivers?”

“Yeah, well good pilots are, and I’m a good pilot. It’s like a personality trait. We take machines seriously.”

She laughed. “And women don’t?”

“Easy there,” I said, taking a step back. “Who said anything about women? I most definitely did not.” My plan to charm her by carrying her heavy bags through the snow seemed deeply flawed. Maybe playing the chivalry card was a mistake. Perhaps I needed to get her so mad she just left in a rage. Nothing else seemed to be working. I needed to try something else before she decked me, or I lost control and leaned down and kissed her beautiful mouth.

“Well, I am just surprised,” I said, shrugging. “I mean, you say you grew up here, but have you always been afraid of driving in the snow?” I was being a total dick. This had to do it. She was going to lose her shit and leave.

“I know how to drive in the snow.” She rolled her eyes. “And what do you mean, IsayI grew up here.” She did little air quotes.

I failed to kill her with kindness. It was time to test her temper.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, trying to play it off. “Maybeyoushould showmean ID. How do I know you are who you say you are?”

“Because it would be insane to just show up here and invade the kitchen.” She looked totally confused by my line of questioning.

“You are making my point for me.” I crossed my arms. Changing tactics seemed to be working. She looked irritated, and miraculously,my hard-on was retreating — a bit. Thank God. I needed to get over my fiery minx kink.

“Well, that’s fine,” she said, her words coming out like tight punches. “I’ll show you ID. You show me the lease. Deal?”

“Deal.”

She exhaled and pulled a wallet from the front pocket of her sweatshirt. She handed me her ID. In return, I reached into my back pocket and handed her the lease.

“Careful with that,” I said, handing her the paper. “That’s a legally binding document.”

“I know what a lease is,” she said, holding a hand in the air. She read it while I scanned her ID.

Billie Jane Prescott. Born December fifteenth. Her birthday wasn’t far away. She was twenty-seven years old. I knew it. I had fifteen years on her at forty-three. She was young and hot. She was five-foot-six. I called bullshit. She was barely five-foot-five. At six-four, I was almost a foot taller.

She looked up at me, her expression softening. “That is my grandmother’s signature.”

“And you are an organ donor who lies about her height.”

She rolled her eyes.

I gave her back her ID, and she handed me the lease. For a moment, we said nothing.

“I know you say you knew the ‘margin of error’ was low when you passed me.” She repeated air quotes again. It was so cute. “But you could have hurt yourself, Cam, or me tonight.” She slipped her wallet back into her hoodie. Cam lifted her head from the couch at the mention of her name.

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