The Pilot and the Pinup Read online

  The Pilot and the Pin-up

  Tina Holland

  Published 2005

  ISBN 1-59578-176-5

  Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2005, Tina Holland. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Liquid Silver Books

  http://LSbooks.com

  Email:

  [email protected]

  Editor

  Corina Calsing

  Cover Artist

  Vince Evans

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To Ken whose love and support made this book possible.

  Chapter 1

  “What the hell?” Sydney Wagner muttered as she fought to maintain control of her Saturn. It felt like the engine had dropped out. Sydney struggled to straighten out the car, pressing the brakes and fighting the pull towards the centerline. She managed to steer off to the side of the road. The car slowed to a stop. Sydney leaned over the steering wheel, and her breath came out in a whoosh. She took a moment to pause from the event, and allow the feeling of security, but only for a moment.

  “Dammit!” This was going to delay her. She looked down at her cell-phone and wondered who to call for help. As if on command, it rang.

  “Syd! Sweetie! How’s my girl? Wanted to call you and see how the road-trip is going.” She’d recognize Lance Lott’s voice anywhere. It seemed ironic that her friend, Lance, would call. He was the one person who couldn’t help her, being a thousand miles away in Vegas.

  “Lance, my car blew up! Hold on a sec. I gotta look outside and see what the hell happened.” Sydney heels clicked on the asphalt as she proceeded to assess the damage.

  “Are you okay!? What happened?”

  “Looks like I blew a tire. Crap! I’m not sure I can change this thing.”

  “Sure you can. Get the book out and change that tire!”

  “This coming from a man who has pictures hung by professionals.”

  “Syd, that’s not fair! That was a very heavy frame and expensive painting. I didn’t want to damage anything.”

  “Like a fingernail.”

  “Okay, I was feeling sorry for you; now I’m having serious regrets.”

  “I’m sorry.” She leaned back in the car and popped the glove compartment, searching for the owner’s manual. “I’m a little stressed at the moment.”

  “I know, sweetie. I’ll make everything better when I see you. Okay?”

  “All right. I’ll see if I can get this thing fixed. See you in Kansas City.” She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose wondering how to handle this complication.

  “Bye, honey.” His voice echoed as Sydney snapped the phone shut and put it in her pocket.

  Fumbling through the pages, Sydney reached the section on changing a tire. She started to psych herself up. She could do this. It’s only a tire. A tire attached to a car. In that moment, Sydney was relieved she drove a smaller economy car and not the SUV’s common to the Dakotas.

  She decided to take County Road 81 south from Fargo to avoid possible traffic on I-29. Now, that same choice meant she would have to change this tire alone. There wasn’t a service station within sixty miles, and the sun wasn’t expected up for another half hour. At least spring had arrived. It wasn’t uncommon to get snow in April. Well, Sydney could only blame herself. She wanted an early start this morning. Now, she would be late for the Passionate Prose Writing Convention in Kansas City.

  Realizing there was little choice, she grabbed her jacket and gloves. She pulled the jack from the trunk and settled down by the rear tire and began loosening the nuts on the cover. She was getting a rhythm down by the time a pair of headlights blinded her. A truck pulled up behind the Saturn. Sydney tried to stay focused on the cover and not seem panicked. As a door slammed, she glanced up to see a pair of muscled legs striding towards her.

  “Need some help?” His voice was velvet-edged and strong.

  “No. I could stand to have you turn your brights off, though.” Her lips thinned in frustration. She probably shouldn’t provoke this stranger, but it was hard to keep quiet when she felt defensive.

  Sydney loosened the cap and took it off. She started unscrewing the bolts within the rim, but was perplexed about how to continue. She dropped the owner’s manual on the ground behind her and was hesitant to turn and grab it.

  “Damn this tire,” she muttered and heard a chuckle behind her.

  She turned to appraise him. Sydney surveyed his chiseled features and decided she was in trouble. “I hope you’re enjoying this,” she said with as reasonable a voice as she could manage.

  “I do find it slightly entertaining.” He leaned back on her car and put his hands in his pockets.

  She was irked by his calm, relaxed manner. “Well, there’s no reason I should have all the fun. Still willing to help?” He was striking, making it hard to concentrate on what she was doing. He also looked like he could probably get the job done faster, without the heels and skirt. An image of him in her ensemble flashed through her mind and made her giggle.

  “You were doing pretty well. I find it helpful if you jack up the car,” he demonstrated, “loosen all the nuts, and then pull the tire off.” He demonstrated. The tire came off straight away.

  Good-looking know-it-all. He was at least six feet tall with dark blonde hair, cut in military fashion, short in the back and only slightly longer on top. It was tousled, as if he constantly ran his fingers through it. His eyes were steel gray, compelling and magnetic. He was lean, yet his presence was commanding.

  “I do know how to change a tire. I’m just not dressed for it.” She gestured in a sweeping motion with her hands.

  “I’m sure you can, and we don’t have changing rooms down here.” He followed her hands as she motioned down her body. She found his gaze penetrating her defenses. He got up and walked behind her.

  “What are you doing?” Sydney spun to face him.

  “Spare tire.” He held the tire, mocking her. His broad shoulders strained against his shirt, sending a shiver of pleasure through her; she could watch his magnificent beauty for hours.

  “Oh.”

  “Since I’m getting a pretty good view of your undercarriage, don’t you think I should know your name?” He said, crouching beside her car. His arms moved with speed and agility. Sydney was momentarily distracted, imagining those strong arms encircling her, she missed what he asked.

  “My what?” She self-consciously smoothed her skirt.

  “Your name?”

  “Not that. My under what?”

  “Undercarriage.”

  “I thought you said…”

  “Underwear?” A faint light twinkled in his charcoal eyes as the corners of his mouth turned up.

  “NO! That’s not what I thought. I was thinking to view my ‘undercarriage’ you would have to be under something” She placed her hands on her hips.

  “Like you?”

  Sydney’s eyes filled with a curious, deep longing, but she remained quiet. She wanted to be upset, but found it difficult, imagining him beneath her. Sydney should be wary, but something inside her said this man wasn’t dangerous. Truthfully, he could have taken advantage of her. Somehow, that wasn’t as abhorrent as
it should be. She obviously had been too long without a man, at least a year since her last sexual encounter. Maybe that was why she was turned on by his attentions.

  “You’re blushing.”

  “I am not," she denied.

  “Yes, you are. Now, what is your name?”

  “My name?”

  “Yes, unless you want to show me your underwear.” His eyes twinkled.

  “I don’t think so," she managed to say with a straight face. “My name is Sydney. Sydney Wagner.”

  “Peter Kane.” His task completed, he wiped his hands down his thighs, got up and reached out to her.

  Sydney felt her skin pulse and her heart beat faster when he clasped her hand in his. The roughness of it gave her a sense of protection.

  “Will you give me your number?” Peter asked with a handsome smile.

  “No.” She pulled her hand away. She’d give him one thing; he was tenacious, like a dog that wants to keep chasing the ball even though he’s tired.

  “Why?’

  “Why do you want it?”

  “To call you, ask you out, start dating, or maybe I’ll just call and hang up. I do that sometimes.” He winked at her.

  “I’m not going to be home for awhile," she responded matter-of-factly.

  “Oh?” He made his way back to the trunk, putting what was left of her tire inside and closing it.

  “At least a week. I’m on my way to a convention.”

  “I thought maybe you were setting up your ‘I’m washing my hair' story.”

  “No. Although, it does take awhile.” Sydney timidly fingered a loose tendril that fell across her cheek.

  “I’m sure it does.” His eyes ran the length of her. “If you ever need help, I run a shampoo service when I’m not changing tires.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She was strangely flattered by his interest.

  “Please do. You know, there’s a little café in the next town south of here. You want to have breakfast while they take off this donut and put on a tire?”

  “That sounds nice.” Sydney wasn’t tempted often, but she felt tempted now.

  “I would be honored," he spoke and the dimples in his cheeks deepened.

  The man had no right being this beautiful. I bet he knows it, too. She had no intention of letting him know it. Tilting her head defiantly, she shot back. “Don’t be. I’m hungry.”

  Chapter 2

  Peter looked around Genie's Café. It was typical of the kind found in small towns, there were maybe four or five booths, one of which they were seated at, and a counter with bar stools. Display boxes with various knick-knacks for sale by Genie covered the walls.

  Their food arrived quickly. Peter had pancakes, eggs and a side of bacon and Sydney chanced Genie’s special, two eggs and toast. When she ordered coffee with a side of milk, saying to the waitress, “I like my coffee, like my men, sweet with a tan,” the woman cackled and walked away.

  “Single?” Peter asked as he gazed at her golden hair. He’d never seen hair so long. When the sun came up, it seemed to catch the light. Peter wondered what her mane would look like at sunset—if it would catch all the colors. He wanted to run his fingers through her long tresses as he plunged into her. The notion was maddening.

  “Yes, but I’m dating, seriously.” Her face tilted up and Peter stared into her mysterious blue eyes. Sydney’s skin was smooth, and her face a perfect oval, void of sharp angles. Her full lips begged for kisses. She took off her blue jacket revealing a white halter-top and cleavage he wanted to delve his hands into. Peter was surprised to feel this instant attraction. Damn, if it wasn’t uncomfortable. He could feel his shaft bucking against the zipper of his pants and staring at her exposed flesh was not helping.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Lance.”

  “Lance? And where is Lance?” Peter felt suddenly possessive.

  “He lives in Las Vegas.”

  “Dating long?” he asked lightly.

  “I suppose … like seven years.”

  “And what does Lance do?”

  “He’s an architect.”

  “Maybe I’ve heard of him. What did you say his last name was?”

  “Lott.”

  “Lance Lott?!” He nearly choked on his coffee. Lance Lott. There was no boyfriend. The name sounded made up. It seemed the lovely lady had a bit of a Camelot complex. Well, he could be a knight in shining armor.

  “Yes. Do you know him?” she asked before sipping her coffee.

  “Never heard of him.” He paused. His fork hovered above his pancakes. “So what kind of convention are you going to?”

  She coughed, “A writer’s convention.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  “What do you write?”

  “Torrid romance novels.” Her chin went up.

  “Torrid, huh?”

  “Sometimes.” Sydney picked apart the toast she ordered.

  “Need any help with that?”

  “You’re Mr. Subtle, aren’t you?”

  “I try. So, do you?”

  “No. I’ve got the writing pretty much covered.”

  “Even the torrid part? I should let you know I can be very torrid myself.”

  “That I don’t doubt.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, here’s my card.”

  As she reached across the table to take his card, their fingers touched. Her fingers were yielding, and he immediately clasped her hand in his. When he touched her, his own pulse raced. Peter felt the irresistible urge to grab Sydney’s hand and take her to the nearest secluded spot.

  Sydney tugged her hand away as she glanced at his card. “Day-trader, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “So what do you trade?”

  “Stocks mostly. Sometimes bonds, real estate … if I’m lucky, phone numbers.”

  “I see we are back to being obvious.”

  “If that’s what it takes to get your number.”

  “Actually, my trust is what you need.”

  “That must be a tough commodity.”

  “You’re a trader. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  Peter felt compelled to touch her hand that was resting on the table. He needed to feel that electricity again. Sydney took a sharp intake of breath when he turned her hand over, palm up, and rubbed his index finger along the inside of her wrist.

  “Anything else for you two?” Sydney pulled her hand away before the waitress finished her sentence. She grabbed the ticket, raised it over her head as Peter tried to retrieve it.

  “Syd, I can get that!”

  “No, you changed my tire. The least I can do is buy you the breakfast special.” While waving the ticket at the waitress, she reached into her purse with her free hand and grabbed a twenty. “Keep the change.”

  As the waitress walked away, Peter surveyed her. “You tipped her very well, for a ten-dollar meal.”

  “I thought the service was good.” She sounded defensive.

  “What’s my tip?”

  ”Breakfast?”

  “Okay.” He felt her resistance towards him. Peter didn’t know why he teased her. He didn’t usually flirt with perfect strangers, but he'd never seen a woman so finely made. Peter wanted nothing more than to feel her curves. He couldn’t seem to control himself, and Sydney’s blush wasn’t helping.

  “Well, I suppose I better get going. I’m sure the car is done by now.” She moved quickly to the edge of the booth.

  “You have my card. Why don’t you give me a jingle when you get to your hotel?”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “I’d like to make sure you get there in one piece. I might need references for my tire-changing business.” The corners of his mouth turned up.

  “Maybe I’ll call you.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

  Peter watched her ass swish on her way to her car. His mind was in a whirlwind. Sydney was beautiful, quick witted and had a sense of humor which rivaled his
own. He liked a woman who was independent. Sydney was that, stubbornly so. She was shorter than the women he usually dated, coming only to his chest. Short women tended to be petite all over, but Sydney had curves enough to please. Peter could take her to bed and not worry about breaking her. When he glimpsed her hands, she wore no ring, but then she mentioned a boyfriend, probably fictitious.

  Pieces of their conversation didn’t quite fit. The boyfriend lived in Vegas. That’s convenient. And what girl didn’t know how long she dated someone? They all knew that stuff.

  A long time had passed since he pursued the opposite sex; Peter could hardly wait. He couldn't remember when he last fixated on a woman. As intriguing as Sydney Wagner was, Peter would keep his guard up. Nevertheless, he hoped she would call.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the familiar sound of his cell phone ringing. "This is Peter Kane.”

  “Peter, Buzz here.”

  “Hello, Mr. Caulfield, what can I do for you?”

  “I’ll tell you what you can do! You can stop racing that P-51 plane of yours! Damn! I can’t afford losing money. It’s highway robbery, I tell you. You must be descended from that Jesse James that comes from up North.” It sounded like chastisement. That was the way that Buzz expressed himself, shouting at you with a grin on his face.

  “I’m sorry, Buzz. Gotta keep air racing. I love it too much.”

  “You know what? You need a woman that’ll keep you on the ground for awhile.”

  “What about you, Buzz?”

  “Hell, I could use the money!” That was the farthest thing from the truth. Buzz Caulfield made his money the same way every other Texan had: cattle and oil.

  “Since I’m not going to stop racing, how ‘bout I help you with some stocks.”

  “How’s that electronics company?”

  “You know, I can check the current price. I think it would be better to wait a few more days. I hear the CEO is leaving, and that should reduce the cost for sale. It may even increase the number of shares you can purchase. I’ll call you as soon as I get into the office."

  Yes, the day was off at a good pace.

  Chapter 3

  While Sydney waited to check-in at the hotel, her mind wandered back to Peter. She’d only met him this morning, and already he possessed her thoughts. Considering how attractive he was, she wasn’t surprised. He had that boyish charm with a hint of naughtiness down flat. Sydney had no doubt he would have taken advantage of her, had she let him. A small part of her wanted him to. Why was she having these feelings? Lance was meeting her in a few hours. It would be better to not think of Peter (obviously, a true-rake). That brought an immediate idea. What a perfect character Peter would make! She rummaged through her purse to find her notebook and write it down before it escaped.