Page 95 of Wild Card

“This is the best birthday gift anyone has ever given me.”

His lips roll together, like he’s covering an overly pleased expression. Then he presses a button, the headsets crackling to life before he speaks. “If anyone is on this channel, can you wish Gwen a happy birthday?” He sneaks a mischievous look at me before adding, “It’s her first time.”

I throw my head back and laugh, just as multiple birthday wishes come through the headset. It’s ridiculous, it’s fun, and it’s a gift I will never forget for as long as I live.

“You are…something else,” I murmur, giving him a soft shake of my head before letting my gaze drift out the window.

I knew this valley was beautiful, but there’s something about the bird’s-eye view that hits me hard. The jagged mountains’ snowcapped peaks are spectacular, and the dense forest on their lower slopes makes the sheer volume of trees seem downright impossible. With the lake sparkling at the heart of it all, like a jewel catching the sun, the entire valley is breathtaking.

Rose Hill isn’t just beautiful—it’s majestic.

“Wow,” I sigh. Because no other word seems to do this view justice. “This isbeautiful.”

“Yeah. It is,” Bash agrees.

But when I turn back to face him, he’s not looking out the window.

He’s looking at me.

CHAPTER THIRTY

BASH

I should be awarded an Olympic medal for safely navigating a plane with Gwen next to me.

She’s even more distracting than usual.

With flushed cheeks and bright eyes, she fuckingglows. And to think I had even a small part in making her look like this is the most satisfying thing in the world.

I’d fly around all day just to watch her gaze out the window in awe. That breathy little giggle she makes is music to my fucking ears. I’d sell my soul to hear that more often.

Down on the ground, all the reasons to stay away from her feel insurmountable, but up here, staring at her? They don’t feel like reasons at all.

They feel like excuses.

And I can’t figure out how I justify continuing to wear them like some suit of honor. The choice seems so simple. The stakes completely acceptable. The risk of getting hurt again entirely worth it.

I get lost in my head for the rest of the flight, while Gwen gets lost in the view. I take a couple of dips and turns, eliciting gasps, laughter, and firm squeezes to my thigh that do nothing but go straight to my dick.

Eventually, the flight changes from being relaxing to an annoying inconvenience. There’s a storm brewing inside me, and Gwen is oblivious to it.

“You ready to head back down?” I ask, my words coming out more abruptly than I intend.

She glances at me, lavender eyes wide and content as she gives me a relaxed shrug. “Sure.”

Eager to get back onto solid ground, I loop us back around to the runway, calling our arrival in. Gwen’s fingers wrap around one of the handles as we touch down smoothly, and she marvels once again.

“Damn. Should I clap now too? I’ve been on flights where everyone claps, and the landing was not nearly as seamless as that.”

“I hate when people clap on planes,” I reply, maneuvering us back toward the hangar.

Gwen laughs, brushing off my comment like it’s pure entertainment. “Of course you do. Do you ever secretly judge the flight crew when you fly commercial?”

She peppers me with questions as Greg guides us in carefully, waving me back into my spot in the hangar with safety wands.

“Oh! Actually, I have an important question.”

I cut the engine, and Greg salutes me and then heads back to the front office.