Page 8 of Fly Boy
Okay, maybe I’m more like Teddy than I thought.
Pressing a button that operates the door and the stairs, they start to lift, the sound almost futuristic until it bumps softly into place. Phillipa peers at me from over her shoulder and thenheaves her other bags onto the seat in front of her. Only the handle catches the armrest, tugging it until the zipper bursts and a single skate falls out.
“Shit,” she mutters, leaning down to get it, but I’m faster.
Darting forward, I lift the bright pink boot with a light pink guard along the blade, and stand, turning it over in my hand and running my finger along a crown decal with sparkly stars surrounding it. The skate is covered with different styles and designs of tiaras—some gold, others silver, but nearly all have a shade of pink.
“I can only imagine what these look like on.” I freeze, suddenly very aware of how that sounds. Phillipa edges forward, her expression filled with something I don’t like and like far too much, all at the same time.
“Oh really?” She plucks the skate out of my hands, the flimsy piece of plastic falling off the blade and landing on the floor. “I didn’t realize you wanted to watch me skate, Wyatt. All you had to do was ask, and I’d happily give you a private show. Although you might be disappointed when I don’t wear my childhood skates.” She assesses the boot. “But if it’s the tiara’s you’re into, maybe I could find them in an adult size.”
The way she’s looking at me is dangerous. Our vast height difference forces her head back and her eyes gleam with intrigue, cunning, something unmistakable but so incredibly forbidden, it makes me want to throw the rule book I’ve followed for years out of the window.
I pride myself on professionalism. I was at the top of my class at Skyward Aviation. I worked for the worst boss alive for over a decade without a single complaint before being headhunted by Mr. Cartwright. I never put one foot out of line. Passed what was essentially a two-month probation period, flying the boss whenever and wherever he wanted before transitioning to the role I was hired to do.
Take over from the previous pilot, who was retiring from Phillipa’s grueling schedule.
Only I didn’t expect who walked on board my plane four months ago—the attractive, sassy, young daughter of my boss—a temptation I never anticipated.
I try to create as much distance between us as the small cabin of the plane will allow and drop down again to pick up the guard. Holding it out for her, I square my shoulders and school my face. “Sorry, Miss Cartwright, I did not mean for that to sound the way it did.”
Once she's taken it from me, I clasp my hands behind my back, but there’s that glint in her eyes again—the same one that I swear I’m seeing more frequently. An awareness like she knows she’s playing with fire. And enjoys it.
The amusement travels to her lips as a smile slowly takes over her face.
“No harm done.” She runs a finger over the guard. “But just so you know, the offer still stands.”
An offer I’d be stupid to cash in.
Without another word, she tosses her hair and spins back to the bag, returning the skate before zipping it up.
I tug on the ends of my sleeves, straightening my shirt and adjusting the cufflinks her father gave me on my first day. The polished silver is a cold reminder of my position, the responsibility and trust given by Mr. Cartwright to fly his daughter. A silent warning that if I don’t want to end up on my ass working for someone like my old boss again, I need to be more careful.
“If you’re ready to take your seat, Miss Cartwright.”
Dropping into the nearest chair, she crosses one long, slender leg over the other, catching her lower lip between her teeth.
“Wyatt, how many times do I need to tell you to call me Pippa?” she asks, the undertone of her question flirtatious. Andeven though I’ve already warned myself, it doesn’t stop my blood from heating. Here she is, nibbling on her bottom lip in a way I usually find obnoxious, sinking her teeth into the plump softness, rolling it slowly out of their grasp. It’s somehow different with her.
If we weren’t who we were, I would be ecstatic with how she acts around me. Any man my age would be flattered if a hot twenty-something flirted with them, especially a girl like Phillipa.
I can’t be like any other man.
Just as I think that, she threads a hand into her hair, brushing it back from her face, and I can’t help but picture my own fingers entwined in those locks. She smirks, almost like she can see into my mind, and I’m snapped out of the fantasy, the thought disappearing as quickly as it came. I’m nearly twenty years older than her; I shouldn’t be having these inconvenient, unprofessional, lusting thoughts about her.
Maybe a sex hiatus is a bad idea. Maybe I need to go out and get laid as many times as I can to stop thinking these things about her.
It didn’t help in the past. What makes you think it would help now?
Either way, I need to retreat to the safety of the flight deck and do the job I’m here to do.
Unclasping my hands from behind my back, I clear my throat. “If you’re ready, we’ll be airborne in fifteen minutes, Miss Cartwright. The weather looks good, so flight time should be roughly three hours with a tailwind, landing in Westchester at seven-thirty this evening.”
Her lips purse together as something about her changes. A dark cloud that’s suddenly rolled in, threatening a storm. Maybe she doesn’t like my sudden dismissal, or perhaps she doesn’t like that I won’t give her the attention I’m sure she’s used togetting because of the weight behind her name or because she’s a professional athlete.
She twists in her chair to look out the window, her attention fixed outside, so I glance through the one behind her, watching as a commercial plane is pushed back by a little tractor.
“Will my dad be at the airstrip when we land?”
