Page 104 of Mistletoe and Mayday

My skin tingles at the contact, which is ridiculous. We’ve been together for almost a year. You’d think I’d have developed some immunity to casual touches by now.

“Or perhaps,” I counter, “the CEO is planning something that involves surprising his pilot, which he should know by now is a terrible idea because his pilot has a well-documented hatred of surprises.”

Sebastian’s lips curve into that infuriating half-smile.

“Flight plan filed?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Flight plan filed, weather triple-checked, fuel calculated with generous reserves in case we encounter another storm. Orwolves. Or whatever Alaskan disaster you’ve secretly arranged for this trip.”

“Such suspicion,” he murmurs, settling back in his seat. “Can’t a man take a business trip with his favorite pilot?”

I glance up from my checklist to narrow my eyes at him. The hiking boots. The mysterious “meeting” in the exact place where our story began.

“You’re not very subtle, you know,” I tell him, despite the smile tugging at my lips.

He reaches over to adjust my captain’s hat. “I’ve never claimed subtlety as one of my strengths,” he admits. “That’s your department.”

I snort so loud it’s practically a medical event. Me, subtle? The woman who once described turbulence to terrified passengers as like being inside a washing machine filled with rocks and regret?

“Right, because I’m known for my tact and discretion,” I mutter, flipping another switch. “Tower, this is Lockhart Seven-Niner-Three requesting clearance for takeoff.”

As the tower crackles back with clearance, I catch Sebastian watching me with that look—the one that still liquefies my insides. Like I’m a complex equation he’ll never solve but will happily spend forever trying.

“Ready for Alaska?” he asks.

I nod, ignoring the swarm of butterflies that have nothing to do with flight anxiety. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Though I still think you’re up to something.”

The plane reaches cruising altitude, and I settle into the hypnotic rhythm of flight. My hands are steady on the controls, eyes scanning instruments, mind wandering to places it shouldn’t while operating an aircraft.

“You know what I was thinking about?” I say.

Sebastian glances up from his tablet. “Hmm?”

“How annoying it is that we can’t have sex on this plane.” The words tumble out.

He chokes on his water, and I feel a flush of satisfaction at catching Mr. Perfect off guard.

“I mean, being the pilot has its disadvantages,” I continue, watching his reaction from the corner of my eye. “Like, if I wasn’t flying this thing, we could christen that fancy leather couch in the back right now.”

His eyes darken, and he sets his tablet down with deliberate care. “Is that so?”

“Definitely so.” I tap the altimeter, pretending it requires my full attention. “But instead, I have to be all professional and responsible and keep us from plummeting to our deaths. Such a buzzkill.”

Sebastian shifts in his seat. “I have to admit, I hadn’t considered that particular...activity for this journey.”

“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “With that couch? And that bed? And that shower? What did you think all that stuff was for? Business meetings?”

“I believe they’re standard features of the Lockhart corporate jet,” he says, but his voice has that rough edge that tells me he’s already thinking of far more interesting activities.

“Standard features that we can’t use because someone has to fly the damn plane.” I sigh dramatically. “You should have hired another pilot. Then we could both be in the back right now, and I could show you how to make turbulence without any weather systems involved.”

“Bailey.” My name sounds like a warning and a prayer all at once.

“What?” I blink with exaggerated innocence. “I’m simply discussing the logistical challenges of aircraft operation.”

His hand lands on my thigh, warm and heavy. “You’re discussing how to drive me insane while I can’t do anything about it.”

I grin. “That too.”