Page 12 of Close to the Edge

“You told them it was an emergency, right?”

“Yes, boss. They still need to tick their boxes. Give them a minute.”

“I don’t have a minute,” he snapped, turning toward the group.

“Seriously, they’re almost done—” Maggie started, but he was already walking away. She stopped talking, looking a little perplexed.

I frowned. “Is he always—?”

“The definition of a bull in a china shop? Surprisingly, no,” Maggie answered her own question, her voice contemplative. “Sure, he’s impatient and he wants everything done yesterday, but it takes a lot to ruffle his feathers. Although...”

“Although?” I prompted after a throb of silence, telling myself it was just mild curiosity that triggered the desire to know what made the enigmatic fixer tick. What made him give a damn and what bounced off those impressive shoulders?

Maggie’s sharp, gray-eyed gaze snapped to me. I suspected the evasive answer before she opened her mouth. “A testy client earlier tonight before he came to see you. That’s all.”

I suppressed surprisingly sharp disappointment and glanced over to where the man I’d appointed as my fixer was gesturing impatiently to the men. He stood over a head taller, easily the most striking, and the low timbre of his voice rumbled through the large space, sending a decadent shiver to my lady parts.

After a minute the officials handed over papers to the copilot.

Caleb returned and picked up the overnight bag he’d set down next to the car. “We’re clear to fly. Shall we?”

I sidestepped him when he reached for my arm, prompting another raised eyebrow I ignored. The lingering tingle between my thighs insisted touching him was a bad idea.

“Great to meet you, Maggie,” I said.

The assistant smiled. “Likewise.”

I walked up the stairs to the plane, aware that he trailed behind me. Drawn by an undeniable need, I looked over my shoulder. He’d paused with one foot on the bottom step; his eyes were fixed on me. Or rather on my ass. That insane tingle intensified between my legs.

I barely had time to step back before he was towering over me. For a handful of seconds, he stared down at me. Then his gaze flitted past me to the small cabin.

“Go grab a seat, Lily. We need to be wheels up before the stiffs out there find another reason to delay us.”

The interior of the plane was as pristine and classy as the outside. Fitted in mahogany and cream tones, the club seats were grouped into two sections, one side with a shiny table separating the seats and the other without.

I chose the seat with a table. Anything for a buffer between Caleb and myself.

He watched me slide into the window seat. He didn’t immediately sit down, even though the jet was rolling out of the hangar. Instead, he took his time to shrug off his lightweight jacket. The midnight blue shirt underneath was fitted, lovingly following a streamlined torso.

When he pivoted to hang up his jacket, the muscles in his back rippled with a sleek, edgy synergy that triggered a need to see him minus that shirt. Unlike me, he was perfectly tanned, the Californian sun having found the ideal specimen to blaze upon. Without a doubt, he would be firmly toned all over.

The urge to glide my fingers over those muscles intensified the incessant throb in my pussy.

I inhaled unsteadily, shifted my gaze and focused on securing my belt as he slid onto the seat opposite me. A moment later one arm extended toward me.

Annoyingly agitated with my skittish emotions, my head jerked up. He was unbuttoning his cuffs, casually folding back his sleeves, exposing thick, brawny arms overlaid with silky wisps of hair.

The innate grace flowing through the moment was almost hypnotic.

God. Enough.

The man was mouthwateringly attractive, granted. But I’d never lost my head or hormones like this, not even during the brief months I thought I was in love with Scott Wyatt, the man Chance planted in my life to manipulate me. Even before I found out his true motivations, Scott didn’t set me on fire with a mere look.

After he was done with his hot little arm-porn display, Caleb rested his arms on the table. “Do you want a drink?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He nodded and glanced at his watch. “It is three in the morning, and we land in about forty-five minutes. We can use the time to discuss the case, or you can get some sleep?”

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