CHAPTER 1
Declan
There’s nothing better than hot pussy at thirty-seven thousand feet.
To be clear, I’m a fan of hot pussy at any altitude.But life is never sweeter than when I’m cruising above the clouds with my jet’s GPS engaged, the autopilot tracking, the engine humming, and a beautiful woman moaning as I plunge deep inside her.
Nothing else even comes close.
I glance at the woman in the copilot chair next to me and sigh with resignation.That kind of crazy shit is behind me.No more mid-flight juicy snacks for this guy—I’ve got way too much on the line these days.I can’t afford to be caught with my pants down during a frequency changeover radio check from the tower.
Again.
I’d rather keep my pilot’s license.
This means that hot pussy will have to wait until we land in Maui, in about four hours and two minutes.That’s if the weather remains clear and the headwinds stay steady, or about eleven a.m., Hawaii time.
Bryttni swings her long, strawberry-blond hair behind her shoulder and leans forward in her low-cut top.I watch as she examines the high-res LCD screens of the main control panel.
Her shiny lips open as she concentrates.Then she looks out the window at the choppy surface of the Pacific Ocean and back to the control panel.
“So many lights and buttons!”Bryttni straightens in the chair and frowns at me.She has a spectacular cleavage.I think I see the outline of a nipple.“How do you even know which knobs do which kind of thing?Or what colors mean good news and what mean bad news?Do you ever get totally confused?”
I’ve just been reminded why I need to get Bryttni naked and distracted.It’s that voice.Bryttni’s a very nice young woman.She seems legitimately kind.But when the girl speaks…
It’s painful.Like someone’s just jabbed a letter opener through my ear canal and into my brain stem.Her voice is a cross between a screech owl and a catfight.The sound skitters up my back and makes me shudder.
Chatting through our cockpit headsets only adds to the nails-on-chalkboard effect.
But I grin at her.She grins back.
So, I decide to forget about her voice and focus on more important things.Like her double Ds, the legs that go on for days, and ass cheeks that could pop a champagne cork.Her face is cute, too.And her smile’s sincere.
“I realize we’re just starting to get to know one another,” I tell Bryttni, wiggling a raised eyebrow.“But rest assured that I’m an expert with buttons and knobs, highly skilled in understanding what each one does and how to turn it on.And I plan to go above and beyond so that only good-news lights flash for you and me—over and over and over again—if you’re up for it.”
Her mouth slackens again.I can almost see the cogs of her brain spin as she tries to decide what I mean by all that.Bryttni isn’t the quickest plane on the tarmac, but I can look past this, too.She’s a twenty-something hottie I met in an ice cream shop in Reno.She gave me a free scoop of rocky road.
I gave her my number.Within minutes we were planning this trip.She’s a woman after my own heart.
She slaps my arm.“Buttons!Ha, ha!Funny!”
She squirms in her seat and giggles for a solid two minutes.I must admit that her laugh is way better than her voice.Less cat-adjacent.And when she comes up for air, she bats her fake eyelashes at me, puckers her lips, and then asks, “Want to know what I think?”
“Absolutely.”
“I think you’re a very, very bad boy, Declan McCall.And I love bad boys.Are you a bad boy?”
Unfortunately, what should have been some top-shelf sexy banter just hit my auditory nerve endings like a sledgehammer.Plus, my name is MacLaine, not McCall, but I refuse to ruin this vibe.So I nod and say, “Bad to the bone, babe.”
That sets her off giggling again.
At least I know where we stand and where we’ll be gettin’ this party started.A woman after my own heart, indeed.
Maybe Bryttni and I are meant to be.I’ve always preferred women who prefer bad boys.It’s what I am, what I’ve always been, and what I’ll forever be.
I’m damn good at bad.
We’re continuing our southwest heading at thirty-seven thousand feet with a speed of four hundred knots when the radio crackles to life.I hear my call sign, Phenom six-niner-Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot.The Oakland Center controller gives me updated vectors due to air traffic detected on radar.
