Chapter Nine
I’m going to die.
My stomach plummets to the floor as the plane vaults upward, the engines rumbling as Wyatt flies us back into the sky. Rain pummels the windows, the water streaks across the glass in rivulets, and the clouds are so dark it’s like nighttime, not the morning.
I need to get off this plane. I need to be anywhere else but here. Saliva floods my mouth as a sick and twisted part of my brain creates images of lightning piercing the shell of the jet. The engines failing. A fiery crash to the ground. Debris and flames littering the surrounding area. A mourning father racked with sorrow, standing over an empty casket.
“Please, please, please,” I beg, becoming lightheaded the more I struggle to suck in air.
Don’t let anything happen. Please. I’m begging. Just let us land safely.
My hands ache as I grip the leather armrests like a vice, unwilling and unable to let go. My eyes sting with tears I won’t shed, won’t let fall. Not when the man at the front is fighting with the plane to keep us airborne. To keep us safe.
He’s yelling from the cockpit, words I can’t understand as the entire jet jerks again. My heart lurches and the flight deck door violently bounces against a panel as it strains against the safety latch, stopping it from swinging back and forth.
I want to be up there with him, even just to see what’s out in front of me. I hate this. The lack of control, the unknown, the fear that has its sharp talons piercing into every fiber of my body, feeding off my terror, growing stronger with each new mental image of my imminent death inside my mind.
Suddenly, we pivot, a sharp turn in a direction I can’t determine, sending my phone, tablet, and book sliding across the table before tumbling off. My upper lip tingles, my stomach roils, my breathing becomes irregular. White and black spots dance behind my eyelids as I close them tighter.
I’m panicking, close to hyperventilating, unable to stop.
Time stalls, dragging torturously slow, and my heart lodges firmly in my throat. Logically, I know this is normal… well, as normal as any storm can be. Wyatt’s a trained professional. This is no different from someone going to work in an office. Only his office is thousands of miles in the sky. He does mandatory simulators twice a year to check his training, for crying out loud.
He can do this.
He’s got this.
But it doesn’t stop the terrified little voice inside my head from screaming I’m going to die.
“Miss Cartwright?”
My entire body tremors, muscles tense and rigid.
“Miss Cartwright, breathe. Do it with me, okay?” I hear the sound of a long, calming inhale, followed by an exhale.
C’mon, Pippa. In for three, out for three.
“Phillipa.”
I try to take a deep breath, the tightness in my chest making it damn near impossible. Warmth surrounds the back of my neck, a strong pressure squeezing as a deep voice counts. “That’s it. One…”
Two…
Three…
A thumb pushes against my pulse point, the firm and steady strum against my skin somehow grounding.
“Hey.” The words almost a whisper–soft and gentle, the way you’d speak to a spooked animal. My hair flutters as the hand moves, the fingers brushing it back from my face, gently tucking it behind my ear. “Pippa. You’re okay.”
Finally, a rasping breath leaves my lips, the tremors turning into full-blown shaking as dizziness hits me like a tidal wave. I can’t hear the engines or feel the lurches of the wind. I open my eyes, glancing out the window. Gray tarmac. Green grass. Rain sliding down the panes.
We’ve landed.
“Hey. Look at me.” Wyatt’s hand finds my cheek, guiding my head to meet his blue gaze raking over my face. “We had to do a go-around and ended up diverting, but it’s okay. You’re safe. It’s over.”
I open my mouth to speak, yet nothing comes out. I didn’t even know we’d landed. I bob my head, the movement jerky. Our gazes meet, and my spine prickles with awareness. We’re so close that I can see the flecks in his irises, each individual eyelash, the groove between his eyebrows from his incessant frowning. My cheek heats in his palm, and I want to nuzzle into his hold, close my eyes, and stay here forever. Or at least until my heart beats normally again.
But would it ever, if Wyatt continues to touch me?
“We’re on the ground in northwest Kansas,” he explains, releasing me. To my embarrassment, I miss the contact so much that I have to stop myself from chasing it. “I’m going to see if I can order you a car to drive you the rest of the way to Colorado.”
He goes to stand, and it’s the first time I realize he’s crouched down, one hand gripping the bottom of the armrest, holding himself steady. My arm snaps out, grabbing his wrist, and I frantically shake my head. “No.”
He raises his eyebrows questioningly. “No?”
“I don’t want to travel anymore,” I whisper, swallowing thickly. “I—I want to stay here.”
Wyatt grimaces, trying not to make it obvious as he checks his watch. “Miss Cartwright, this is a private airstrip and costs a fortune each hour we stay. I really need to get…”
“Please,” I beg. Imploring him with my eyes, I tighten my grip. He glances at my hold, his forehead wrinkling. I want to poke at the indents, touch his skin, and feel the features that he’s developed over time. I want to feel something other than the panic trembling through my veins. “Don’t leave me.”
I watch as different emotions flit across his face—hesitation, reluctance but, worst of all, pity. My skin tightens with discomfort, and I drop my hold, mentally cringing as I push my back against my seat, creating distance.
“I’ll need to inform your father,” he says, standing. “Are you okay to wait here?” He hesitates like he wants to say more, but once I’ve nodded, he turns and walks back to the cockpit.
As soon as his back is turned, leaving me alone again in the cabin, my eyes water. Slumping forward, I hide my face in my hands, my lip quivering as a sob threatens to escape. I fight to hold it in, begging myself to keep it together.
This is so embarrassing. A little turbulence never hurt anyone. Yet here I am, close to blubbering like a baby, sucking in my breaths as I try not to break down. Wyatt’s already calmed me, brought me back from the edge once already, and I’ll be damned if he needs to do it again.
I sit up and look at the ceiling of the plane, blinking furiously, forcing the tears away, and slide on the mask I wear every day at practice. Phillipa Cartwright isn’t some weak, scared little girl. She’s strong, capable, and has her shit together.
“Miss Cartwright?”
“Yeah?” I croak, tugging the ends of my sleeves over my hands.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I repeat, my voice an octave higher than I’d like. “I don’t know why I was being so ridiculous. It’s only turbulence. No big deal.”
He itches his chin, his expression pinching, like he’s looking at a different girl than the one he left close to falling apart moments ago. He’d be right. Vulnerable Pippa isn’t one I get the luxury of showing the world. Vulnerable Pippa could be torn into shreds by the vultures waiting for me to fail.
Threading his head under the strap of his flight bag, he thumbs toward the door. “If you’re ready? Your father suggested that we stay tonight at the Copper Ridge Lodge and Spa.” He pulls his phone out from his pants pocket, typing into it before adding, “It’s not too far from here.”
I nod and push off my seat, my clammy palms leaving handprints on the leather. Bending, I collect my spilled things from the floor and shove them into my purse. I fumble with the handles as I drag it out from under the table and try to lift it, the thing almost weightless, only for Wyatt to take it from me.
“What about your skates?” he asks, gesturing to the overhead luggage bin.
“Oh, right.” I chew on my lower lip, not wanting to leave them. Call me superstitious, but I’m having a good run. Like hockey players who don’t shave if they get to the playoffs, I don’t want anything to happen to my blades if I leave them on the plane, even with what I assume is the airfield’s tight security.
Wyatt reaches over my head and pops open the door, pulling out my equipment bag and tossing it over his shoulder before wordlessly walking out of the jet and into the pouring rain.
He’s carried my bags the whole time we’ve been on the ground—from when we landed to where he sits them down and waits in line for reception. I don’t know if he’s being nice or coddling me, but I don’t like it, nor do I need it.
Big deal, I freaked out.
I’m over it.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks for the umpteenth time, his eyes still filled with concern, as if he sees me like a fragile doll that needs to be handled with care.
“I told you back on the plane, Wyatt. I’m fine,” I reply, squaring my shoulders with a sense of bravado I don’t completely feel yet. But hell, if I let him see that. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You looked like you were going to pass out earlier.”
“Well, I’m not.” I cross my arms over my chest. I’m close to snapping because, apparently, I don’t do well with embarrassment. “Besides, it takes a bit more than unstable weather to freak me out.” I gesture to myself. “Remember… professional athlete. I have nerves of steel.”
“Miss Cartwright,” he sighs, resigned. “It’s okay if you were scared.” Dragging a hand through his hair, his gaze lowers to the ground for the briefest of seconds. Releasing a heavy breath, he says, “ I was nervous for a bit there. It doesn’t mean—”
Huffing noisily from my lips, I hiss, “I’m fine.”
An older couple in front of us finishes up and moves to the side, freeing the receptionist to beckon us forward, her smile bright and welcoming as she waits. I lift my purse and rest it in the crook of my arm, a slow smile playing on my lips as I decide to go for a different tactic. One that I know will leave him flustered instead of me.
“Maybe next time I can sit in the cockpit, and you can hold my hand… y’know, since you seem to be so worried about me.”
He growls, low and frustrated in his throat, the sound sending goosebumps down my arms. I fight a shiver as I march forward, leaving my grumpy pilot behind, my well-practiced paparazzi smile in place.
“Good afternoon,” the woman says in a cheery voice as genuine as my grin. “Welcome to Copper Ridge Lodge and Spa. How can I help you?”
“Hi, my father called ahead, requesting two rooms for tonight,” I say, leaning against the counter.
“Name?”
“Phillipa Cartwright.”
She taps on her keyboard, concentration knitting her eyebrows as she surveys the computer screen. “Ah, yes, Miss Cartwright. I’ve got you right here.” She pauses, reads something, and then looks between Wyatt and me. “I can see you requested two rooms. Unfortunately, we only have the presidential lodge available for this evening.”
“We were told there would be two rooms,” Wyatt says authoritatively as he joins me at the desk.
“I understand, sir, but the lodge is a two-bed.” She glances at me. “It’s our most luxurious private dwelling that overlooks the forest. It’s very secluded… rustic… excellent for couples.”
“For couples?” Wyatt says harshly, and I turn to glare at him.
“Yes, sir,” the receptionist—Stacey, from her name tag—says.
“You have nothing in the main hotel?”
She clicks on her keyboard again, in a way that I’m sure is only to appease him, and then she shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. We’ve got a large wedding party staying with us this weekend, so the entire hotel is fully booked.”
“The lodge will be fine,” I reassure her, then reach into my bag to grab my purse. “He doesn’t like to spoon,” I whisper teasingly, quiet enough that only Stacey can hear me. She smiles just as Wyatt’s hand circles my arm, tugging me away and out of earshot.
“Miss Cartwright, I don’t think…”
“Pippa.”
Wyatt rears back. “What?”
“I think you should call me Pippa. Don’t you?” I pat his arm, the gesture a little condescending, but if I’m being honest, Wyatt’s whole reaction is like rejection. What is wrong with me and my emotions today? “Y’know, since we’re sharing a lodge perfect for couples and all.”
I think if you were to pursue that, Mr. Sexy Pilot Man wouldn’t say no. Evan’s words from what feels like a lifetime ago ring in my head, and I want to roll my eyes at my stupid head for bringing them back up. He doesn’t even want to share a two-bed lodge with me. I highly doubt he’d pursue anything.
“Miss Cart—” he begins, and I stare at him pointedly, cutting him off. He closes his eyes, breathing deeply before correcting, “Phillipa.” Close enough. I grin, and his jaw ticks. “What would your father think if he found out we were sharing a room?” His eyes dart around the lobby, like he’s expecting my dad to jump out at any second.
“There’s nothing for him to find out about. It’s not like we’re sharing a bed, Wyatt”
“Okay, what about your partner?”
My nose wrinkles in confusion. “Who? Evan? Why would he care?”
“I wouldn’t like it if my girlfriend shared a lodge with some random man.”
“It's a good thing you’re not random , then,” I joke. “And it's a good thing Evan and I are partners in a work sense only.”
He’s silent, his eyes like icicles as he stares at me. My pulse skyrockets as it suddenly dawns on me. Evan was right. Wyatt does think we are together- together. Meaning that Wyatt must have been jealous of him. I don’t know how to process that and the butterflies that maniacally swarm my stomach.
But there’s one thing I do know. “Please, Wyatt. I’m tired and hungry and desperately need some relaxation after what we’ve just gone through. If you’re really uncomfortable, you can lock and barricade yourself away to make you feel better.” I sidestep him and walk back to the desk. “We’ll take it.”
“Great. I’ll just need some identification and the card you’ll be paying with, and I can get you booked in.” Stacey types rapidly, entering my details into her system once I’ve handed her my license and black card. “We’ve also got some availability in the spa for massages, if that is something you’re interested in?”
A moan slips past my lips as I imagine strong hands kneading into my tight muscles.
“Yes, please,” I say, just as Wyatt snaps, “No.”
I whirl around, slack-jawed, as I blink disbelievingly at my pilot. “Why not?”
“Do I look like the type of person who’d enjoy that?” he deadpans.
“C’mon, Captain,” I say, the nickname a slip-up that I brush past but store away how his eyes flare for later. “We deserve it.” Covering my mouth with my hand, I loudly whisper to Stacey, “We’ve had a really stressful flight.” Picking up my credit card from the top of the desk, I wave it around for Wyatt to see and sing-song, “My treat.”
He rolls his eyes, and I grin triumphantly, turning back to Stacey. I swear I hear Wyatt say, “Brat,” as her fingers fly over the keyboard again, but I’m far too excited about the prospect of scented candles, hot oil, and a full-body rubdown of the Swedish variety to care about his comment.
“Great, that's everything booked for your massage at six-thirty this evening. The spa is here, in the main hotel, so if you follow signs for the gym and pool, you can’t go wrong. Dinner is served from five to ten, and I would advise you to make a reservation. Otherwise, a small kitchen in the lodge is available for you to use.”
I take the silver key with a wood-carved keyring from her, clutching it tightly. “Thank you so much for your help.”
She nods, smiling. “Enjoy your stay.”
I start to walk over to Wyatt, ready to collect my equipment bag from the floor, when he shoulders it along with his flight bag and heads toward the hotel's front door.
“Oh, you keep going. I need to ask for something,” I say, pausing in the foyer and waving Wyatt on before rushing back to Stacey.
When I’m done, happy that she knows what I’m after, I find Wyatt hanging around outside.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” I tell him. The annoying butterflies flutter hard when he turns around and his eyes travel down my body. “Such a gentleman.”
“You have the key,” he states, staring at the metal object still in my hand.
Okay, so he wasn’t checking me out.
The gravel stones crunch under our feet as we follow the path to the lodge, the clouds slowly parting and letting the sun break through after the storm. My heart picks up, my excitement bubbling as a building that looks like a hunter's cabin comes into view. Wooden beams make up the exterior, and two rocking chairs are placed side by side on the front porch by the door, ready and waiting to sit and watch the world go by.
I run up the stairs, shove the key into the lock, and open the double doors wide. Gasping, I take in the interior. A large queen bed occupies the middle of the room, overlooking the landscape through the open front doors. There’s a small sofa positioned at the end of the bed, if lying and watching the sunset isn’t good enough. A fireplace sits to the left, the stone hearth filling the entire wall right up to the ceiling.
Glancing around the ground floor, I notice the small kitchenette and a stairway I assume leads to where the second bed is.
“I thought it had two bedrooms?” Wyatt mutters, setting our bags by the door.
Him and his obsession with two bedrooms.
I whirl around, unaware Wyatt has joined me, and eye him from across the room. “Well, she did say it was a two-bed . Wyatt, I thought pilots were meant to be smart.”
He doesn’t answer me, scanning the ground floor quickly, thumbing toward the stairs. “So the second one is up there?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Like you, this is my first time here,” I tease, only he doesn’t react like I expect him to. Not a quirk of his lips, not a huff in exacerbation. Instead, silently, he storms toward the narrow hall, taking the steps upstairs two at a time.
Ignoring him, I wander around the lodge, my fingers trailing over the oak carvings on the bottom of the bed, and the soft blanket draped over the sofa, lifting a box of matches resting on top of the fireplace. Several logs sit in a basket beside it, and my stomach stirs with delight. Just what I needed. A roaring fire, snuggled up in the huge bed, looking out at the stars dotting the dark night sky.
“Okay,” Wyatt grumbles, coming back downstairs and breaking me out of my fantasy for tonight. “I’ll take down here.”
“What? Why?” I practically yell, rearing my head back. If I paid for this place, I want the bed with the view of the beautiful scenery outside.
“The front door opens into the bedroom,” he states.
“I’m aware,” I reply coolly, placing my hands on my hips. “And your point?”
“It’s not safe.”
I snort. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, with no other lodges around. I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine down here.” He doesn’t look convinced, so I add, “I’ll lock the door.” I draw a cross over my heart. “Promise.”
“No.”
My mouth drops. “Excuse me.”
“No.”
I half-laugh, half-huff, doubling down. “What do you think’s going to happen? A bear’s gonna open the door and maul me in my sleep?” I smirk, and his gaze lowers to my lips.
“Phillipa,” he growls, and my body reacts the same way it did earlier when he made that sound. What is it about a grown man growling at you that is unbelievably sexy? “It’s not safe.”
My cheek burns with the heat and weight of his hand, the reminder of when it was there when we landed, his mark branded into my skin for me to relive over and over. Even if this lodge wasn’t safe—which it one hundred percent is—I know Wyatt wouldn’t let anything happen.
He’s already proven as much once today.
“Well, then I’ve got a big, strong man who takes on the sky gods to protect me,” I tease. He doesn’t even crack a smile, so I roll my eyes, tipping my head back to the ceiling. “Relax, Wyatt.” Lowering my voice, I murmur, “Jeez, good thing you’re getting a massage, huh?”
“I’d rather you slept upstairs, Miss Cartwright.”
Miss Cartwright. So, we’re back to that then.
“And I’d rather people didn’t write bullshit articles about me, but we don’t always get what we want,” I say with a bite in my tone.
Wyatt’s jaw clenches, and he snatches my bag off the floor. I dart forward and try to take the handle from him. “Wyatt, you’re not the one in charge here. You’re not my father.”
The blue in his eyes darkens as he looks down at me, his gaze filled with something I’ve never seen from him before. I suppress a shiver, my tongue darting out to lick my suddenly dry lips. Like a shark smelling blood, he zeros in on the movement, his hand coiled around my bag strap clenching.
I try to pull my bag from his grip, but he tugs it, bringing me closer. It feels like the fireplace is roaring with flames, the temperature in the cabin an inferno as I find myself watching his throat work on a swallow. I want to feel what it would be like if my lips were there when he did that. Just lean up and press against him…
I’m being reckless. I want something I can’t have. I want to see how far I can push him until he snaps and gives in to what we both want.
“That smart mouth will get you in trouble one day,” he practically whispers, and I can almost hear the promise of punishment in his words. Or maybe I’m hoping there’s one there.
“What are you going to do?” I goad, noticing his nostrils flare as I lightly press into him. “Spank me?”
My breath hitches as his cheek brushes me, his lips grazing my ear as he says, “Don’t fucking test me.”
He draws back, all hints of flirtation gone like it was never really there, and I feel myself sag forward.
His back-and-forth is worse than the turbulence we just experienced, and my hand falls to my side, releasing my hold. My lower body clenches with unmistakable need, the threat of his words both terrifying and enticing at the same time. Maybe he’ll throw me over his shoulder and carry me upstairs if I keep going.
“If you’re going to act like a brat, I’ll treat you like one. You’re sleeping upstairs, where I know you’re safe.”
He pushes past me, my bag on his shoulder, and disappears back up the staircase. His footsteps echo in the hallway overhead, followed by the click of a door opening.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and mutter, “Son of a bitch.”