Page 4 of The Pilot’s Good Girl (Praise Me Like Fire #3)

Jake

Jesus.

She’s still mad, but damn if she doesn’t wear it well.

Ruby. That’s what Danny said her name was. And now that I’m standing three feet away from her, watching her chest rise and fall with the aftershocks of her tantrum, I can’t help thinking she might be the most stunning woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

All damp golden curls and sharp brown eyes, standing there like she’s about to launch a second attack. I probably deserve it.

Hell, I definitely deserve it. I know I’m a cocky asshole at the best of times.

But I can’t stop watching her mouth when she talks. Or thinking about what that mouth might feel like doing something other than yelling.

Focus, Pearson.

I clear my throat and hold out the coffee to her again. “It’s not just a bribe. It’s an apology. I’m genuinely sorry.”

She eyes me skeptically, but the fire in her gaze cools by a degree or two.

“I misjudged the wind. That drop wasn’t supposed to land on the cars, especially not yours,” I say, keeping all traces of amusement out of my voice. “I could make up a dozen excuses, but bottom line…it shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

Apologies aren’t easy for me. I don’t throw them around. But somehow, with her, saying “I’m sorry” doesn’t feel weak. Just honest. I can only hope she sees my genuineness.

She’s quiet for a moment, but then her expression shifts. Not totally softened, but…gentler. Like she hears me. After a beat, she takes the coffee from my hand and takes a cautious sip.

Her eyes instantly light up, her lips curving into a surprised smile. “Are you kidding me? This is exactly how I take it. How did you…?”

I grin, shrugging my shoulders. “Lucky guess.”

She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. “You guessed almond milk, two sugars, extra hot with a sprinkle of cinnamon?” she asks with a scoff.

“Or maybe I asked Danny,” I reply with a smirk. “He’s got a thing for details.”

She gives me a look, half-amused, half-annoyed, and lowers herself onto the couch with a sigh. “You’re such a cocky hotshot.”

I move to sit beside her, leaving a respectful distance between us. “Hotshots are the guys on the ground,” I correct. “I’m just the guy in the sky.”

“Oh yeah?” she says, taking another sip. “So what do you do, fly in, drop a bucket of water, and disappear like Batman?”

I chuckle. “Pretty much. I fly the chopper. I’ve been doing it since the Army.”

Her expression morphs into one of awe. “You were in the army?”

“Yeah…started in combat search and rescue. Then medevac missions. Did a few years overseas, then bounced around until I found this gig.”

“That’s…intense,” she says, shaking her head.

I nod once. “Yeah. It was.”

The silence stretches just long enough for the memories to claw at my chest.

“There was this mission,” I say, pushing the words past the lump forming in my throat.

“It was supposed to be a simple—quick in and out. Two birds. I flew the lead chopper. My buddy, Tom, flew the second. Tom had just gotten news that his wife had their first baby three days prior, so we had something to look forward to. Anyway, things went south. I made it out. He didn’t.

That…” I shake my head, pushing the memories away.

“It broke something in me. I couldn’t go on. ”

She looks at me over the rim of her cup, her eyes shadowed by something I can’t quite read. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice quiet.

I nod again. That’s all I ever really want when I talk about it. Just someone to understand without trying to fix it.

She does that perfectly.

Her eyes stay on mine. Big, brown, and searching. She’s still sipping the coffee, but the edge of her stubborn anger is gone, replaced by something else. Something curious. Something soft…almost dangerous.

I take a slow breath. Then I shift closer. Just a few inches. Testing the water.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch.

Okay.

I move closer again, drawn by an invisible magnetic force. She blinks, her lips parting just slightly as a soft blush spreads across her cheeks.

My pulse picks up at the flare of interest in her eyes. I should stop. I should get up and walk out of this room like a responsible adult who doesn’t kiss strangers he nearly drowned.

But instead, I lift my hand slowly to her face, running the backs of my fingers along the soft curve under her jaw, tracing up until I feel the warmth of her lower lip beneath the pad of my thumb.

Her breath hitches. She’s backed into the corner of the couch, her legs curled up, her body strung with a tension that has nothing to do with fear or anger anymore.

Desire. Hot and flaming…that’s what it is.

“Goddamn,” I murmur. “You’re gorgeous.”

She swallows, visibly, and still doesn’t move away.

That’s all I need.

I lean down, closing the final inches between us. I’m going in slow, giving her every chance to stop me.

But she doesn’t.

I brush my lips against hers and it’s like a live wire snaps between us.

Fire.

It’s not sweet. Not tentative. The moment we connect, she melts into me with this soft sound that punches the air right out of my lungs. My hand slides into her hair, fisting gently at the back of her head, and her fingers clutch the front of my shirt, tugging like she needs me closer.

Hell, I need her even more.

I deepen the kiss, taking my time, tasting her. Slowly. Intensely. Thoroughly. Taking everything she has to offer.

She’s warm and soft, and the way she responds, lips parting, breath catching, body pressing against mine…it makes my head spin.

This isn’t just chemistry. It’s combustion. I’m playing with fire, but I don’t mind getting burned.

By the time we finally pull apart, we’re both breathing hard. Her hand is still splayed on my chest, and I wonder if she can feel the erratic beating of my heart.

What the fuck is this feeling?

“Yeah…I’m definitely getting written up for that,” I murmur, raising my eyes to hers.

She blinks up at me, lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed, and then—God help me—she grins.

My heart slams hard against my chest.

Fuck.

“A write-up, huh?” she says, sounding a little breathless. “Is that what they call it now?”

I huff a laugh, still a little drunk off her kiss. “Only if you plan on filing a complaint.”

She tilts her head like she’s actually considering it. “Hmm. I don’t know. You were technically here to apologize. Kissing me wasn’t very professional.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I mixed business and poor judgment,” I say, deadpan.

That earns me a full laugh. A soft, musical sound that slips right under my ribs and settles there.

I pull back slightly, just enough to see her clearly. Her legs are still tucked beside her on the couch, and her fingers linger near the hem of her shirt like she’s not sure what to do with herself.

I decide for her.

“Dinner,” I say quietly, looking straight into those warm, gorgeous eyes of hers. “You and me.”

“Is that a question or a statement?” she asks, raising her brows at me with a soft smile.

“A little of both,” I murmur. “Would you accept an invitation to dinner from this cocky chopper pilot who gave you an unsolicited cold shower?”

She pretends to mull it over. “Well, you’re already here, and I am hungry…” She trails off, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “But I swear, if you try to drop anything else on me, dinner’s over.”

I hold up one hand in mock solemnity. “No more aerial assaults, scout’s honor.”

She gasps. “Were you a scout too?”

“Hell no.” I smirk, rising from the couch and offering her my hand. “Army, remember? We don’t do cookies and badges. We do action and bad decisions.”

She slips her hand into mine, and it fits perfectly, small and warm.

“Shall we, ma’am?” I ask as I gently pull her to her feet.

“Yes, please,” she says as she straightens up, ducking her head to hide the blush creeping up her face. “Lead the way.”