He grinned at her. “Fun, isn’t it?”
“If you like defying death,” she said.
One eyebrow arched over his sunglasses, and she laughed.
“How fast are we going?”
“Little over a hundred knots.”
She did some fast math in her head. “So if we hit something, we’d die.”
“We’re not going to hit anything.”
“You know how to land this?”
His eyebrow was significantly less amused this time, but she felt her own smile growing bigger.
She was freakingflying.
And he was right. It was fun. An adrenaline rush she hadn’t expected, with the bonus of being personally chauffeured by a capable, highly trained, sexy-as-sin pilot.
He pointed out her window. “You look down, you’ll see the Flint River.”
Light danced and sparkled off a thin strip of black cutting through the patches of square and round fields.
“And straight ahead is Pickleberry Springs.”
She leaned forward and peered at the cluster of buildings and roads on the horizon. “Why do I know that town?”
“Billy Brenton’s hometown.”
“The hot country music Billy Brenton?”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“Why doyouknow about Billy Brenton’s hometown?”
“I was engaged to his biggest fan.”
A voice interrupted their conversation, and Lance talked to another pilot over the radio for a few minutes about the weather and some rough air over in Alabama.
When he was done, he glanced at her again. “Got more than enough fuel to get us to the Gulf and back. Want to see the beach?”
Her fingers twitched.
Daddy had gone down in water.
But, oh, the view from the air would be amazing.
She shook her head. “I’m good.”
He squeezed her thigh. “Doing real good.”
“Hands on the controls, please.” But when they landed, his hands would behersthe rest of the day.
The plane banked, and she yelped.
“Just turning,” he said. “Let’s go tour south Georgia.”
