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Crash Landing
Lori Wilde


When billionaire Gibb Martin’s business partner bails on a major venture to get married Gibb needs to get to Florida and stop the wedding – fast!Luckily for him, bombshell pilot Sophia Cruz really needs cash… But when Sophia is forced to crash the plane, they end up stranded on a deserted island – surrounded by temptation…










“You’re sort of a jerk, you know that?”

He clenched his determined jaw. “It doesn’t matter as long as I get what I want.” He strode purposefully toward her plane.

Hmm. Now Sophia was beginning to understand why that blond babe, usually at his elbow, looked so uptight ninety percent of the time. However, she certainly got the push-pull attraction of Gibb Martin. While part of her wanted to throttle him, another part wanted to kiss him. He was, after all, tall, with handsome good looks and a hot body.

All the more reason not to fly him to Key West.

So why had she agreed?




About the Author


LORI WILDE is a New York Times bestselling author and has written more than forty books. She’s been nominated for a RITA


Award and four RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Awards. Her books have been excerpted in Cosmopolitan, Redbook and Quick & Simple. Lori teaches writing online through Ed2go. She’s also an RN trained in forensics and she volunteers at a women’s shelter. Visit her website at www.loriwilde.com.




Crash Landing

Lori Wilde









www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To all my readers, past, present and future.

Thank you so very much for reading.

Without you, I’m nothing.




1


THE CRAZY AMERICAN WAS still in a business suit?

Sophia Cruz lounged in the hammock outside the exclusive retreat in the Costa Rican volcanic mountain range of Cordillera of Tilarán.

Bosque de Los Dioses, or Forest of the Gods, was accessible only by bush plane and it lay twenty-five miles north of Monteverde, the nearest village and Sophia’s hometown. The resort was hush-hush, a place where the rich, famous and high-powered came for a secret hideaway.

Sophia herself was neither rich, famous, high-powered nor looking to escape anything. She’d been born and raised in these mountains and it was her home. Over the years, she’d seen many outsiders come and go, but she’d never seen one as intensely stressed-out as the sandy-haired man wearing a gray silk Armani suit in the muggy summer weather.

Two weeks.

He’d been at Bosque de Los Dioses for two weeks and she had never once seen him in blue jeans or shorts or sandals or even a short-sleeved shirt. Always the suit and tie and expensive leather shoes as if he was in a New York City boardroom instead of a tropical paradise.

Why?

The question fascinated her. He fascinated her.

She dipped the brim of her well-worn straw cowgirl hat, the band decorated with a purple orchid that she’d plucked from a nearby vine. And pushed her heart-shaped pink sunglasses up on her nose to study him through the rose-tinged lenses.

Hombre guapo.

He paced the length of the veranda of the luxury tree house bungalow nestled in the tops of the Flame of the Forest and Ron-Ron trees, a cell phone pressed to his ear. The sunlight reflected off the thick platinum link chain bracelet at his broad wrist. The bracelet was like the rest of him, polished, sleek but underneath the shiny exterior undeniably masculine.

Although she had not asked, he was clearly a wealthy businessman, brash, entitled and constantly in motion. Who else rushed, rushed, rushed to get to the same place everyone else was going?

“Eventually, no matter where you are from, you end up in the graveyard,” her father often said. “Might as well take your time getting there and enjoy the view.”

That was the Costa Rican way—slow and easy and grateful for what you had. Then again, no other country had views like this. Perhaps it was easier to be philosophical when surrounded by so much beauty.

And speaking of views…

This one was as delicious as el casado.

No, maybe not el casado since it meant “married” in Spanish because the meal was the perfect marriage of beans, rice, fried plantains, salad and some kind of meat. Traditionally, it was the noon meal and had been named for the fact it was the usual food wives packed for their husbands to brown bag to work. This man looked as far from an attentive husband as he could get and the thought of him brown bagging anything made her chuckle.

Sunlight glinted off his golden hair cut short in a neat style that flattered his features—firm chin, but not big-jawed. If it hadn’t been for the broken nose he might have been too pretty and Sophia had to admit she had a thing for blonds. Growing up around so many dark-haired men had given her a sharp appreciation for flaxen locks.

Mmm. She licked her lips.

His name, according to the credit card he’d used to pay for his flight, was Gibb Martin. He was close to six feet tall and moved with the sleek grace of a jaguar, lean and athletic, as if his skin could barely contain his excessive masculine energy. She imagined running her hands over his biceps and her palms tingled.

Although she couldn’t see them from here, Sophia knew he possessed piercing, no-nonsense gray eyes, that when they were directed at her, made her feel as if he could see straight into her soul.

Sophia shivered.

He’d caught her with those eyes the day she’d flown him in from the Libera Airport. He’d thanked her for the flight, shook her hand and held it for just a moment too long. Her heart had skipped a beat and she couldn’t help feeling that it was a watershed moment.

Or maybe that had all been in her imagination.

He’d had a woman with him after all. A tall, skinny blonde with pouty lips, pixie haircut and breasts the size of pillows, quite a contrast to Sophia’s own short stature, well rounded hips, waist-length black hair and rather modest endowments. When she was a teenager, her brothers had teasingly called her Tortita, the Spanish word for pancake. Luckily, she’d sprouted a bit since then, but not much.

The blonde had not seemed happy. She’d complained about everything—the smallness of the plane, the sticky humidity and the fact that the cookies and crackers that Sophia kept onboard for guests were not gluten-free. Then again, in the blonde’s defense, the American had barely looked up from his laptop computer the entire flight and she ended up feeling sorry for her.

Two weeks had passed and the blonde still wasn’t happy. She came out on the balcony, hands sunk onto her hips, rocking a red G-string bikini so small it could have doubled as a pair of shoelaces.

Frump. Compared to a woman like that, Sophia was a dumpy dowager in cutoff blue jeans and a white crop top.

“Gibby!” Blondie yelled at him.

He frowned in irritation, motioned at the phone, gave her a hush-this-is-an-important-call glower.

Poor Blondie. He had no time for his gorgeous girlfriend.

The blonde scowled. “If you don’t get off the damn phone and take me somewhere fun I’m flying back to Miami tonight.”

He pressed the phone against his chest, stepped close to whisper something to her and then playfully swatted her bottom.

Blondie giggled.

Something in Sophia’s mouth tasted as bad as a green plantain. Jealous much?

Jealous? Of course not. Why would she be jealous of a drop-dead model with million mile legs who had a rich, handsome man on a string? A handsome man who ignored her most of the time. Sophia would never settle for that. She would demand burning passion.

Blondie held out her palm and looked sheepish.

He fished in his back pocket for his wallet and from where Sophia was laying it looked like he pulled out an American Express black card and dropped it into her palm. The blonde closed her fingers around the card, leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Buying her off.

Sophia snorted. How could she be jealous of that?

Since his arrival, Gibb Martin had either been on the phone or in meetings with the cadre of other businessmen that Sophia had flown in, while the blonde had spent her time at the Bosque de Los Dioses luxury spa.

Sophia’s oldest sister, Josephina, worked at the spa as a massage therapist. In order to work for or contract with Bosque de Los Dioses you had to sign a confidentially agreement; they could only gossip about the clientele with each other and even then they had to make sure no one overheard their conversations.

A few minutes later, Josie came out of the employee entrance, toting her own brown bag casado. “Hola.”

“What’s up?”

Although they had been raised in a bilingual household, Josie preferred to speak Spanish, while Sophia thought of English words before the Spanish equivalent popped in her mind. Probably because she’d lived with her aunt in California the year after their mother had died and being so young, she’d had no trouble adapting to that culture. Sophia set the hammock to rocking by pushing against the palm tree with her big toe.

“Nothing new.” Josie plunked down on the cement bench beside the rows of empty hammocks strung from the trees for the guests to enjoy. At this time of the afternoon almost everyone was out on an excursion. “How about you?”

“Waiting to take a fare to Libera at two.”

“How is El Diablo holding up these days? That plane is as old as I am.” Josie was forty-one, fourteen years older than Sophia and she’d been married to her high school sweetheart, Jorge, for more than half her life. They had three children who were high school age.

“I’ve got the plane running like a top.”

El Diablo was the contrary 1971 Piper Cherokee 180F she’d inherited from their father after he’d retired two years ago. She was the only one of the seven Cruz offspring who’d had any interest in flying.

No one had begrudged her the gift of the plane. Her siblings considered the plane a burden, not a blessing, and granted it was something of a heap, but it was how she made her living. Flying tourists into the Cloud Forest where only bush planes could go. She dearly loved flying and had just finished aircraft maintenance school so she could keep El Diablo in the best flying condition possible.

Josie unwrapped homemade beef tamales from the plantain leaf they had been cooked in. “You’ve made Poppy very proud.”

Sophia sneaked another glance at Gibb Martin’s tree house bungalow. Blondie had come out on the veranda and was leaning against the balcony railing. The woman waved at her sister Josie and smiled.

Josie waved and smiled back.

“You know her?”

“Every day on my massage table for the last two weeks. She’s my two o’clock appointment and she tips big with her boyfriend’s credit card. I will smile and wave at her all day if that’s what she wants.”

“She seems a bit superficial.” Okay, that was snide. Contrite, Sophia popped three fingers over her mouth.

“Stacy is a cover model,” Josie said. “What else would you expect from her?”

“Something a bit less cliché?”

“Does your prickly tongue have anything to do with the fact that she’s the girlfriend of that handsome American venture capitalist you keep staring at?”

“I do not stare at him.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, maybe a little, but how often do you see blond men around here? It’s not him personally. It’s just his hair.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It is.”

Josie nodded at an overweight bald guy in his thirties who was horsing around with his buddies on one of the rope footbridges that linked the bungalows to the main lodge. “You are telling me that you would stare at that man if he had blond hair?”

“Yes, sure,” she lied.

Josie snorted. “By the way, the venture capitalist stares back at you too when you’re not looking.”

“He does?” she asked, surprised to hear her voice come out an octave higher.

Josie nodded. “He stares hard.”

Sophia gulped, ducked her head, and felt heat flush her cheeks. Hey, what was this? She wasn’t a blushy-gushy kind of girl.

Josie sent her a knowing glance. “Things are not going well with Emilio?”

“What?” Sophia startled. “No. Emilio is great—”

“But Emilio is in San Jose and Mr. Tall, Blond and Handsome is here?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Her sister was wrong. She wasn’t that fickle. Was she?

“Sophia,” Josie wheedled. “You can tell me. What is it?”

Sophia shrugged. The bark on the palm tree at the end of the hammock had sloughed off from where the ropes had rubbed it. “It’s nothing really.”

Josie clucked her tongue, shook her head. Sophia had never been able to keep anything from her older sister.

“Emilio and I are sliding more toward solid friendship than red-hot romance,” she admitted. “We have not even made love yet.”

“But you’ve been dating what, two months?”

“My point exactly. Only five dates in two months. If this relationship was headed somewhere important, should we not pine for each other every time we are apart? Am I wrong?”

“You expect too much,” Josie said. “Emilio is a nice man. He would make a good husband and father.”

“And that’s enough?”

Josie gave a knowing smile, dusted crumbs from her fingers and got to her feet. “What else is there?”

“Passion for one thing.”

“Passion fades. That’s when friendship counts.”

“You make marriage sound so boring.” Sophia yawned.

“Not at all. As time goes on, you will learn to value other things above passion.”

“That might work for you,” she said. “But me? I want sparks. All the time. Fireworks or nothing.”

Josie made a quiet chiding noise. “You’re more like Mother than you think. You’ve got her starry-eyed idealism.”

“There’s nothing wrong with setting my standards high.”

“There is having high standards and then there are unrealistic expectations.”

“If Mother hadn’t believed in passionate love that lasted she wouldn’t have stayed in Costa Rica and had seven children.”

“True, but look at everything she gave up.”

“For love.”

“It wasn’t easy for her. Starting over in a new country. Learning another language. Navigating a strange culture.”

“But she did it because she loved Poppy so much. That’s what I want. Someone who’d swim the deepest ocean for me.”

“You’re not going to start singing are you?”

“I might,” Sophia teased, splayed a hand to her chest and sang an off key rendition of “I’d Climb the Highest Mountain,” except she didn’t know most of the words and ended up stumble-humming it.

“You are not getting any younger, mi hija. Soon your best child-bearing years will be behind you.”

“Thanks for that.” Sophia crossed her legs. The orchid slid off the brim of her hat, landed on her nose. Sophia brushed it aside.

“You can’t keep hitting the snooze button on your biological clock.” Josie pressed her lips into a disapproving line.

“I’m not even remotely thinking of babies yet.”

“I know, but you should be.”

“I’m not done having fun yet.”

“Babies are a different kind of fun.”

“Uh-huh. If you say so.”

“You love your nieces and nephews.”

“I do. Stop trying to sell me on motherhood. When I find the right relationship—packed with tons of passion—the rest will take care of itself.” Sophia’s eyes were on the hombre who was going to pace a hole right through the wooden planks of the balcony.

Josie canted her head. “The American isn’t right for you.”

“Of course he’s not. I never thought he was. He’s caviar and I’m black beans, but a girl needs her sexual fantasies, right?”

“Give Emilio a chance,” Josie advised and picked up her sandwich bag. “Bring him to Sunday dinner.”

“We’ll see.”

Josie pointed a finger at her. “Just bring him.”

Sophia rolled her eyes. Their mother had died of bacterial meningitis when Sophia was twelve and after Sophia had returned from living in California with Aunt Kristi, Josie had taken over as Mother Hen and sometimes she could be a bit overbearing. “Sí.”

“I mean it.”

Sophia made shooing motions at her. “Go back to rubbing that rich cover model’s backside.”

“I love you,” Josie said sweetly over her shoulder.

“You’re not going to make me feel like a brat.”

“Even if you are being one?” Josie laughed and went into the spa.

Sophia pursed her lips and looked back to Gibb Martin’s bungalow. Blondie was gone, but he was still pacing and talking on the phone.

Did the man ever slow down? Take a deep breath? Relax? Enjoy himself for half a second?

She shifted her gaze to the sky and estimated the time by the sun’s position. She never wore a watch. Two o’clock was perhaps thirty minutes away. Just enough time to fuel the plane and do her flight checks. Yawning, she rolled out of the hammock and stretched big, reaching for the clouds, her crop top rising up high with her movements.

Gibb Martin leaned over the railing of his balcony.

He was watching her!

Her stomach churned and she had the strangest feeling that something monumental was about to happen.

Those compelling gray eyes stared straight at her. Thank God for her sunglasses.

A slow smile slid across his face.

Excitement shot through her and she suppressed a smug grin. He might not be paying Miss Cover Model much attention, but he was certainly focused on her.

What she did next wasn’t noble, but it was human. She pretended she hadn’t seen him watching her. She swept off her cowgirl hat, tilted her head back, and ran her fingers through her long hair, fluffing it up in a sexy, just-rolled out of bed style and bit down on her bottom lip to make it puffy.

Bad girl, bad. Mala. Mala.

She strolled away, emphasizing each sway of her hips, and headed for the plane. Was that the heat of his gaze she felt on her shoulders?

Casually, she turned, looked up at the balcony, only to find it empty.

Her face flamed hot as she realized she’d strutted for an audience of no one.

Idiot.

Never mind. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t even a flirtation. That’s how limited their exchanges had been, a few furtive glances, a handshake that lingered a bit too long, that’s all there was to it.

But the fact that she was fantasizing about a good-looking stranger who had a cover model girlfriend told Sophia that this thing with Emilio simply wasn’t working for her. They would be better off as friends.

It was time to tell him that.

After work, she had planned to fly to San Jose for a cookout with Emilio. In spite of the provisions she’d packed in an Igloo cooler this morning, she would forego the cookout, sit him down and make it perfectly clear she wanted nothing more than friendship from him.

Was she stupid for cutting loose a good guy who would make a wonderful husband? Maybe. But something told her that she did not have to settle. Somewhere out there was a good man who would also ignite passion in her heart and she wasn’t going to stop looking until she found him.




2


THROUGH THE OPEN wooden slats of the bamboo blinds, Gibb watched the sexy little bush pilot’s butt bounce. He shouldn’t be looking. He was here with Stacy after all, but there was something about the sultry Costa Rican that had captured him from the minute he’d laid eyes on her in Libera Airport.

And this thing with Stacy had just about run its course. Two years was already eighteen months longer than he’d anticipated it would last. Both of them had known from the beginning it wasn’t a long-term relationship. He required a poised, beautiful woman on his arm to take to business functions and she had wanted someone with an unlimited expense account.

They’d met each other’s needs at the time, but now they were starting to get on each other’s nerves. Stacy continually accused him of being a workaholic—hey, how did she think he paid for her shopping sprees?—and he’d wearied of her constant bid for his attention. Bringing Stacy with him to Bosque de Los Dioses had been a mistake and not just because he wanted to flirt with the pilot.

She was examining her plane, doing a preflight check, and as she reached up to inspect the flaps, her white crop top moved up to expose even more of her smooth, tanned skin. Sunlight glimmered off her gold navel ring and her long black hair swung just above the curve of her back.

Gibb gulped. She curved in all the right places. The white cotton top stretched over breasts the size of perfectly ripe peaches. His mouth watered instantly.

She wore cutoff blue jean shorts with frayed threads dangling down her firm thighs. The pink straw cowgirl hat was tipped back on her head, and the matching pink heart-shaped sunglasses slid halfway down her pert little nose. The woman had a thing for pink. On the flight in, she’d smelled of delicious pink grapefruit, fresh, clean and tartly sweet.

What did she have on beneath those jeans? Pink boy shorts? A pink thong? Maybe nothing at all?

His body heated all over.

Hang on there, Martin. He might not be a long-term commitment kind of guy, but when he was in a relationship—no matter how casual—he didn’t mess around.

“You’re a serial monogamist,” his best friend Coast Guard Lieutenant Scott Everly often teased. It was true, he never dated more than one woman at a time.

Gibb’s cell phone rang.

He stepped back from the window, pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the caller ID.

Speak of the devil.

Scott had been dodging his calls of late and Gibb wondered if it was because his buddy was having second thoughts about leaving the Coast Guard. He and Scott were going into business together on this clandestine, environmentally green project that promised to revolutionize the way people traveled.

That was what Gibb was doing here in Cordillera of Tilarán. The planning stage was finally complete. And although the patent was still pending, it was only a matter of time until it was granted. He had complete confidence in that. The inventor would be arriving next week. It was time to start building the prototype track for the breakthrough monorail system that would extend the thirty miles from Bosque de Los Dioses to Monteverde.

Building the prototype track here would serve two purposes. One, it would eventually make Bosque de Los Dioses accessible by some other mode of transportation besides bush plane. And two, the remote location and thick vegetation discouraged the corporate spies that had dogged him. Twice in the last two years, spies from Fisby Corp had burned him by stealing the ideas he’d invested in and getting them to market before he did. He wasn’t going to allow that to happen again.

That’s where Scott was to come in. He was the only one Gibb trusted to handle his private security. They’d been talking about partnering up for the past two years, ever since Gibb had first invested in this project. They’d just been waiting for Scott’s commission with the Coast Guard to be over to get started on it. Waiting, however, was making Gibb antsy. The longer it took, the more likely it was that someone would rip off the idea before the patent was granted.

Gibb hit the talk button. “Guy, where have you been?”

“Falling in love,” Scott replied.

Gibb laughed. “So when are you getting out of the Coast Guard? How long before you can get to Costa Rica? I need you here.”

“I’m serious,” Scott said. “I’ve fallen in love with the most amazing woman. She’s smart and sexy and—”

Gibb snorted. “Stop pulling my leg. We’re ready to hit the ground running. I have to tell you that arranging to have supplies delivered up here, while trying to keep things tightly under wraps has been nothing short of a logistical nightmare.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“Sure I am, you’re madly in love. Good. Great. Congrats. Now when can I expect you?”

“She’s the daughter of Jack Birchard, the renowned oceanographer, but Jackie is a damn fine oceanographer in her own right,” Scott went on as if he hadn’t said a thing.

Gibb scratched his head. “You’re serious?”

“I’m stone cold in love, buddy.”

“Okay.” Gibb plowed fingers through his hair, tried not to fret. “What does Jackie think about you living in Costa Rica for a couple of years?”

“I’m not leaving the Coast Guard.”

“C’mon. We’ve talked about this forever. I can’t do it without you.”

“Sure you can.”

“All right, I don’t want to do it without you. This project has the potential to make us billionaires.”

“You’re already a billionaire, Gibb.”

“Not now I’m not. Not after all I’ve got invested in this technology.”

“Aw, so now you’re only a multi-millionaire? How will you ever survive?”

“Scott, I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. Remember when we were kids, camping out in a tent in your parents’ backyard? Even then we talked about working together someday, but you had to go off and join the Coast Guard.”

“You were supposed to join with me,” Scott reminded him.

“Is it my fault that I get seasick?”

Joining the Coast Guard was the best thing Gibb had never done. If he had joined the Coast Guard, he wouldn’t have invented a popular gaming app that had made him a multi-millionaire and started him on the road to becoming a venture capitalist, investing in other people’s ideas.

He had a knack for spotting trends before they took off and it paid big dividends. Charismatic forward thinker, Wealth Maker Magazine had called him. Unfortunately, that had made him a target for the unscrupulous looking to get in on his action. Forcing Gibb to become even more secretive and suspicious of others than he already was. Scott was the one person in the whole wide world that he trusted with his life.

“No, just like it’s not my fault that I fell in love.”

“You’re leaving me hanging?”

“I’m sorry, Gibb, but I’ve found something more. I don’t want to end up like you.”

Two whips of hurt and anger lashed through him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t want to be consumed by work the way you are.”

An accusing silence stretched over the miles between them.

“If I wasn’t consumed by work, I wouldn’t be where I am today,” he said.

“Where are you, Gibb?”

“At the top of the freaking world.”

“Alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have a cover model girlfriend and my Bentley and my beach house and—”

“I’m getting married on Saturday in Key West on the Fourth of July, aboard the Sea Anemone, Wharf 16 at 4:00 p.m. I hope you’ll be there.”

It wasn’t until this very moment that Gibb understood exactly how much he’d been looking forward to not only working with Scott, but bringing him in on this deal. It was Gibb’s way of paying his buddy back for the time Scott had literally saved his life.

Gibb pushed the platinum bracelet up on his wrist. Scott had a matching bracelet. They’d bought the man jewelry together, a symbol of their brotherhood and undying friendship after that crazy diving trip to the Great Barrier Reef where Gibb had been barbed in the chest by a stingray. Only Scott’s quick action and first aid training had prevented Gibb from removing the barb. He’d come within seconds of ending up like the famous crocodile hunter, Steve Irwin.

Reflexively, Gibb rubbed his chest. “This Saturday?”

“This Saturday.”

“But it’s Wednesday!”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because Jackie and I just got engaged.”

“What? Why so fast?”

“When it’s right, it’s right. We can’t wait any longer to be together.”

“So she’s pregnant.”

“No, she’s not pregnant.” Scott sounded irritated.

“Whoa, back up the truck. I talked to you six weeks ago and you didn’t say a word about this Jackie woman. How long have you known her?”

“A month,” Scott confessed, not sounding the least bit sheepish.

“A month! You’re marrying someone you’ve only known a month?”

“Don’t rain on my parade. She’s the love of my life,” Scott growled.

Taken aback, Gibb blinked. He couldn’t believe this was his childhood buddy. “I recall you saying a time or two that you were never getting married.”

“Dumb. That was back when I was dumb and stupid. I’d never been in love before. I never knew it could feel like this.”

“I recall you once said the same thing about that waitress in Panama.” Who in the hell was this woman who’d woven such a spell over Scott?

“That was lust. There’s a big difference. I know that now. You’ll know it too when you find it.”

Gibb frowned. “Hang on, this too will pass.”

“No. No, it won’t.” Scott sounded adamant.

“You say that now—”

Scott cut him off. “Can we expect to see you at the wedding?”

“There shouldn’t be a wedding. You’re throwing away all our plans, and re-upping in the Coast Guard when you’d planned to get out and—”

“Sorry, but meeting Jackie has changed everything.”

“I get that. It’s what scares me.”

“Come to the wedding if you want, but you’re not changing my mind.”

“This is craziness!” Gibb yanked at the knot of his tie. “You’ve lost your mind over a piece of—”

“Don’t say it,” Scott threatened.

Gibb was so upset that he couldn’t stop himself from saying it. “Tail.”

A dial tone sounded in his ear.

His very best buddy on the planet had just hung up on him. Shocked, Gibb stared at the phone. Disturbing how fate could turn life on a whim.

SOPHIA WAS FILLING up the gas tank on El Diablo when Gibb Martin came stalking up to her, his eyes narrowed, his jaw tight and a determined expression on his lips.

“I need you to fly me to Key West, Florida,” he demanded.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, holstered the nozzle back into the pump. “What bit you?”

“I want to leave right now.” He tapped the face of his Rolex with an impatient finger.

“Mosquito? Botfly? Hornet?”

If he were a cartoon, steam would be shooting out of his ears. “No joking around. Time is of the essence.”

She lifted one shoulder. “Sorry, amigo.”

“I’ll pay handsomely.”

“No can do.”

“What?” He looked stunned that she’d refused him.

“N.O. Nada.”

“How much would it take to change your mind?”

“Money is not the issue.”

“What is?”

“Well, for one thing, I already have a 2:00 p.m. fare.”

“They can wait. Call another bush pilot.”

What an arrogant tool he was. “My, we have a grand sense of our own importance, don’t we?”

Gibb snorted, pressing his lips into a firm line. “This is an emergency.”

“An emergency?” That changed everything. Why was she such a smart mouth? “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said contritely. “Did someone die?”

“Worse.”

Sophia put a hand to her heart. “What is worse than death?”

“Marriage.”

Confused, Sophia pushed her hat back on her head. “Someone is getting married? That is your emergency?”

“Yes.” His voice was flat, brooking no more questions.

Sophia questioned anyway. “You’re against marriage?”

“Not in general. Not for most people. It’s just not my personal bailiwick.”

“Bailiwick?”

“It means sphere of knowledge.”

She grimaced. “Fan-cy.”

“Once upon a time I hired a vocabulary coach, deal with it.”

She raised both palms. “Communication doesn’t work unless you can speak so that others understand you.”

“Andalé, andalé.” He made shooing motions at her. “How’s that for communication?”

“Have you been watching old Speedy Gonzales cartoons?”

“It’s not the correct word?” His face colored.

“Not if you don’t mind sounding like a cartoon mouse. Vámonos or rápido might be what you’re looking for.”

“Well, let’s vámonos, rápido, rápido.”

“There’s one thing I’m still unclear on.”

He exhaled loudly. “What’s that?”

“How is marriage an emergency?”

“I have to stop the wedding.”

“Ah, I see.” She nodded.

“See what?”

“You are still hung up on a former lover and she has broken your heart by marrying another before you could reconcile.”

“No, no.” He shifted, jammed his hands in his pockets and leaned in closer to her. “That’s not it at all.”

She caught a whiff of his scent—kumquat, leather, musk—nice cologne. “Then what is it?”

“She’s all wrong for him.”

“Who?”

“He has only known her a month,” Gibb muttered.

“Who?”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Why?”

“A month!” Gibb exclaimed. “My best friend is getting married to a woman that he’s only known for one month.”

“Oh, I see. That clearly is the end of the world.”

“Would you marry a man you’d only known for a month?”

Sophia grinned, trying to get him to lighten up. “Depends on the man.”

He scoffed, “Don’t tell me you’re one of those.”

“One of what?”

“Die-hard romantics.”

“I have not found my true love but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe he’s not out there somewhere.”

Gibb raised his face to the sky. “Please, spare me the love impaired.”

“What is wrong with love?”

“It muddles the brain. Clouds your judgment. Makes you do dumb things like get married to someone you’ve only known a month.”

“But what if this woman makes your friend truly happy?”

“She doesn’t. He just thinks she does.”

“How do you know that for sure?”

“Look, I don’t have time to stand around here dissecting it to death. My best buddy is about to make the biggest mistake of his life. I have to leave immediately for Key West to save him from himself.”

“You can’t tell him this over the telephone?”

“He hung up on me.” Gibb sounded highly offended. “And when I tried to call him back, he wouldn’t answer and he’s disabled his voicemail.”

“I can see why. Clearly, you are overreacting.”

He held up both palms. “Look, I don’t need your opinion. I just need your flying expertise. How much would you charge to fly me to Key West right now?”

Sophia cast a glance over her shoulder at El Diablo. She’d never flown any farther than Belize. “My plane is not equipped to fly such a long distance. It’s over fifteen hundred kilometers to Key West.”

He waved a hand. “You can do it. I’ve watched you fly passengers in and out for the last two weeks. You’re an excellent pilot.”

He had been watching her? Sophia’s cheeks warmed. His flattery was dangerous. Damn this desire to show off her piloting skills and prove him right. “Thank you very much for the compliment, but the gas tanks on a plane this size only hold so much fuel. We would have to stop to refuel.”

“So we stop. Let’s go.” He opened the pilot’s door of the plane and motioned for her to hop in.

She stepped over to shut the door. “You are a very annoying man.”

“How much?” He took out his wallet, started pulling out several one-hundred-dollar bills. “Two thousand do it?”

Sophia blinked. Two thousand dollars? That would pay off her debt from mechanic school. “You will pay for the fuel, as well?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“You are a desperate man.”

“Yes, yes, I am. I’m also a rich one and I always get what I want.”

“Not this time.” Sophia folded her arms over her chest. “On top of everything else, there is a tropical depression brewing in the Caribbean.”

“It could easily go way north of Florida.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“When is it expected to hit landfall?”

She shrugged. “Weather is unpredictable, two days, maybe.”

“Two days?” he blurted. “We will be in Key West long before that.”

“The storm could hit sooner,” she said, arguing with herself as much as with him.

“Or later.”

“True.”

“It might even dissipate altogether.”

“I am not in the habit of gambling with the lives of my passengers.”

“Look,” he said. “You can check the weather along the way, if the storm moves faster than expected I’ll admit defeat and take it as a sign that Scott and Jackie are meant to be.”

“Can you accept that?”

“You’re the pilot. Once we’re in the air, you’re in control of that plane.”

Hmm, interesting admission for someone who seemed to be something of a control freak. Could she trust him to keep his word? “It’s not as simple as jumping into the plane and taking off. I’ll have to make a flight plan, get permission to fly into the airspace of the other countries along the way.”

He had run out of cash, but he was now tugging out a plethora of credit cards. “Three thousand.”

Sophia moistened her lips. How high was he willing to go?

Lunacy. It was sheer lunacy to even consider flying him to Florida, but the part of her that loved a challenge wanted to give it a go. See if she could do it. If nothing else, she would learn what she and El Diablo were really made of.

Priorities, Sophia.

It was a lesson her mother had repeated to her often. She did have a tendency to put adventure ahead of responsibility. Besides, she was supposed to go over to Emilio’s house for a cookout tonight. In fact, this was the night she’d decided to have “the talk” with him. Then again, what would it hurt to delay breaking bad news?

“Mr. Martin, I will happily fly you to Libera with my current passengers and there you can catch the next plane to Florida,” she offered.

He looked uneasy. “That solution doesn’t work for me.”

“Why not?” Puzzled, she canted her head, studied him intently.

“I do not have to explain myself to you.”

“You don’t have your own jet? A rich man like you?”

“I do have my own jet, but that’s none of your business.”

“Oh,” she said. “I get it. You don’t want anyone tracking your whereabouts.”

He seemed relieved. “Yes. Your discretion in this matter is very important to me. Can I trust you?”

“Of course.” If she couldn’t keep a secret she would have been out of a job a long time ago. Her sister Josie was the only person she could confide in about such things.

The couple from Argentina that she was supposed to fly to Libera arrived at the plane. A bellhop in a golf cart with their bags in the back followed behind the couple.

“Here are my passengers, Mr. Martin. I’m sorry about your dilemma but—”

Gibb pivoted on his heel to face the male passenger, a distinguished-looking gray-haired man in his mid-fifties. “How much for you to take another bush plane to the airport?”

“Pardon, señor?” the man asked.

Gibb waved the cash at him. “How much? I need this plane.”

“You are not thinking rationally, Mr. Martin,” Sophia pointed out. It surprised her that the cool blond American could be so filled with passion. To the couple, she said, “He is trying to stop a wedding.”

“Ah, amor,” said the woman. “Isn’t that romantic? He wants to claim his woman before she marries someone else.”

Sophia noticed that Gibb did not bother to correct the woman’s erroneous assumption.

The Argentinean wasn’t losing out on the opportunity. He plucked the bills from Gibb’s hand and tucked them into his pocket. “The plane is all yours, señor.” He put an arm around his wife’s waist. “How can we stand in the way of true love?”

“You’re willingly giving up your seats? You could miss your connecting flight while waiting on another bush plane to arrive.”

“We are flying standby,” the Argentinean said. “If we miss one flight…” He shrugged. “We’ll catch another.”

The bellhop gave them a ride back to the lodge in the golf cart.

Gibb held out both arms. “Problem solved. Let’s hit the road, Amelia.”

“My name is Sophia. Sophia Cruz.”

“Amelia Earhart reference not doing it? I thought every woman pilot loved to be compared to Amelia.”

“That’s presumptive and sexist. See, I know big words, too.”

“So you don’t like Amelia Earhart?”

“You did not remember my name, did you?”

“So I forgot your name,” he admitted sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“My dog apologizes better than that.” Okay, so she was stretching the truth a bit. Her dog died last year. Her heart twinged at the thought of Trixie. She’d had her for fourteen years and missed her deeply.

“Dogs are all about apology. Which is why I don’t have one.”

“Why? Because you hate creatures who have more love in their little toe than you do in your entire body.”

“No,” he said. “I actually love dogs, but I’m never home and I’d have to apologize to the poor thing for hiring someone to take care of it and then I’d feel guilty. Well, you see where I’m going with this.”

“Not really.”

“Doesn’t matter. Can we do this thing?”

She should say no. The sensible thing would be to say no. Most anyone else would say no. He was pushy and arrogant and exasperating, but at the same time, a thrill ran through her at the thought of flying all the way to Florida. Still, was it prudent? Only one person could tell her if it was worth the risk, if indeed El Diablo could make the long trip. She’d have to ask her father.

Gibb was already climbing into the plane.

“Not so fast, Norte,” she said.

One eyebrow shot up on his forehead and the opposite corner of his mouth quirked up at the same time. “Norte?”

“Norte means someone who comes from the north, usually from the U.S.A. Isn’t that what you are?”

“The way you said it, it sounds derogative.”

“No.” She slowly shook her head. “That is all on you. If you think that being from the U.S.A. is derogative, that’s your belief system not mine.”

He stood straighter, stiffened his back. “I do not believe that it’s a bad thing to be from the U.S.”

“Neither do I, so why are you taking offense at the word Norte?” she asked.

He pointed at her. A slow smile crept across his face. “You’re a sly one, Ms. Cruz.”

She feigned an affronted expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re messing with my head.”

“If you did not have a chip on your shoulder, I could not knock it off.”

“Can we just get this show on the road?”

“Before I agree to this arrangement, I must first make some phone calls.”

He tapped his wrist. “Time’s wasting.”

“That’s a bracelet, not a watch.”

“All the same, you get the sentiment. It’s the universal sign for hurry up.”

“Norte,” she muttered.

“That time you were being derogatory.”

“You’re sort of a jackass, you know that?”

He clenched his determined jaw. “It doesn’t matter as long as I get what I want.”

Now she was beginning to understand why Blondie looked annoyed ninety percent of the time, but Sophia certainly understood the push-pull attraction to Gibb Martin. While part of her wanted to throttle him, another part of her wanted to kiss him.

All the more reason for her not to take him to Key West.

So why did she agree?




3


GIBB PACED OUTSIDE THE plane and repeatedly checked his watch. C’mon, C’mon. He didn’t have all day. He tried several times to call Scott while Sophia was preoccupied, but his buddy was still not picking up. Hey, can you blame him? You acted like a jerk.

For Scott’s own good!

They had known each other since they first swapped sandwiches on the kindergarten playground. Gibb had readily pawned off his lobster roll for Scott’s plain old peanut butter and grape jelly sammie. Scott had taken one bite of the lobster roll and started crying and demanded to swap back. They laughed about it now. How dumb they’d both been to prefer PB and J to lobster. How clueless Gibb’s mother had been about the appropriate lunch for a five-year-old.

That was Gibb’s mother all the way. Winnie had exquisite luxury tastes and assumed everyone else did, too, even though when he was growing up, they’d had a beer budget that did not match with her champagne thirst.

On more than one occasion, the cops had come to their front door to tell her she had to make restitution on bounced checks or she would end up in jail. Somehow, she’d always manage to skirt the law until she hit the jackpot by marrying Florida real estate mogul, James Martin, who legally adopted Gibb when he was seven. And Gibb had been trying to prove himself worthy of James’s largesse ever since.

“It is settled.”

The smell of plumeria, sweet and exotic, wafted over him and he looked up to see Sophia. The woman possessed gorgeous brown eyes with impossibly long dark lashes. A hot tug of attraction pulled at him.

“Settled yes or settled no?” he asked.

“For three thousand dollars, plus you pay the price of fuel, I will fly you to Key West.”

He had thought for sure she was going to say no and he would have to risk hiring a jet in Libera and pray the spies weren’t that close. He’d gone through all kinds of machinations to get to Bosque de Los Dioses. First by buying two airline tickets to Europe that had gone unused for him and Stacy. Then hiring a small private plane to Nicaragua, checking into a low-rent motel in San Carlos under an assumed name, and from there hired a car to drive them to Libera. He thought he’d adequately covered his tracks. But, if any of his competitors found out he was in Costa Rica, well, two years’ worth of work and a hundred million dollars would be shot all to hell.

“Hot damn. Let’s go.”

“Will your companion be joining us?” Sophia asked.

“Who?” he asked, and then realized she was talking about Stacy. “No. She’s got spa treatments and whatnot to keep her occupied while I’m gone.”

“Do you have luggage?”

“No time. Don’t need any.”

“Don’t you at least want to change?” She waved at his business suit.

“I’m good. Let’s hit it.”

Sophia held out her palm. “I will require payment up front.”

He handed over a credit card, and couldn’t help noticing what pretty hands she had. Long, slender fingers, nails painted a soft salmon color. It was unusual for a petite woman to have such long fingers.

“I will be right back.” She trotted off again, headed toward the airport’s employee entrance.

His palms were unexpectedly sweaty and his knees felt slightly shaky. Was he that nervous she would turn him down? Or was he simply amped up over Scott’s crazy news? Either way, the shakiness was disconcerting. Why did he care so much about what Scott decided to do with his life?

Sophia returned a few minutes later with his credit card and a sunny smile.

He pocketed his card. “Now can we leave?”

“Almost. I must finish my flight check first.”

Gibb got into the passenger seat and impatiently drummed his fingers against the dashboard as she went through the checklist. He kept thinking of Scott and his project and how if he couldn’t talk his buddy out of marriage it was going to upend all his plans.

Sophia climbed into the cockpit, doffed her pink cowgirl hat, tossed it in the back and donned a headset. She communicated with the airport in Libera and a few minutes later they were rolling down the narrow dirt landing strip. Just when it seemed they were about to run out of road and fall off the mountain plateau, the plane was smoothly airborne and they were flying through a thick white mist.

The resort was at five thousand feet. Gibb knew small planes like this one maxed out at ten thousand feet, but Sophia didn’t even take them that high. She leveled off their ascent so they were just skimming over the cloud-shrouded mountain range.

It was a mystical sight—the smoky clouds, wafting lazily around them, parting here and there to reveal shades of deep tropical green or craggy blue-gray rock formations. The view took his breath away.

Sophia sat relaxed in the seat, her dark hair curling sexy tendrils around her face, an otherworldly smile on her full pink lips, her hands loose on the yoke. The pink-and-white V-neck quarter-length T-shirt that she wore clung snuggly to her smallish but firm breasts. Tanned, shapely legs worked pedals on the floor that controlled the rudders.

He moved his left arm at the same time she moved her right, and their elbows bumped. A staggering streak of lust shot from his elbow to his shoulder and arrowed straight down to his groin. Instantly, he jerked his arm away.

So did she.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his heart punching hard against his chest.

The seats in a plane this small were disturbingly close. He should have sat in the back. Why hadn’t he sat in the back?

Sophia stared intently out the windshield. She had a delicate profile—a diminutive nose, gently sloped forehead, small but well-formed chin—that complimented her petite stature. Not a complex face that an artist might find a challenge to sketch, but a fun face, an open face, a happy face.

Looking at her made him smile. He did not want to smile.

There was no swelling of peppy music, no Ferris Bueller, “Oh Yeah” deep-based chorus, but the feeling that his life was about to change and change big, dug into Gibb and clung tight.

She guided the plane with what seemed to be an innate ease. Gibb had never thought of flying as anything more than a skill that anyone who put their mind to it could learn, but right now, watching her, his old belief disappeared, replaced by a deep certainty that there was such a think as a natural born pilot. She had an effortless, light touch on the controls and her sense of timing was impeccable. It was as if she’d strapped the airplane onto her, the way an old west gunslinger strapped on a holster, and the plane started to breathe with her.

Something told him he would relive this moment again in his dreams—the point where the cocky cowgirl became the consummate aviatrix and she was transformed. He felt transformed just by sitting next to her. He would be able to lie in bed at night, close his eyes and be with her again on wings of air, floating into a sweet, deep peace. If he could eat this moment, it would taste like one perfect bite of amazing amuse-bouclé—bitter, sweet, salty, sour, savory, piquant.

“I never tire of the beauty.” Sophia breathed.

“Impressive.” Gibb didn’t take his eyes off her.

She turned her head, caught him staring. Her smile deepened. “What would Blondie say?”

He blinked. “Who?”

“Your girlfriend.”

It took him a moment. “Oh, Stacy. She’d probably be texting or tweeting or something and never notice the scenery.”

“I wasn’t talking about the scenery.”

“No?”

“What would she say about the way you are staring at me?”

“I’m not staring at you. I was studying the instrument panel,” he lied smoothly, his stomach roiling and unsettled.

“Uh-huh.”

Well, damn, if she didn’t want men to look at her, she shouldn’t wear shorts like that. “You do have nice legs.”

“So does Blondie.”

He blew out his breath. “I think you must have gotten the wrong idea about Stacy and I.”

“I think I understand it pretty well.”

“We’re just…” What were they?

Sophia turned toward him, arched an eyebrow. “Friends with benefits?”

The benefit part was right, the friend part, not so much. “Could we talk about something else?”

“It is your three thousand dollars. We can talk about whatever you want.”

Silence stretched out wide as the sky. He had to fix that. He should ask Sophia something else. “How long have you been a pilot?”

“I got my pilot’s license when I was sixteen,” she said proudly.

“Wow, that’s young.”

“My father’s a pilot. This was his plane. He gave it to me when he retired.”

“Why did he retire?”

“He’s losing his sight.”

“That’s a shame.”

Sophia nodded. “Yes. Poppy is like a bird with a broken wing. It’s very sad.”

“You speak English like a native,” he said. “Much better than my Spanish.”

“I was bilingual even as a kid. I have dual citizenship. My mother was an American,” she said. “We visited her family in California every Christmas.”

“Where abouts in California?”

“Ventura.”

“Really? I have a beach house in Santa Barbara.”

“Of course you do,” she said.

“What’s that tone all about?”

“What tone?”

“The tone that says there’s something wrong with having a lot of money.”

She gave a half laugh that sounded more like a snort. “You are imagining things, Mr. Martin. I do not have a tone.”

Was he? “You don’t have anything against wealthy people?”

“Why would I have such an attitude? If it were not for the rich and powerful and famous who come to Bosque de Los Dioses, I would not have a job.”

“Because I know how some rich people can be. They can be very demanding. I’m sure you have to put up with a lot.”

A sly smile flitted across her face. “Ah.”

“Ah, what?”

She shook her head.

“What is it?”

“You are the one with the prejudice against the wealthy.”

“What! That’s crazy. I’m worth over a billion dollars.” Well, until this last investment, but he would be back up there again soon. “Why would I be prejudice against rich people? That’s like saying I’m prejudiced against myself.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Prejudiced against yourself?”

What kind of question was that? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No.”

“You weren’t born into money,” she said.

How had she guessed? He raised his chin. “What makes you assume that?”

“That chip sitting on your shoulder.”

“I don’t have a chip—” Shut up. Don’t argue with her. It doesn’t matter.

“Were you?” she asked. “Born rich?”

“No,” he admitted.

“So you are a self-made man.”

“There’s that tone again. You’re mocking me.”

“You are mistaking my jovial nature for mocking.”

“Am I?” Gibb shook his head. The woman was turning him inside out and he couldn’t say why. Sure she was cute and sexy, but so were a million other women. What was it about this one that stoked him and frustrated him and challenged him and made him want to grab her up and kiss her until neither one of them could breathe?

“This is going to be a very long flight, isn’t it?”

“It sure is shaping up that way.”

More silence. This time he wasn’t going to say anything. He could sit here forever and be quiet if need be. Not a word. Not another word was going to pass his lips.

She looked out over the nose of the plane, and with the slightest moments, shifted the plane northward. Underneath her breath she was softly humming, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.”

“Okay,” he blurted. “You’re right. Maybe I do have a chip on my shoulder.”

“I know.”

Did she have to sound so damn cheerful about it? Gibb clamped his teeth together. Not another word.

“About that chip on your shoulder?” she ventured.

“Yes?”

“It’s due to a sense of inadequacy.”

“Inadequacy? Where are you getting this stuff?”

“Why else would you resent what you are?”

“I don’t resent who I am.”

“Don’t you?”

“Thank you, oh, doctor of psychology.” He wiped his brow. “Okay, I’ll bite.”

“Bite what?”

“The bait.”

“What bait?”

While she might speak English like a native, the idioms seemed to throw her. “You throw out a challenging line like it’s the bait. So here I am, biting it like a fish.”

“Um, all right.”

“What do you mean by the chip on my shoulder is due to a sense of inadequacy?”

Sophia shrugged. She was totally nonchalant. How did one get to be so blasé about everything? “You feel like you don’t deserve your riches.”

Gibb coughed, tugged at his collar. He felt like she’d taken an endoscope and shoved it down his throat and could see everything that was happening inside his gut. Exposed. He felt totally exposed and he didn’t like it, not in the least.

She glanced at him. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he said tightly and coughed again.

“Sometimes the high altitude—”

“It’s not the altitude.”

“Maybe if you took off your tie.”

“I’m fine.”

Momentarily, she held up both palms, before her beautiful hands settled back down on the yoke. That smile of hers could seriously blind a guy. It was unnatural to be that happy.

Gibb took off his tie, undid the top button of his dress shirt. Instantly, he could breathe better.

She laid an index finger over her lips. “Shh, I promise that I won’t tell anyone if you take off the jacket, too.”

“I’m good.”

“As you wish.”

A long silence began as they passed over blue water and a lot of land. He hadn’t been this knocked off balance since the last time a corporate spy ripped him off.

She was back to humming, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” It ought to be illegal for anyone to be this cheerful.

He stared out the side window, studied lush green ground sliding by. How many times had he flown over a place like this, oblivious to the lives of the people below? “How did you know?”

She startled as if she had forgotten that he was in the plane with her. “Know what?”

“That I wasn’t born wealthy.”

She clicked her tongue. “You work so hard. Too hard.”

“Rich people work hard.”

“Old money knows how to relax, new money scrambles. You scramble like you’re afraid someone will take it all away.”

“Now you sound like a fortune cookie.”

She seemed to take no offense at that. “Maybe. And you spend money heedlessly. I saw you give Stacy that limitless black credit card. She is at the spa every day splurging on treatments with your money. People who are born rich tend to be frugal.”

“That’s a generalization.”

“True.”

“So what if I work hard and spend easily?” Stop being defensive. You don’t owe her an explanation. “I still don’t see how you drew your conclusion.”

“In two weeks time you never took off the suits.”

He ran a hand over the sleeve of his silk Armani.

“Not once.”

“I took them off to go to bed.”

“But not when people could see you. I had to ask myself why. Why does this handsome, successful man drive himself so hard? He’s supposed to be on vacation and he never takes off the suit. What is he so afraid of?” She paused. “And then it hit me.”

“What did?”

“You never felt loved for who you were.”

Goose bumps spread over his arms at the same time the hairs on the nape of his neck lifted. He tried to laugh, but he just exhaled harshly.

“So you drove yourself hard in order to get recognition. Status became everything.”

His throat worked, but no words came out.

“You became adept at charming others. You adopted whatever image worked. It’s why you wear expensive suits—status, attention getting, uniform of the wealthy.”

Gibb’s mouth dropped open. How did she know!

“You came to feel that it was not okay to be who you really were, that in order to be loved, you had to take on the feelings and identity of those whose love you wished to win.”

He wanted to deny it. He felt the need to contradict her, but he was so floored that he simply couldn’t find the words.

“Deep down inside,” she went on, “you believe that no matter how much success you achieve you’ll always be a failure. You feel like a fraud.”

He planned to say, “Hell, no, you’re crazy, you’re nuts,” but instead Gibb simply nodded and said, “Empty.”

“This friend of yours that you’re flying to see. The one you want to stop from getting married. He’s known you a long time?”

“Yeah.” Gibb grunted.

“Before you were rich.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s the only one who knows who you really are, isn’t he?”

Was the woman some kind of psychic or just perceptive as hell? “How…how can you possibly know this?”

She met his gaze. “Why, it’s written all over you. Anyone who bothers to look past the suit can see it.”




4


BESIDES FLYING, Sophia’s one great talent was the ability to read people quickly. She couldn’t explain her skill. It was intuitive. Perhaps it came from being the youngest of seven, where in order to get her way, she had to figure out what everyone else’s angle was and use it to her advantage. Or maybe it was simply because she loved people, and found them fascinating.

Unfortunately, she’d learned the hard way that most people did not enjoy being sized up. Usually, she kept her opinions to herself, but something about Gibb had loosened her tongue.

Now he sat there scowling at her as if she’d given him a bad tarot card reading. For many hours it would be just him and her together in this tiny cockpit.

“You should be proud that you are a self-made man,” she said, trying to smooth things over.

“But you see, I’m not.”

“If you weren’t born rich and you’re not a self-made man, then where did you get your money from?” she asked.

“My mother married a rich man. He adopted me.”

“And he died and left you all this money?”

“No, James is still very much alive.”

“He simply gave you a billion dollars?”

“Of course not. I earned my own money.”

“Then you are a self-made man.”

Gibb shook his head. “I couldn’t have done it without James’s connections.”

“So you are in the same business he’s in?”

“No. He’s in real estate, I made my first few million creating a game app for phones when that industry was just taking off.”

“Like Angry Birds?”

“Something along those lines.”

“What is the app called?”

“Zimdiggy.”

“Oh! I’ve played that game. It’s fun. I love all the detailed levels. Have you invented more game apps?”

“I sold out to a big gaming company, then I became a venture capitalist. I’m not really an idea guy.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m more of a moneyman, backing other people’s inventions. I seem to have a knack for predicting the next big thing and I’m not afraid to take risks.”

It was odd, this self-effacing side of him. It didn’t match with his confident outer persona.

“Really? You’d rather work yourself into the ground just to keep getting richer than do something fun that you love?”

“It’s not about getting richer. It’s about seeing how much I can achieve.”

“So achievement is your passion, not creating your own game apps?”

“This way, I help other people achieve their dreams.”

“Your game app helps people. I can’t tell you how much Zimdiggy kept my mind distracted while I sat at my father’s hospital bed after his eye surgery.”

A brief smile flitted over his lips.

“When do you get to enjoy the fruits of your labor?” she asked.

“My labor is the fruit,” he said it as if he really believed it, but a faraway expression in his eyes belied the words.

Poor guy. He was unhappy and didn’t even know it, but she wasn’t about to point that out. He’d just deny it anyway. “So see, you are self-made.”

“I wouldn’t have made it without my adopted father’s help.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I feel like I’m only where I’m at by a twist of fate. If James had married someone other than my mother, some other guy would be here instead of me.”

“You underestimate yourself, Mr. Martin.”

“Gibb,” he said. “Call me Gibb, we’ve got a long flight ahead of us and when you call me Mr. Martin, I think of my stepfather.”

“Even though he adopted you, you still don’t think of him as your father?”

“He’s a tough man to get to know. I don’t want to sound ungrateful because he’s done a lot for me and my mother, but he and I never really bonded, you know?”

Sophia didn’t know. Her father was her best friend. “So you are an only child.”

“Yes.”

“What happened to your real father?”

“Who knows? Dead maybe, or in prison? He left my mom when I was a baby. I never knew him.”

“You have no desire to seek him out?”

“None at all.”

How sad. She cast a sideways glance over at him. The man was a tight ball of barely contained energy, his hands curled into fists against his upper thighs. She remembered how he’d paced the balcony of his bungalow, restless as a tiger. He was not a man who sat still easily.

A sweet shiver, like fingers gliding over piano keys, ran up and down her spine.

Beneath the kumquat and leather notes of his cologne, she caught the scent of something deeper, more primal and masculine. Raw, sexual heat from his body radiated across the confined space, and crashed headlong into her.

Did he feel it, too? Or was it all in her imagination?

His gaze flicked to her legs again and something in his eyes flared hot. Oh, yes. He was feeling it, too.

When was the last time she’d felt such a strong instant attraction to anyone? His gaze tracked from her legs to her breasts with an expression so sultry she could hardly breathe. Um, never?

Who was she kidding? A man like Gibb Martin could never be interested in her. Not for the long haul at any rate.

She wouldn’t need him for the long haul. One hot night in his arms would do the trick.

Mmm. It was a delicious but dangerous thought.

Just thinking about having sex with him had her going soft and pliant in all the right places.

That light gray silk suit had clearly been tailored to fit his body. His hair was as sandy as the beaches of Limon, and cut short and neat.

She lowered her eyelids, looked at him through the fringe of her lashes, hoping he would think that she was inspecting the instrument panel and not him.

Be honest, Sophia.

No point lying to herself. She was flat out ogling him. Who wouldn’t ogle? The man had splendid bone structure and firm, elegant muscles—hard, but not bulky.

He was magnificent.

Gulping, she shifted her attention back to the landscape. They had passed over the center of Costa Rica, which, at its widest point, was only one hundred and eight miles across, and were headed toward the Caribbean Sea. Before long, they would be entering Nicaraguan air space.

“Sophia,” Gibb murmured.

Had he said her name or had she imagined it. Between the sound of the engine and the headset, she had trouble hearing him.

She turned her head again to find him staring at her. “Yes?”

“Are you married?”

The question took her by surprise, so did the heated flush that raced to her cheeks. She held up her left hand so he could see it was bare of a ring.

“Boyfriend?”

Good question. She still hadn’t told Emilio that they would not be taking their relationship to the next level. He was such a nice guy, but it wasn’t fair of her to string him along when she did not have any romantic feelings for him.

She studied the instrument panel, the tachometer reading, the fuel system cluster, the altimeter and temperature gauges. Everything was fine.

“Sophia?”

“Emilio is not my boyfriend any more so than Stacy is your girlfriend,” she finally answered.

“Ah,” he said. “A friend with benefits.”

She owed him no explanation about her relationship status. She would let him think whatever he wanted.

“So no one serious?”

Why was he asking? She lifted a shoulder. “I’m too young to get serious.”

“How old are you?”

“Did anyone ever tell you that it’s not polite to ask a woman her age.” She maneuvered the plane through puffs of late-afternoon cloud.

“I’m thirty-two,” he volunteered.

He was older than she would have guessed. “Twenty-six,” she admitted.

“And you’re still not ready to settle down?”

“Are you?”

He chuckled. “No, no, I’m not.”

That killed the conversation.

Good. She needed to concentrate on what she was doing. They were about to cross over into Nicaragua. She radioed the nearest air tower with her intentions and was cleared. They were cruising along at seven thousand feet and a hundred and thirty knots per hour.

But soon, the silence got to her, which was odd. Normally, she was happy as a clam when she was in the air and nothing upset her equilibrium. She canted her head, studied him from the corner of her eye.

He was handsome enough to be a movie star, especially when he flashed that grin. He was such an enigma. On the one hand, a serious workaholic, underneath though, there was a playful side he’d buried long ago to please a stepfather who, from Gibb’s account, withheld affection while at the same time, freely gave him material things. Such mixed messages must be very confusing.

“May I ask you a personal question?” she asked.

“Nothing has stopped you so far,” he said.

“You do not have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Let’s hear it. What’s on your mind?”

“What is it that you want most in life, Mr. Martin?”

“Gibb,” he said. “You can call me Gibb. Maybe you should tell me what I want, Sophia, since you just did such a good job of reading me.”

“Ah, but if I do it for you then you don’t have to do any soul searching.”

“Soul searching is overrated. I’m more goal oriented than emotive.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“You said I didn’t have to answer.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Emote.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you can be a bit bossy?”

“In other words, you have no idea what it is that you want from life?”

“I want for nothing. I’m living the dream.”

“And yet, you do not seem happy.”

For a long time he said nothing. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind. I don’t know you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, really. Go on. I want to hear your thoughts.”

“It’s just that…”

“What?”

“When will you have enough money to earn your stepfather’s love?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“All right.”

“It’s not.”

“You never did answer my question about what it is you want.”

“Food. I’m starving. I forgot to eat lunch. You got anything to eat?” he asked.




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