Page 15 of Flying High

Chapter 6

Abbi

Goddammit! What a complete fuck-up!

The cool night air on my face as I step out of the restaurant is somehow like a bucket of cold water, reminding me of what I should’ve spent the time in the restaurant doing. I mean, as far as an evening can go, it was pleasant. We ate and laughed. We had plenty to talk about, and he was downright charming when we got to the dessert, telling me all about his aviation clients and that he has his own pilot’s license. He made it sound amazing, flying high up above the clouds, peaceful and so far away from the problems on the ground below.

But back down on earth, I completely forgot all my plans for tonight—all of the tips and tricks I was going to run past him with all of the advice and case studies I spent the afternoon working on. Maybe we could go for a quick coffee somewhere so I can fit that in?

We make it a few paces down the street toward the parking garage a block away when I turn to Dean, the question on my lips.

A loud bang up ahead startles me, and I jump, reaching for Dean’s arm. Shouting reaches my ears.

“Oh my God, was that a gunshot?” I look up ahead, where I can see movement on the street a block or two ahead.

He pulls me close against his side and pulls me after him into the mouth of an alleyway between two buildings. We drop back into the shadows, and all I can hear is our ragged breathing.

Another shot is fired, sounding louder than the one before, and I clutch his jacket as he continues to pull me along with him deeper into the shadows. I stumble, unable to see properly, and he holds me up as we make our way a few more yards before he pulls me into a recessed doorway. Dean tucks me in between his body and the corner of the door, keeping his arms around me so I don’t lean against the rough brick surface.

I do my best to control my panting breath—we should almost completely be protected from the street now. As my heart rate calms a little and my senses adjust to the darkness, I start to notice where we are. Thankfully, this alleyway doesn’t smell, which is a miracle, and there’s very little light reaching our quiet little nook.

Dean’s arms around me feel like steel bands, and he smells delicious like amaretti and smoke. How did I not notice this in the car? Damn, that’s the best cologne I’ve ever come across. His closeness is a perfect distraction from our current predicament—being stuck in the dark hiding from a gunman.

“I think we should be okay if we stay here and keep quiet,” he whispers and barely gets the words out before another shot is fired off. His arms tighten reflexively, and I burrow into him. I really don’t want to die tonight. He bends his head down so that his lips are right next to my ear, and I shiver. Is that little quiver because of the possibility of a gunshot wound or the graze of his skin?

The twin shocks of being close to a violent street fight and being wrapped in the arms of a man who smells like sex-on-a-stick are making me lightheaded. I shudder again, shifting on my feet, suddenly antsy and full of heightened awareness. My hands tighten where they grip Dean’s arms.

“We have to keep quiet.” His breath feathers across my ear. I’m so affected by his nearness that all I can do is nod dumbly.

I’m painfully conscious of his arm wound around my back, the other around my waist, pulling me against him into the shadows. I fit perfectly against his body, soft everywhere he’s hard. A completely unexpected and entirely inappropriate urge to push my breasts into him flares. What the hell is wrong with me?

There’s another bang in the distance, and we both jump.Shit!

Dean crowds me into the darkest corner of the doorway and wedges us in, protecting me completely should anyone come past. I don’t think I’d even be visible. Putting my safety first, literally covering me with his body, it’s a welcome distraction but also a very appealing quality. I feel much safer having him here.

He may not know much about dates and relationships, but protecting a woman, making me feel safe—this he knows.

I hook a hand around the back of his neck to pull him down so I can speak quietly in his ear. Thank him for the way he’s making me feel safe. His hair tickles my fingers. His skin is warm, and good Lord, he smells good. I want to keep pulling until his cheek is flush against mine. Then I want to—

A siren sounds on the street, and we both jump. A small growl sounds in his throat before he pulls away.

“Sounds like the cavalry has arrived,” he says in a gravelly voice, stepping back from me a little. “Just as well.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I frown as I step away from him and stand on the opposite side of the doorway, where dim light shines on his face. He gives me a wink and wriggles his eyebrows, which is exactly the wrong thing to say and do under the circumstances. It strikes me as so smarmy, like I was a sure thing or something. My emotions are all over the place—scared, defensive, a bit turned on—I’m feeling out of control of the situation. I don’t know if it’s the unexpectedness of what just happened, the intensity of my arousal, or the fact that a client thought I’d breach professional boundaries, but I’m irritated I felt attracted to him, and his words feel like a slap.

“I mean, this isn’t the best place to… okay, I don’t know what I mean.” He stumbles over his words, and my blood pressure rises.

“You really think something was going to happen here on the street? You think a woman you barely know has any interest in havingwhateverwith you in public or otherwise when gunshots are being fired nearby?”

He gives me a smug smile. “Yes.” A single smug word. I want to wipe the look off his face with my twitching palm.

“Wow, you have some nerve. You really are a conceited asshole. Everything isn’t about sex, Dean. Being a good lay doesn’t mean you’ll be any good in a relationship.”

”Is that where I’m going wrong? Being too good of a lay? How does one test that theory?”

Is he fucking for real?This guy needs every bit of advice on dating he can get. Sure, I might have just been sniffing his scent and momentarily thought about how good he felt against me, but there’s no need to throw it in my face. Panic slashes through my chest.Ahhh, he’s a client!

What I need is to get the hell away from him, sort out his next two dates, and get on with my life. My brain is swirling with arousal, panic, and irritation, and I can’t think straight. It’s time to pull the plug.

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