Page 19 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

DALTON

T he next morning, I wasn’t planning to see anyone, which was why I was still shirtless in the kitchen, flipping bacon in a skillet and sipping coffee straight from the pot like the feral bachelor I was.

The living quarters were quiet. Most of the crew had either rotated out or were sleeping off last night’s trip to the bar.

I had the morning off. One of the rare quiet ones.

No fire, no simulator, no planes to fix.

It was the calm before the storm. We all knew it but no one was dumb enough to point it out.

Because as soon as someone said things were “quiet” or “slow,” shit hit the fan.

As much as I loved the adrenaline and the flying, I didn’t actually want fire to chew through forest land, killing hundreds of animals or destroying people’s properties. Quiet was just fine by me.

I was contemplating what I needed to do with my day when Janna walked in.

Barefoot, damp hair tied in a braid over one shoulder, wearing cutoff denim shorts and a loose tee that did not help my concentration one damn bit.

Fuck.

I’d had a shitty night because I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The taste of her was forever burning into my very soul. Seeing her all makeup free and natural turned my insides into a pool of molten lava. I fucking wanted her.

“Hi,” she said, walking to the cabinet to get herself a mug.

“Thought you’d be sleeping in,” I said, nodding to her as I flipped the last piece of bacon onto a plate.

“Nah. Military kid, remember? You’re burning daylight if you’re in bed five minutes after the sun rises. I was hoping to catch you before you disappeared into your antisocial hobbit cave.”

I raised a brow. “My hobbit cave?”

She grinned at that, and I hated how good it felt to make her smile. “Or wherever it is you disappear to. I thought you were too good to hang out with the rest of us amateurs.”

I let out a snort. “A lot of these guys have ten years of experience on me. I’m the amateur.”

“And we both know that’s not true.”

I turned off the burner and set the pan aside.

I could feel her eyes on me. When I glanced over, she was staring at my chest, her gaze lingering on the tattoos that covered my torso.

The hunger in her blue eyes made my cock twitch.

I had to fight the urge to cross the room and pin her against the refrigerator.

“You want some bacon?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.

“Sure.” She moved closer, close enough that I could smell her shampoo. Something clean and citrusy that made me want to bury my face in her hair. “You cook often?”

“When I’m hungry.” I grabbed another plate from the cabinet, trying to ignore the way her shorts hugged her ass. “You?”

“Besides cookies? Not really. I’m more of a takeout and frozen dinner kind of girl.” She leaned against the counter next to me, and I caught a glimpse of smooth skin where her shirt rode up. “I’m thinking I should learn. You know, for when I want to impress someone.”

The way she said it, with that teasing lilt in her voice, made my jaw clench. “Anyone in particular you’re looking to impress?”

She shrugged, but her eyes never left mine. “Maybe. Depends on whether he’s worth the effort.”

“Trust me, Princess. Any man worth impressing wouldn’t care whether you could cook.”

She tilted her head, studying me with those bright blue eyes. “No? What would he care about then?” Her eyes dropped to my crotch. The beast was stirring and she knew it.

She was playing with fire, and we both knew it. “He’d care about the way you taste when you come apart under his tongue. He’d care that you said his name. Begged him to fuck you.”

Her breath hitched and her pupils dilated.

“Dalton,” she said softly, and the way my name sounded on her lips made my control slip another notch.

“What we did yesterday,” I started, then stopped. What the hell was I supposed to say? That it was a mistake? That it couldn’t happen again? The words felt like lies even before I could speak them.

“Was incredible,” she finished for me, stepping closer. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Neither could I. I’d barely slept, replaying every sound she made, every way she responded to my touch. “Janna?—”

“I know what you’re going to say.” She moved close enough to touch, her hand coming up to rest against my chest. “That it’s complicated. That we work together. That you don’t do relationships.”

Her palm was warm against my skin, right over the tattoo of the C-130. “All of that’s true,” I said.

“Don’t add a but to that statement. Leave it alone. Eat your breakfast and then I need you to do something for me.”

I smirked. “Demanding little princess.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not that. I need a ride. I want to go see a friend. My rental was picked up yesterday so I’m wheel-less.”

I blinked. “You just got here. You already have friends?”

“Yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s how it works when you’re not a prickly Peter. When you know how to talk to people.”

I couldn’t resist and leaned in close. “Why talk when I can use my tongue for other purposes?”

She visibly shuddered. I smiled and took my plate to sit at the table.

“So, uh, was that a yes?”

“Sure,” I said. “After we eat.”

We finished breakfast, grabbed some to-go mugs of coffee, and headed out to my truck. She directed me along winding back roads, out past the edge of Hollow Gorge. It didn’t take me long to figure out where we were headed.

“Sullivan Farm?” I said. “You’re friends with Martha Sullivan?”

“Met her at the diner,” she said casually. “She mentioned something I couldn’t resist.”

We parked near a big red barn. I’d been out to the farm a few times over the years. Martha’s pies were legendary. She welcomed everyone. At the end of the season, she always put on a big feast to thank us for keeping her home and business safe.

Martha and Joe stepped out of the barn. Martha had her usual bright smile.

“I’m glad you made it,” Martha said and hugged Janna.

Joe shook my hand. “Good season so far?”

“So far,” I said. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“Ready to check it out?” Martha asked Janna.

I frowned, wondering what it was we were doing. What the hell was Janna checking out? A goat? Apple trees? Was she graduating from cookie baking to pie making?

“It’s in here,” Joe said and started walking to a different barn that looked like it might fall down any day.

I followed behind the group and of course I couldn’t stop looking at Janna’s ass in those cutoff shorts. I wasn’t sure if she wore them to tempt me. I doubted it. She was just that sexy. Not everything is about you, Dalton.

Joe pulled open the big doors. I quickly sprang into action to help him. And that’s when I saw what had gotten Janna out here. I had to shake my head. She truly was a pilot. It was the fabric of her being.

The sunlight hit a beautiful, battered, ancient biplane. Yellow paint flaking. An honest-to-God crop duster, tucked away in a barn ready to claim it. The plane had seen better days but it was still a work of art.

“Holy shit,” I muttered.

“I know ,” Janna breathed.

“We’ll be out and around,” Martha said, gesturing outside vaguely. “Let me know what you think. We might just need to junk the thing.”

“No!” Janna and I both said at the same time.

Joe and Martha laughed and walked away. They were rambling about pilots.

Janna walked around it like she was staring at an expensive piece of art in a museum. Fingers trailing reverently across the struts. Her eyes shining like she’d found the Ark of the Covenant.

“I may need to give you and this thing some alone time,” I said.

“Don’t be jealous.”

“What’s the deal?” I asked her. “Do you just randomly go around asking people if you can touch their planes?”

She gave me a dry look. “My dad used to tell us stories about planes like this,” she said.

There was a hint of reverence in her voice.

“Every night before bed, he’d pick a story.

Famous flights, dogfights, emergency landings, Amelia Earhart—he made them all sound like legends.

Obviously the Wright brothers. But there was one story that I absolutely loved.

I used to think it was just something he made up or maybe like a fairytale. ”

I crossed my arms. “What was it?”

“You ever heard of the Russian Night Witches?”

I raised a brow. “That took a turn. Are we talking goblins and vampires?”

She grinned. “No, seriously. Russian women pilots during World War II. They flew night missions in planes like these. Mostly wood and canvas. No radios, no fancy gear. They’d cut the engines and glide in low to drop bombs right on the enemy.

The Germans were terrified of them. Called them Night Witches. ”

“Huh, that’s actually pretty badass,” I said, shocked I had never heard of them before. How were there not a hundred movies about this?

“I know. My dad said they’d glide in completely silent, engines off, and the only sound the Germans would hear was the whoosh of their wings cutting through the air.

Like death itself was coming for them.” She smiled as she moved to the front of the plane and touched the propeller covered in dust. “Those women weren’t supposed to be warriors.

They were teachers, students, and factory workers.

But they climbed into these rickety planes night after night, knowing they might not come back. ”

I found myself leaning against the wing strut, completely hooked on her story. She was in awe of them and I was in awe of her.

“The thing that got me,” she continued, running her hand along the propeller, “was that they didn’t have parachutes. The planes were too small, too light. If they got shot down, that was it. But they kept flying anyway.”

“No parachutes?”

“None. And the planes were so flimsy that if they flew too fast, the wings would literally tear off. So they had to fly slow, which made them sitting ducks. But somehow, that also made them harder to hit. The German fighters would overshoot them because they couldn’t slow down enough.”

I shook my head, genuinely impressed. “That’s some serious balls.”

“Right?” Her eyes lit up. “They inspired me. If they could do that, I could fly in a plane with all the gadgets and gizmos.”

Then she suddenly gasped. “Oh my God, horsie! ”

She darted toward the open doors, where Martha was walking a large horse across the paddock. Janna jogged after them like a little kid at a petting zoo.

I followed, amused. “You okay?”

“I love horses,” she said, running her hand down the horse’s neck. “Used to ride all the time.”

“I’ve never been on one.”

She turned so fast she almost fell over. “Wait. What? You’ve never ridden a horse?”

I shrugged. “Wings over hooves, baby.”

“Oh, hell no. That cannot stand. We’re fixing that.”

“I don’t know?—”

“Nope. You’ve got the morning off, don’t you?”

I hesitated.

“Come on. Are you scared of a little horsie?” she teased.

My eyes went to the little horsie. We had very different ideas of what little meant.