Aussie Rules (5 page)

But as she already knew, the man couldn't be budged unless he chose to be. Trying to choose for him was like trying to move a two-ton bull. A damned stubborn one. “In here,” she said with another useless push, exceedingly aware of the heat and hard strength of him beneath her palms as she listened to Ernest's cart coming their way again.
Crap
.
“Hurry—”

“Why, darlin',” Bo murmured, bending his head so that his jaw brushed hers. “All you had to do was ask.”

Yeah, yeah. She followed him back into the office, watching over her shoulder to see who was looking, shutting the door to give them some privacy. “Now.” But one look at Bo had the words falling right out of her head.

He was unbuttoning his shirt.

“What are you doing?”
she asked weakly.

“You said hurry.” A wedge of sinewy, tanned skin appeared. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, exposing his chest, the defined pecs, the correlated ridges of his ribs, his belly—

“No.” She loved that spot on a man, so hard with strength yet so vulnerable, loved to put her mouth there—No.
Concentrate!
“Bo, I didn't mean—”

His hands went to the buttons on his Levi's.

Pop.

Pop.

“W-wait!” She forced her gaze up, up into his. “Seriously. I didn't mean—” But at the laughter in his eyes she trailed off, her eye twitching.
He was messing with her
. And doing a damn fine job of it, too, standing there looking like sin on a stick. She was torn between the urge to kill him and wanting, with sudden, shocking violence, to gobble him up in one bite. It was so unfair that he looked as good as he did, that he sounded so yummy with that accent, that when he smiled, he looked even better.
Where was the justice in that?
She slapped her hands over her eyes. “Get your clothes back on!”

He let out another soft laugh that had her every erogenous zone doing a tap dance. But she had great control, and she waited until she heard rustling before lowering her hands, telling herself she was relieved that he'd gotten his shirt back on. Yep, very relieved. “And whatever you do, don't be waving that deed around again!”

In the act of buttoning his shirt, he went still, then stepped close.

It was wrong, but all Mel could think about was his Levi's. And how they were still undone. She let her gaze fall to his chest, his belly, trying to see—

“Mel.”

She closed her eyes, a defense mechanism.

“Mel
.”

Reluctantly, she looked at him.

“Yeah, there you go,” he said in a tone that made her forget the Levi's and want to kick him again. “The fact is I'm here.” His eyes were determined, hair tousled, mouth half-curved, his big body far too close. “I'm staying. And because I happen to hold the deed and you do not,
I'll
be doling out the rules now.
My
rules.”

B
o had an interesting day. He had no idea what Mel told everyone before she left on her charter flight, but he kept his end of the bargain. He didn't freak anyone out by revealing the deed. At this point all he really wanted was to straighten this out with Sally.

Privately.

In any case, he was left alone to wander around the airport, in and out of the different hangars, refamiliarizing himself with how the place ran.

Just being here brought back memories; of coming here with his father, high on the purchase of the '44 Beechcraft. They'd planned on a complete renovation, then selling the RC-455 at a huge profit to start all over again.

And then Eddie had met Sally.

Sally's smile had transfixed his father into a love-struck fool, and Bo could do nothing but helplessly watch as Sally broke his father's heart so much that he'd lost concentration and driven off a bridge, plunging to his death.

Bo had been left all alone and devastated and, yeah, he'd acted impulsively by going into the military. But it had turned out to be a good thing for him. He'd gotten his business degree and had become a pilot, and by the time he'd gotten out, he'd gone from boy to man. Then the man had been destroyed all over again when he'd finally gone through his father's things and discovered Sally had done more than broken Eddie's heart.

She'd somehow conned him out of the Beechcraft and the cash, leaving nothing but the deed to the decidedly less-valuable North Beach.

Why had Eddie made that deal? What could he possibly have been thinking as he'd signed their life over? Bo didn't know, and he probably never would.

As the day went on, a few private jets came and went, but with North Beach's fuel pump down for the day, many customers bypassed the place entirely, which meant a huge loss of income.

It boggled Bo's business-oriented mind. Ernest was still working on fixing the pump, and supposedly they had another guy coming out tomorrow or the next day. Bo himself could have probably lent a hand to the efforts, but as no one had exactly welcomed him or tried to even talk to him, he figured fuck it. Sure this place was his now, but damn it, it wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was the Beechcraft his father had loved. The money would have been welcome as well.

To get either, he also needed Sally.
Where was she?

And what was pretty Mel hiding? He knew it was something, because things were not adding up. She couldn't talk to him. Odd, since he didn't have a beef with her. Though he was beginning to understand she had a beef with him.

Something else that didn't add up…

Each of the employees here was interesting, to say the least. Not a one eager to make friends.

Bo didn't care, but he'd hoped for some answers. And yet they were an incredibly tight-lipped, loyal bunch.

He'd thought he'd start with Dimi, but she threw him such a fulminating look, he just kept walking, instead trying Danny. The mechanic was quiet but steady as a rock, and knowledgeable as hell for someone with flip-flops on his feet and the surf report blaring on his radio. He warmed up a bit when Bo revealed his love for all things aircraft, but was careful not to take the bait with any of Bo's careful probing, giving nothing away of Mel or Sally or anyone here.

Bo tried again with Kellan and Ritchie in the employee break room. They were playing darts, and after awhile, seemed to forget Bo was there, which scored him all sorts of interesting but useless gossip; such as the fact that Dimi serial-dated men, and Mel rarely dated at all.

Must be that cheer and sweetness she had in spades.

Later he tried the café. Char cooked him an orgasmically good burger while singing along to an old STYX song, although singing was a debatable word. She was clearly curious about him but managed to restrain herself from answering any questions.

It was seriously starting to piss him off.

Ernest came next. He was an odd bloke who muttered to himself and spent a lot of time looking at spiderwebs, and was definitely not going to warm up to Bo enough to give him any valuable information.

A bust. The whole day had been a bust, with the exception of the one piece of knowledge he'd gained about the people here: they shared a deep, abiding, unwavering love for this place, and an even deeper one for Mel.

He told himself he didn't care. He was on a mission, and he'd only just also realized that the mission was going to have to include something he hadn't expected: clearing his father's name. Because no matter what happened, whether Bo got the Beechcraft or the money back, Eddie Black did not deserve to be remembered as a con artist, and the thought that it could happen started a slow burn in his gut. Eddie had once saved the young Bo's life, then had raised him while trying to get his own dream off the ground, and as far as Bo was concerned, Eddie had been a fucking hero, and by the time this was over, everyone else here would sure as hell know it.

 

Mel came back in the late afternoon. Bo watched as she connected with everyone there, making sure all was okay.

Like a mother cat checking on her kittens.

Actually, he thought, it was probably a lot more like a wild tigress checking on her feral cubs. She'd apparently had a long layover and had gone shopping. She'd brought Dimi some crystals. She had a book of old prints for Al, something that made him grin from ear to ear. For Char she'd bought a vintage Warrant T-shirt that made the woman squeal, her maroon hair bouncing as she ran to kiss Mel right on the lips. Kellan and Ritchie scored a new bunny calendar for the employee break room, and not the furry kind of bunny, either. Even Danny got something, a special wax for his surfboard that made him pull Mel in for a warm hug.

Bo himself got diddly squat, unless he counted the cool glances she kept throwing his way.

By six o'clock, the staff began to vacate, and by six fifteen, North Beach was a ghost town.

Bo was waiting. His plan: search the place up and down and sideways for some clues as to what Sally had done with the Beechcraft and/or the money.

A long shot, sure, but Bo had always been a gambling man. He'd already begun to check out the leased hangars on the premises. All but two were longtime rentals, and locked up tight. He'd been through the unleased two today when he'd lifted the master key from Mel's office.

Both had been empty. No worries. Somehow he'd get himself into the other twelve, but that was for another day. For now he made his way through the maintenance hangar. He was checking out the planes kept there, considering where exactly to begin snooping, when Mel found him.

She was wearing her coveralls again, unbuttoned, the arms off and tied around her waist, exposing a black tank top and a pretty pink bra strap peeking out on each shoulder. So apparently, beneath all the tough swagger and talk there was a girlie girl in there somewhere. In another time and place Bo might have tried to draw that woman out, but he was frustrated and tired, and blamed a good part of that—fair or not—on the woman staring at him.

“I'm leaving for the night,” she said evenly. “And so are you.”

“What, you don't trust me in here? Shock.” And because he'd noticed that she didn't like it, he shifted closer.

He had to hand it to her. She remained cool, except for the slight widening of her pupils, which even she couldn't control.

Or the hardening of her nipples.

Yeah, now
that
reaction he really liked.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. Stay the night for all I care, I have nothing to hide.”

“Now, see,” he murmured, running a finger over the strong line of her jaw, her skin smooth and softer than he expected, “that I doubt.”

She smacked his hand away, but not before he saw the leap in the pulse at the base of her neck.

Fascinating. Suddenly all those answers he wanted included something new—knowing more about her.

“I called my attorney about the deed,” she said. “Greg's going to check it out.”

“Good.” He considered her. “So do you always live and breathe your work, Mel? Or is there more to you than the job? You've never done anything else, right?”

“What else should I be doing?”

“I don't know. Have you looked in the mirror? Hell, you could get a job just standing there and smiling.”

She scoffed at that idea. “Don't tell me you're so sexist that you think I'd be better suited for modeling than flying.”

He was quiet a moment as the picture of her modeling—maybe modeling absolutely nothing but her birthday suit—took root. “Shit,” he finally said a little gruffly, realizing she'd said something that he'd missed. “That picture pretty much took over my brain for a sec, sorry.”

“You are disgustingly male.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“I'm so not doing this.” She stalked toward the door.

“Ah, don't go away mad.”
Just go away
. But he couldn't help the curiosity. All he'd ever seen of her had been here at North Beach. “What do you do when you're not flying? Or thinking about flying? You all work and no play, Mel?”

She pulled open the door.

“Okaaaaaay, I'll take that as a yes,” he said, mouth quirking as she threw a universal sign involving only her middle finger over her shoulder.

“Your momma know you do that?” he called after her.

“My momma taught me.”

He laughed, but arched a brow when she whirled back on him. “And what about
your
momma?” she demanded. “She know her son is the son of a con man?”

“My momma taught me,” he said softly, echoing her words. But whether Mel had meant it or not, Bo certainly did. His mother
had
taught him—she'd taught him to be quick on his feet so as to dodge the back of her hand, or whatever she had handy.

Mel stared at the door, then turned back. “Look, I'm sorry. I'm just tired.” She blew out a breath. “And maybe irritable.”

He felt his mouth twitch. “Maybe?”

Her hands went to her hips. “Trying to meet you halfway here, Black.” She had delicate purple smudges beneath her eyes, he realized, and her shoulders seemed to carry the weight of her world.

“Go home,” he said, tired of the both of them. “We can go at this again tomorrow.”

She nodded. “Night.”

“G'day, Mel.”

She left, muttering something he couldn't quite catch, something about his accent not being nearly as charming as everyone seemed to think. He followed more slowly, taking his time, his gaze searching the hangar thoroughly as he moved.

Because he couldn't stop wondering.

Where would Sally have hidden a plane? And then there was the money. Had she spent it? No way had she put it in a bank to wave a red flag to the government about her conning.

Nope, she'd stashed both. Here? He just had a feeling…or maybe that was the itch between his shoulder blades telling him he was being lied to.

Above him, the lights shifted to low. Not exactly subtle, his Mel. Apparently he was to leave now, too. He made his way back to the main hangar, just as the lights there lowered as well. Squinting through the now darkened lobby, he saw two shadows making their way to the front desk.

“I'm worried about her, she works too hard.” The soft, Southern accent was Charlene's.

“She's fine, she thrives on stress, our Mel,” Al answered.

“Well, I don't.”

“Oh, I know that, baby.” At the door now, Al stopped to nuzzle at his wife's neck, making her giggle. “I have just the thing to help you unwind.”

“Oh, no you don't. I tried to get a little at lunch, and you were too into your silly football game on the radio. You told me to hush.”

“It was baseball, and all I said was please, whenever possible, talk during the commercials.”

Char huffed but Al was persistent, and she ended up angling her head to give him better access. “Is there a game on tonight?” she drawled a little breathlessly.

“No, ma'am.”

“Well, then what are you waiting for? Take me home, big guy.”

The front door shut on Al's soft laugh.

Bo moved through the dark lobby, stopping at the sight of another shadow directly across from him.

“Looking for something?” Mel asked in that low, slightly husky voice that always, however inappropriately, brought to mind hot sex.

“You know I am.”

“But I still don't know what.”

“Sally,” he said. “I'm looking for Sally.”

“She's—”

“Not here. I know. Thanks.”

“Yeah.” She studied him a moment, then pulled out her keys, started toward the door.

“Char's right,” he said. “You're stressed.”