Starfire (Erotic Romance) (Peaches Monroe) (16 page)

He held the door of the car open for me. “I’m not feeling harassed, but I will decline your offer.”

“That’s good, because I’m already engaged to someone else, as you may know.”

“Someone with smoldering green eyes?”

I began to giggle uncontrollably as I slipped into the back seat.

Vern gave me a knowing look and circled around to the driver’s seat.

I sipped my mocha quietly on the drive out to the tip of Dragonfly Lake, where we drove past the cabin Dalton was renovating, to a dock with a float plane.

“Mr. Deangelo is meeting us there,” Vern explained when he saw me looking around.

I approached the plane cautiously, the suitcase I’d borrowed from Shayla making loud noises on the wooden dock as it rolled.

“He’s meeting us in LA?” I asked.

“No, San Francisco.”

“Why not LA? Wouldn’t that be a better location for all the press?”

“His favorite wedding gown designer is in San Francisco. The first fittings are today, and there are other plans for Sunday.”

I stopped and looked up at the blue sky. “Vern, I can be dense sometimes, but are you saying the wedding isn’t this weekend?”

He laughed. “This weekend? That would be preposterous. We haven’t even discussed the dinner menu.”

“Why did I think anything with Dalton Deangelo could be simple and quick?” I held up my hand. “Don’t answer. That’s a rhetorical question.”

Vern swung open the door of the small plane and took my suitcase as I stepped up into the vessel. As he got my luggage stowed away and pointed out the safety features of the small, private plane, I tried to maintain a neutral expression.

We stood together in the center of the plane, which was even tinier than Dalton’s Airstream trailer inside. What was it about that man and his little tin cans?

Vern pointed out the fire extinguisher and other things I hoped to never use.

I wondered what Shayla was doing back at the house. She was probably still in bed, the lucky girl. I’d popped my head into her room that morning to let her know I was heading out of town with Dalton. She sat up, stared straight at me, and asked me to bring back fancy cheese.

Fancy cheese.

It had seemed like such an odd request that I’d asked if she was sleep-talking and asked her to solve a simple math problem. She got the answer wrong, but I agreed to her request all the same.

When Vern was finished talking about “unlikely events,” I pulled out my phone and asked if I could text while we were flying.

“Only if you want me to leave you up there,” he said, pointing to the sky beyond the curved ceiling of the plane.

“You’re bad, Vern.”

“Just a little pilot humor.”

“Why do you look so happy? I thought you quit being a commercial pilot because you didn’t like it.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the pilot’s chair with fondness. “I love flying, but you can have too much of a good thing when you’re doing multiple flights every day. This, however, is puddle hopping, and puddle hopping is fun! Now, pick a seat.”

I chose a chair and buckled my seat belt as he watched. I wriggled in the seat, which was a little tight for my body, but not bad.

He continued, “I was in the air too much, but a few trips a week is wonderful. Do you know what I mean? With too much of something you love?”

“I may have reached that point myself, talking to customers about books.”

“Are you tired of the books, or the customers?”

“Mostly the repetition.”

He laughed. “So, you mean the customers, but you don’t want to sound rude. It’s okay, I understand.”

“Oh, I love the customers, usually, but the novelty wears off when you’re giving these little prepared speeches:
Yes, it’s too bad there’s no more Oprah’s book club. Yes, it’s a shame more people aren’t reading these days, but you’re here in a bookstore now, so why don’t we have a look?
And so on, and so on.” I put my hands up to my neck and pretended to strangle myself.

“You’ll have to find something new to occupy your days in LA, when you move in with Mr. Deangelo.”

“Move in…?”

Vern winked at me. “One step at a time, Miss Monroe.”

He moved back toward the cockpit again, asking if I was ready to fly. I gave him two thumbs up and a big grin.

Off we went.

Taking off from a lake was certainly interesting. The acceleration feels not unlike being on a regular runway, once you get going. Soaring up over lush trees was terrifying yet magical, over the roar of the engine. I was so struck by the beauty of the surrounding countryside, plus the miracle of flight, that a pair of fat, wet tears ran down my cheeks.

The plane had six passenger seats, and I’d picked the middle one on the right-hand side without any deliberation. Now that we were soaring, I realized it was my usual position when going on outings with my family. For a moment, I imagined my parents in the front row and Kyle beside me. They would love this.
What was I thinking?
I should have invited them along… except it would have meant explaining everything to them.

My father would make that judgmental face and say that a fake wedding was so like me, because I was “prone to whimsy.” My mother would probably ask a million intrusive questions and try to pimp me to Dalton for more money and jewelry. Kyle would run around and try to press buttons in the cockpit.

I shuddered at the thought. Maybe it was for the best I made this first trip without them.

~

The flight was just under three hours, and we landed at a private air strip outside San Francisco. I’d snoozed for most of the trip and kicked myself for missing all the scenery.

Vern had spoken to me over the intercom to assure me that the plane had wheels that popped out of the floats, so we were safe to land on a regular runway.

“I knew that,” I said. (I hadn’t known that.)

The engine roared as we descended.

Vern set the plane down like a sleeping baby in a cradle. I shit you not, the man knew how to land a plane. Whatever Dalton was paying him, it wasn’t enough.

We stepped out of the plane and our feet clanged on the way down the metal steps. As soon as we touched solid ground, I turned and hugged Vern, hard.

“You’ll get used to the jet-setting lifestyle,” he said, patting my back. “You’re doing great. Sometimes I forget you’re only twenty-two, because you seem so capable. It’s perfectly acceptable to be scared sometimes.”

We were standing at the edge of the airstrip, and the California sun wasn’t nearly as warm as I’d expected. In fact, the weather outside San Francisco seemed cooler than when we’d left, which had been early in the morning and lakeside in Washington.

I reached down and unzipped my bag to retrieve a fleece hoodie. I didn’t like the idea of covering up my best assets before seeing Dalton, but I didn’t like freezing my nips off, either.

“Sorry I didn’t prepare you for the weather,” Vern said. “California is a big state, and San Francisco is much cooler than LA. I understand sweaters are the most popular items at the souvenir shops.”

“This Washington girl knows how to layer, so don’t you worry.”

“You do seem very capable, but don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.”

I stared up at Vern’s kind face.

“I feel like a bull in a china shop,” I confessed. “The china shop is my life in this metaphor.”

“Everyone gets emotional after a flight. We’ll get some nice lunch in you and everything will be fine.” He looked over my shoulder at an approaching vehicle—a boxy, black Range Rover. “Here comes Mr. Deangelo. He seems late, but he isn’t. If you must know, I wore my lucky socks today, so we arrived ten minutes early.”

“Your socks make you fly faster?”

“More pilot humor.”

The vehicle pulled to a stop and the engine turned off. I didn’t have much time before Dalton was with us.

I grabbed Vern’s arm and stared up into his eyes. “Vern, level with me. Does Mr. Deangelo love me?”

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation.

“Why doesn’t he say it to me?”

“Why don’t you say it to him?”

I grabbed a handful of my hair and twirled it with one hand. “Did he really tell you that he loves me?”

“Not in so many words.”

“He needs to hire a screenwriter for his life.”

“Miss Monroe, there’s a reason greeting cards have words written inside them.” He raised his eyebrows to stress the importance of what he was saying. “Actions are certainly more important than words.”

Dalton approached, cutting our private conversation short.

CHAPTER 16

“How was the flight?” Dalton asked as he approached. “Did Vern do any fancy loop-de-loops?”

Vern grinned and pointed his thumb back toward the plane. “This plane isn’t rated for loop-de-loops, sir. Maybe the next one.”

Dalton came to a stop in front of me and took off his mirrored sunglasses, his green eyes brilliant as emeralds in the daylight. Sometimes, when he wasn’t right in front of me, I thought of Dalton Deangelo as an abstract concept only. He was the smug TV actor who chewed up the scenery in a campy vampire soap opera. He was the whirlwind of fame and chaos that came into my life and made a mess of everything. He was a problem I had to deal with and think about.

But sometimes, like that moment on the chilly airstrip, he was just a man, squinting in the bright light and looking happy to see me.

He raised one dark eyebrow quizzically. “Well?”

“Well?” I replied.

Some people in orange safety vests came out of the nearby building and Vern went off to talk to them about maintenance and refueling the plane.

Dalton took the handle of my suitcase and started walking toward the vehicle.

“I’m not going to compliment you on how you look,” he said.

“Fine.”

“Even though that blue shirt under your jacket brings out your gorgeous eyes, and those tight jeans show off all your curves and make me want to peel them off in the back seat of this truck with the tinted windows.”

“Do you ever look at me and not think about doing dirty, sexy things?”

He chuckled. “Nope.”

We reached the truck, where he grabbed me and playfully pushed me up against the door, my butt against the hard metal. He leaned in over me, his arms stretched over my shoulders and his hands on the truck, and he smelled my hair, breathing in audibly.

I could hardly breathe, and all my nerves were tingling from being in such close proximity. He sniffed again, like a wolf.

“Tell me something,” he murmured near my ear, his voice deep and husky. “When you put on those clothes this morning, did you think about me taking them off?”

“I don’t know,” I lied. “It was early, and I just threw on the nearest thing.”

“You didn’t think about me running my finger up and down the line of this V-neck?” Instead of touching my neck, he puckered his lips and blew a stream of air along my neckline.

I reached up between his legs and cupped his package through his jeans. “What about you, Mr. Deangelo? Are you wearing silk boxers under these tight jeans that show off your big package?”

“Careful,” he groaned.

I lightly massaged the bulge. He was always trying to throw me off balance with his flirtations, and how did he like it when the tables were turned? From the feel of his manhood, he liked it very much.

“There’s my pony,” I said. “There’s my Lionheart, and he’s ready to ride. But he’s a bad pony. He thinks he’s going to buck and gallop and take me for a ride, but this naughty pony’s about to get broken in.”

Dalton let out a laugh I could only describe as
nervous sounding
.

“How was the flight?” he asked, his voice high. “Any turbulence?”

We were still alone over by the truck, so I grabbed hold of his waistband with my free hand and then plunged the other hand down into his jeans.

He gasped as I took hold of him by the gigglestick.

“The flight was long and smooth.” I stroked his shaft, making up for the lack of wiggle room by squeezing harder. “We started off fast, splashing around, then we got higher and higher, and then after a few hours of heaven, I came.”

“You came?” His breathing was ragged.

“I came here to go shopping, and we’re going to shop so hard. I’m going to make your credit card beg for mercy.”

“Oh, Peaches, I dare you to break me. I’m your wild pony. I’m your Lionheart. Promise you’ll never stop trying to break me.”

“Careful what you wish for.” I released his swollen manhood and withdrew my hand slowly from his clothes.

“To be continued,” he said.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” I asked.

“I’m afraid to.”

“Because you know my lips are bad for you?”

He leaned down, his face moving closer and closer to mine. His breath was hot on my cheek when he stopped moving, lips inches from mine. “Your lips are the least of my worries. It’s the rest of you that terrifies me.”

“Then you’d better not kiss me, because I’m the whole package.”

He pulled away another inch. If I stood on my tiptoes, I could have kissed him, but I didn’t.

“If I kiss you, everything will get complicated,” he said.

“Yes. If you kiss me, Dalton, I promise you nothing short of disaster.”

“Then I guess you leave me no choice.” He dropped his arms to his sides and stepped back, then opened the door of the truck. “Get in.”

That was it?

I climbed into the back seat. He circled around to the back to load in my suitcase, then continued up to the front door and got in the front passenger side.

Kiss denied.

I zipped open my purse and got out my phone, pretending not to be bothered that he wasn’t sitting in the back with me.

What game was he playing? I wished I had a copy of the Dalton Deangelo handbook.

I scrolled through my messages and opened the ones from Adrian, who was letting me know his dog was recuperating nicely.

“Oh, good,” I said out loud.

Dalton turned around and looked back from the front seat. “Vern will be here in a few minutes.”

“Okay, that’s good, too. I just found out my boyfriend’s dog is feeling better. We were all out hiking and we had a terrible run-in with a bear.”