Chapter 2
Two
Levi
“What is with you?” Romeo demands. “Your head’s in the clouds—and not the one we happen to be flying through.”
“Nothing,” I say defensively, pulling the controls to bank the helicopter over the cloud. “I’m just not in the mood to talk right now.”
The truth is my head is in the clouds. I could fly the chopper in my sleep, so my distracted thoughts aren’t putting Romeo or me in harm’s way, but all day, I’ve thought of nothing but Baby Jones and that fucking kiss.
Those lips. That tongue. Her magnificently curvaceous body.
I keep waiting for one of the Jones brothers to punch me in the face for making out with their sister in front of a crowded restaurant, but none of them have even brought it up.
They had to have heard, though. Mercury Ridge is a small town and lots of people witnessed it.
I clear my throat. “So, you probably heard about the mistletoe at Mercury Slice…and Macbeth and me?”
Romeo laughs. “You sound so serious. Don’t worry about it, man.”
My heart hammers in my chest. Don’t worry about it, man?
Does that mean he’d be okay with me dating his sister?
He and his brothers have always seemed to refuse to accept that Macbeth is all grown up.
Anyone who’s ever so much as looked at their sister in the past has been threatened within an inch of his life.
I tap on the steering column. “You don’t care?”
Romeo frowns. “Care about what?”
About what?! “I kissed your sister under the mistletoe. That’s okay with you?”
“It’s kind of a tradition, right? A peck on the lips is hardly something to get upset about.
” He chuckles. “One of the guys at the fire station tried to convince Will and me that you and Beth went at it like horny teenagers. Can you believe that nonsense? Not only is Beth a kid, but you’re practically a sibling.
What universe would the two of you ever make out, let alone in public? ”
They heard the truth and dismissed it as impossible nonsense.
A flash of fury rips through my body, and my blood suddenly feels too hot in my veins.
Macbeth is not a kid. Yes, she’s nearly ten years younger than me, but she’s in her late twenties. That’s not a child by any stretch of the imagination. And we are in no way, shape, or form like siblings. Not in my mind.
And based on the way she explored every inch of my mouth with her tongue, not in her mind either.
My thoughts drift to the moment I recognized that Macbeth Jones was all grown up.
I’d gone into the military at eighteen and was an Army pilot.
When I got out of the Army, I moved back to Mercury Ridge, joining the Search and Rescue Team as a helicopter pilot.
And in that time, Baby Jones transformed into a knockout.
I noticed. What red-blooded man wouldn’t? I even flirt from time to time. And I’ve thought about her luscious curves more than once when I’m jerking off in the shower.
But I’ve always known that she’s off limits. I can’t jeopardize my relationship with her brothers. Not only are they my best friends in the world, but I also work with them every day in life-and-death situations.
I can’t betray their trust. I won’t.
But ever since that kiss in the pizza parlor, I’ve been consumed by an overwhelming desire to make Baby Jones mine. Forever.
And if her brothers knew the dirty things I want to do to her, they’d hurl me off the mountain. No ifs, ands, or buts.
But by God, if I ever got the chance to do those things to her, I’d die a happy man.
I lick my lips, remembering the taste of her on my tongue. I want to taste every inch of her body, especially that sweet, wet spot between her—
“What time are we meeting at the old cabin again?” Romeo asks, breaking me from my thoughts.
“Three o’clock,” I say automatically. “Same as every year.”
“Not every year,” Romeo argues.
I laugh, nodding my head once. “Every year, man.”
I’ve celebrated Christmas with the Jones family since I was five years old. We always meet on this day—Christmas Eve—at an old cabin high in the mountains.
And every year, Romeo asks me what time we’re meeting everyone.
My face grows pale as reality crashes over me.
I can’t even think about so much as kissing Macbeth again, let alone any of the rest of the fantasies that have been playing in my mind.
I can never have her.
Because her family is my family.
My parents never wanted kids. They each focused on their academic pursuits. Dad in neurology and Mom in astronomy. I was an oopsie baby when they were in their mid-forties. They don’t do mundane things like Christmas or birthdays.
Ever since meeting Romeo in kindergarten, I’ve spent holidays with the Jones family.
I love them.
I can’t lose them.
No matter what.
Not even for Baby Jones.
And let’s say for the sake of argument that I did choose Macbeth over the rest of the family. Then what?
There’s not a closer family on the planet than the Jones family, especially after losing their mother when they were all so young. Macbeth needs them. They’re in her blood. She could never walk away, even if I could.
And I can’t.
“Hamlet and Annie aren’t going to make it this year,” Romeo says, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. “Annie has a concert in Los Angeles tomorrow.”
I nod. Ham's wife is a pop superstar, and she’s on a worldwide tour right now. So, we haven’t seen much of them in a few months.
“So, it looks like it’s just me and Sierra, Will and Carly, Theo and Holly, and Macbeth and you,” Romeo says.
Macbeth and me.
Even though I know he didn’t mean for it to sound like he was pairing us up, I can’t deny that I love the sound of it.
Macbeth and me. Macbeth and me. Macbeth and me.
It just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? The sound of that would never get old.
I swallow around a lump in my throat. “What about Pete? Is he coming?”
“Dad’s not quite over the flu,” Romeo explains.
“That’s too bad,” I say. And I mean it. I love Pete Jones like he’s my own dad.
Which begs the question: if I love Romeo, William, Theo, and Hamlet like brothers, and Pete like a father, why am I plagued with these very unbrotherly thoughts of Macbeth?
The radio transmitter in the helicopter crackles to life. Romeo picks it up. “Romeo Jones. Over.”
Will, Romeo’s older brother, responds. “Car accident on Plum Ridge Lane. A car has slid into the ravine.” His voice cracks, and Romeo and I glance at each other quickly.
“Rescue mission or recovery?” I ask.
“We’re not sure yet,” Will answers, “but the car looks like…” His voice trails off.
“Will?” Romeo asks, trepidation in his voice.
Will takes a shaky breath. “The car looks like Beth’s.”
The blood in my veins turns to ice, but my muscle memory kicks into hyperdrive, and I point the chopper toward the ravine.
Please, God, don’t let it be Baby Jones.