Aussie Rules (20 page)

“Why don't you
actually
say then?”

She paused, but knew she had to tell him everything. “I don't know where she is.”

“So you've said. Now say more.”

“I planned on telling you,” she said. “I told Dimi I was going to tell you.”

“So tell already.”

“She used to call in every month or so. But it's been awhile, and when I called her, she didn't get back to me.” She grimaced. “And…”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “And…?”

“And now her cell phone has been disconnected.”

“So you've lost touch completely,” he said flatly. “That's convenient.”

“But true.”

He sighed, and she knew he was frustrated as hell. “And you're getting e-mails, vaguely threatening e-mails.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

Tension radiated off him in waves. “From Sally?”

“I don't know.”

Disbelief flashed in those jade eyes. Disbelief that she'd allowed this, that he couldn't do anything about it. “And you didn't feel the need to mention any of this sooner—why?”

Mel chewed on her lip.

“Mel.”

“Because I didn't trust you.”

He stared at her. “Jesus.” He surged to his feet, shoved his fingers through his hair, and turned in a slow circle. “I have no idea why that hurts.” He swore softly, then shook his head. Turning, he headed toward the door.

She leapt to her feet. “Bo, wait.”

“Can't,” he said curtly.

“But you said you'd found something else.”

He laughed a little harshly. “That I did. But I don't think I'll be sharing it.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You're not going to tell me?”

“Give the girl an
A.”

“I want to hear it, Bo.”

“I bet you do. But it seems we were playing truth or dare all along, and I've just joined the game. I pick dare.”

“I wanted to tell you sooner,” she murmured. “But—”

“Too late.” When he looked at her, all of his hunger and desire was gone, replaced by the same mocking amusement she'd seen in the beginning. “I keep forgetting, I'm on my own.”

He shut the door quietly behind him.

Mel stared at the wood, her throat tight, her pulse points still randomly jumping from the amazing sex.

The most amazing sex in her entire life.

“Happy birthday to me,” she whispered, and the words echoed around her mockingly.

B
o stalked through the airport the next morning, cultivating what some might call a bad attitude. Yeah, he'd gotten off last night, and yeah, that should have mellowed him, but she'd been holding back on him, his Mel. Why that was surprising, he had no idea, but the opposite of mellow had happened. He was looking for trouble now and he knew it, but he'd wasted nearly two weeks doing what he'd said he wouldn't.

Trusting.

His gut—and more computer research—told him Sally wasn't coming back, that the money and plane were long gone, and if that was the case, then there was really nothing to be done except for taking over North Beach, fixing it up so that he could sell, and getting the hell out of Dodge.

He thought of how Mel would react to that, how hurt and destroyed she'd be, and he ruthlessly shoved it aside because he didn't care. She had the lease he'd foolishly given her, she'd be fine. Everyone else, if they were good at their jobs, would be fine, too.

But from the far end of the lobby came Mel's voice, and just like that, heat flooded through his body, pooling between his thighs, pissing him off because she'd gotten under his skin.

“I can assure the both of you,” she was saying, “that two pilots are not needed for this flight.”

Bo came around the corner to see her facing a man and a woman, both dressed like a million bucks, looking out at a Lear Jet on the tarmac. “I've flown from here to San Francisco hundreds of times,” Mel said to them. “It's a simple, pleasurable trip.”

The couple were already shaking their heads. They were in their fifties, and judging from the sheer brilliance of the woman's bling alone, they were big money. New money.

“Our usual jet has
two
pilots,” the woman said. “Plus a flight attendant to see to our needs.”

Mel stood there in her leather bomber jacket and black pilot pants that showed off her long, lean, tough length, pride warring with tact. “I understand your usual charter service is down, which is what brought you here. But Anderson Air doesn't provide the same sort of service as Diamond Skies, and as a result, we're far more affordable. Now if I could just board you—”

“We don't care about the cost,” the man said. “I'm going to have to insist on another pilot on board.”

Mel's pleasant expression didn't change but she was insulted. Bo could tell by the little pucker between her eyebrows, and the way her smile went just a little tight. Oh, and the smoke coming out her ears was a sign, too. God, she was so uptight she probably squeaked when she walked, and so unbelievably sexy while she was at it. It was a first for him, wanting a woman that he also wanted to strangle.

“Honestly,” she said. “Another pilot would just add unnecessary expense—”

“Expense is not a problem. We're just flying into the city for a business meeting and turning right around. We'd make it worth your while.”

This did not cheer Mel up one bit. She was in a bind, and there was only one way out.

Another pilot. She looked over at Bo, her face inscrutable, her body, the one he'd had just the night before, tense enough to shatter.

He knew how to banish that tenseness now, he knew just how to touch her. Knew a helluva lot more about her than she was comfortable with, he was quite certain.

She needed him. Differently than last night, when she'd needed him buried deep inside her so that there was no way to tell where he ended and she'd begun, when she'd needed him so badly she'd left fingerprints on his ass and a bite mark on his shoulder, but need was need.

And suddenly, it felt good to be him. “Need help?” he asked, a little more cheerful.

The look on her face was priceless. He'd just put her in a position of having to ask. She'd hate that, of course, which made him even more cheerful than strictly called for.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hutton,” she said, shoulders rigid. “This is Bo Black.” She looked at Bo. “Can you fly with us today?” she asked, barely opening the mouth that just last night had brought him to such heights of pleasure he'd nearly blacked out.

“Hmmm…Can I fly with you today?” He pulled his PDA out of his pocket and made a show of checking it. “Just so happens I'm free.”

Mel's eyes were sheer glaciers by now. Oh, she hated this. She didn't want him here, didn't want his help.

But he
was
here, and available. And, as it happened, he owned the place. That made him the boss. He liked that, too, he decided. He liked that a lot.

“Are you a pilot?” Mr. Hutton asked Bo.

Bo purposely looked away from Mel. “That I am,” he said happily. “Been flying since before I could drive.”

Mr. Hutton nodded. “You'll do.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“You're Australian.” Mrs. Hutton smiled warmly. “Your accent is lovely.”

Bo smiled.

Mel's teeth gnashed together.

Mr. Hutton took Mrs. Hutton's arm. “We'll be onboard, waiting.”

Mel waited until they'd walked onto the tarmac. “I didn't need you or your ‘lovely accent' to interfere.”

“Sure? Because I think the bloke was about to cancel on you.”

She crossed her arms. “That would have been fine.”

“You need the income.”

“Nice of you to concern yourself, but you needn't.”

“Actually, I do.”

Her eyes were flashing, her body practically vibrating with temper. “And how's that?”

“See, Anderson Air is a client of North Beach. I am now North Beach. Your success is my success. Get it?”

“I thought all you wanted was your money back.”

“Right. But that isn't happening, is it?” He clucked her beneath her tilted chin. “I've moved on to plan
B.”

Her eyes narrowed, her mouth opened—to blast him, he was quite certain—but he set a finger against her lips. “Fight me on this,” he said softly, “and trust me, you won't like plan
B
very much.”

Then, content with the unexpected change in both the day and his luck, he started to whistle as he walked onto the tarmac.

 

Mel watched him swagger out and took a deep breath, then glanced over at Dimi, who'd been sitting behind her desk but had come to a shocked stand.

“You're not going to let him do this,” Dimi said, clearly shaken.

Mel watched through the window as Bo shook hands with the Huttons, clearly having a lovely chat. Tall, rugged and rangy even from a distance, he understandably appealed to their clients. It was hard to tear her eyes off him. With his hair just on the wrong side of his last haircut, and that dangerous smile, he pretty much screamed, “let me break your heart.”

As she watched, he lowered his sunglasses over his eyes and turned toward the window, his face drawn with exhaustion but still sexy as hell, damn him, somehow seeming as if he purposely wanted to remind her of last night.

As if she could forget what it'd felt like to be with him, his hands stripping her clothes off while his mouth glided over her flesh. God. Even now, even in the light of day, she wanted him to start all over again at the beginning.

What was wrong with her?

And then the bastard smiled.

In spite of everything, her stomach tightened, her heart took a little trip. “Face it, Dimi,” she grated out, eyes still locked on Bo. “It's beyond our control.” He was beyond her control, and really, when it came right down to it, that's what bothered her the most. “Sally saw to that when she signed the deed over.”

“She didn't have a choice,” Dimi maintained. “Somehow I know it.”

Mel sighed. “There's always a choice.”

Dimi slowly shook her head. “Mel, Sally loved—
loves
—us. She wouldn't just do this without a word.”

“But she did.”

Dimi stared at her, hurt and frustrated, but before either could say a word, Ernest came in and slapped a jar down on the desk.

Yet another spider wriggled its legs at them.

Both Dimi and Mel gasped and shrank back against each other.

“A daddy longlegs, and he's harmless,” Ernest said. “Harmless, you big babies. Plus he eats the bad guys.” He waggled a finger in Mel's face. “He's one of the good guys, and if I'd cleaned the closets out like you'd wanted, missy, I'd have ended up killing him.”

“Um, maybe you could take him outside. Where there are no closets at all.”

“I plan to.” He snatched up the jar. “Your e-mail problem?”

Mel turned a wary gaze on him. “Yeah?”

“Spam mail. Can't trace it to one person.”

It'd taken him long enough. “Okay. Thanks.”

“That was the good news.”

She blinked. “And the bad?”

“This morning? I was the first in.” He slapped an envelope down on the counter. It had MEL typed across the front, and had been opened. “This was taped to the front door.”

Mel slid out the piece of paper. It read:
I warned you
.

She eyed Ernest. “Why was the envelope opened?”

“Because I opened it.”

She felt a muscle beneath her eye begin to twitch. “I realize that. But it's addressed to me.”

“Maybe it was important,” he said. “Maybe it was
from
you.”

“It says Mel. Implying it's
to
me.”

His gaze cut to the damning evidence, then he hitched a bony shoulder. “I've got work.”

When he'd walked away Mel stared in disbelief at Dimi.

“Forget him, call the police,” Dimi said, and shuddered at the spider. “I wish he'd have taken that thing—”

Ernest came back, and snatched the jar.

Dimi let out a breath. When he left again, Mel stared down at the note. “Yeah. Probably the police is a good idea.” She handed the note to Dimi. “See anything unusual about this?”

“It's got our logo on it.” Dimi looked down at the paper. “I ordered this paper from Staples. These pads are everywhere inside this place—” She froze.
“Oh my God.”

“Yeah.” Mel felt vaguely ill. “It was written from inside the airport.”

“Mel. A little freaked out here.”

“Join the club.” Mel had always been so sure she'd known what had happened with Sally, that Eddie had come along and swindled Sally out of her money, and also the deed to North Beach. That Sally had gone after him, and had destroyed her love for her life here in the process.

But now her disappearance signified something else, at least to Mel, and it hurt to think the things she was thinking. “Okay, I've got to go.”

“Let me just cancel your flight,” Dimi said. “And then we'll—”

“I'm not going to cancel my flight.”

“You're going to fly? With
him?”

“The note didn't come from him.” Mel strode toward the tarmac door. “As for the flight, it's on the schedule. It's mine, and I don't cancel.”

“Mel—”

“Not canceling,” she called back, her gaze on the tall, gorgeous, enigmatic man on the tarmac waiting for her. “I need the money.”

“I think it's more than that.”

Mel turned back and faced Dimi's pale, horrified expression. “What more?”

“Face it, Mel. You're falling for him.”

Mel's heart tripped, giving her away, at least to herself. “I'll be on the radio.”

And she strode out the door.

 

“I realize we've put a moratorium on trusting each other,” Mel said to Bo shortly after takeoff.

Bo took his gaze off the horizon and eyed the woman who until now had pretended he wasn't on the same flight with her.

She looked away, down at the pristine wilderness of the Channel Islands beneath them, a rugged chain about twenty-five miles offshore to her left, shimmering on the horizon. “But there's, um, something you should know,” she said.

Her aviator sunglasses blocked her eyes from him, leaving him little clue as to what she was thinking. “What is that?”

“About the two e-mails.”

“You found out who they're from?”

“No.” She licked her lips. Checked her altitude even though they were perfect. “But it was three e-mails.”

“Three.”

“And I also got two letters. One in the mail, one taped to the front door of the airport this morning. It said, and I quote, ‘I warned you.'”

Bo stared at her, a barrage of emotions hitting him like a one-two punch. Renewed fury that she'd been threatened at all, frustration that she hadn't seen fit to tell him, and a fear for her safety that felt a little too huge for his own comfort. “Did you call the police?”