CHAPTER 27
Claire
“From the cockpit again, Miss Burns, this is your better pilot speaking. Welcome to fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada, where last year, nearly forty-one million people came. The coolest part of your journey is now over.”
Claire shook her head, watching Devon hang up the mic. Such a character. Halfway through the flight, she’d spotted him playing chess on his phone, making her think that things were either completely safe with Jonathan at the controls or that Devon was irresponsible. She chose to believe the former.
It had been surreal, being greeted at the door of the jet by Jonathan, the jilted groom, and Devon, the devilish sidekick, both men dashing and cocky in their crisp pilot uniforms. The last time she’d seen them had been under such different circumstances.
It almost seemed as if all of it had happened on another planet.
She guessed that what they said was true: you never knew who people really were when meeting them in a bar.
She gazed out the window of the taxiing plane to the distant mountains and buildings on the Las Vegas strip, butterflies beginning a slow churn in her belly.
Thankfully, this flight had had no other passengers or a flight attendant, and she’d had time to settle in the second row, where she could face forward, see the pilots and the wing, gather her thoughts, and calm down.
The latter had been impossible. So had the former. The new discoveries about her parents and her father’s reappearance, combined with the knowledge that she would see Ian again, all had her on edge.
She spotted the unmistakable dazzling blue silhouette of the Lark Hotel, and her breathing rate accelerated. Ian hadn’t talked about meeting up, and Claire hadn’t suggested it, but the inevitability of coming face-to-face with him was certain. He was, after all, one of the groomsmen.
Again.
And this time, the wedding would definitely take place. Claire still couldn’t wrap her head around the bride being Sylvia.
She watched a man in a bright yellow vest direct the plane toward a designated spot.
The aircraft turned, slowed, inched forward, and finally came to a jerky stop.
The whining engines soon shut off, and silence descended for a moment before the two pilots began to talk and joke and laugh.
Jonathan, in particular, seemed to be in an excellent mood.
Why wouldn’t he be? This was the best week of his life, he’d said.
Claire, on the other hand, was so nervous that she felt queasy.
Devon was the first to extricate himself from the right seat.
He paused between the door and the polished wood cabinet and grinned, deploying those devastating dimples.
What had Sylvia called them? Oh, yes, panty droppers.
Claire smiled to herself and stood, reaching for the iPad she’d brought but never turned on.
“How was the flight?” Devon asked, bending his head to accommodate his impressive height.
“Fun,” she truthfully replied. Those two had periodically made some informative announcements, but most had been funny, serving to amuse her and just about eliminate her nervousness.
Nervousness about flying in a small jet, that was.
Her trepidation about seeing Ian again remained and worsened the closer they got to their destination.
“Well, good, that’s what we like to hear.” Devon moved closer to the door as Jonathan emerged from the cockpit, his smile as bright as the Sin City lights.
“Sylvia tells me you only like ’em big,” Jon said, his brown eyes twinkling.
Claire blinked.
“Big jets, he means big jets.” Devon pulled a lever, pushed the door, and it swung open, immediately letting in a rush of scorching desert air. “Whew. It’s a hot one.”
“I’ll say.” Jonathan’s face split into a huge grin, and presently, Sylvia stepped inside. He grabbed her to plant a long, hard kiss on her lips. “Missed you, baby.”
Her laugh was almost giddy. “You just saw me this morning!”
“Yup, and now it’s afternoon. I missed you.”
Devon shook his head. “Get a room, already.”
“I’m here to see Claire, not you,” Sylvia said, playfully poking Jonathan’s broad chest. “I’ll catch you later.”
“Oh, that you will, wife.”
“I’m not your wife yet. Jeez.” Sylvia rolled her eyes, but when she turned them on Claire, they were shining, and she was positively glowing. She sprinted to Claire, nearly knocking her over as she launched herself at her for a hug. “You’re here!”
Claire hugged her back. “I am, thanks to your fiancé.”
“Hey!” Devon picked up his flight bag, pulling an outrageously fake hurt expression. “I was in the right seat of this bird. Who do you think dealt with ATC?”
Jonathan quirked a condescending brow. “You were the entertainment. I can fly this XLS with an eye patch and one arm tied behind my back.”
“Yeah, yeah, Vapor. Just be glad I placed the order for fuel and watched them top us off.”
“Vapor?” Claire looked from one to the other while Sylvia beamed at her fiancé.
“His Navy callsign,” she explained. “He landed with less than a hundred pounds of fuel left and has been ‘Vapor’ ever since.”
“You should never have flown like that,” Devon muttered. “The gauges on landing read zero, zero, and less than one hundred totalizer, for Chrissakes. They had to put in more gas than that Viper supposedly holds.”
“I landed it, though.” Jonathan threw an arm around Sylvia. “The trick is not to make the mistake that’s going to kill you.”
Claire had no idea what a totalizer was and was glad the discussion about low fuel and fatal mistakes was taking place on the ground. “Thank you, really, both of you. I don’t remember ever having such an enjoyable flight.”
They descended the stairs and waited for the attendant to retrieve Claire’s luggage from the baggage compartment.
“You have a ride?” Sylvia leaned into Jonathan. “We could take you if you don’t.”
“Um …” Claire watched Jonathan discreetly slide a hand to cup Sylvia’s backside, his dark eyes molten. “That’s OK, I’ll call an Uber. I need to stop at a drugstore too.”
Claire didn’t even have a place to stay. Sylvia hadn’t said anything, and Claire had left in too much of a rush to bother asking about details, but she certainly wasn’t about to barge in on them. A room in Vegas shouldn’t be that hard to find.
A distant rumbling sounded, and Claire tipped her head. It had to be a Harley.
She smiled. Now, that would be a good idea. She knew from last time that she could rent one here, and riding would provide some much-needed stress relief.
The rumble grew louder, and soon, a figure appeared and drew steadily closer, rounding several parked jets as it moved over the tarmac.
Devon frowned. “What the hell? How did he get in here?”
Claire bristled at his disapproving tone and expression. “Maybe it’s a she.”
“I don’t like motorcycles,” he grumbled. “They’re unsafe.”
Claire almost laughed. The man had just piloted a winged tube that flew at forty thousand feet.
She squinted in the glare, shielding her eyes. The rider just kept coming, and soon, she could discern a full-face helmet and a fit body dressed in head-to-toe black leather gear.
Yeah, it was a guy. The broad shoulders gave it away. Claire was disappointed; she would have loved it if the rider had been a woman and shown Devon a thing or two.
The rumble was now a full-throated roar. Claire’s heart began to beat a little faster, and her breath started coming in short pants. The closer the rider came, the faster her heart hammered and the less air she was able to pull into her lungs. Something about that bike …
A Road King. And it was beautifully customized. Claire took in the gleaming chrome and the black paint accented with red flames.
“Where the hell is he headed? He’d better not clip the wing.” Devon’s frown deepened as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Claire shook her head. “He won’t.”
“How can you be so sure? At that speed—”
“He’s slowing down,” she interrupted. She accepted her Samsonite and thanked the attendant, her eyes never leaving the gleaming black-and-chrome beauty that even sported driver and passenger backrests.
The Harley stopped just short of the nose of the Citation XLS. Reaching up, the guy pulled off his helmet, revealing tousled bright blond hair and an achingly familiar face.
Holy …
“Ian,” Claire breathed.
Sylvia gasped.
“What the actual …” Devon’s green eyes were full of dismay. He turned to Jonathan. “Did you know about this?”
“Nope.” If Jonathan was surprised, his cool stare didn’t show it.
Devon said something else, but Claire didn’t hear him because she ditched her suitcase and somehow began to move, though her feet felt rooted to the spot.
Dear God, but he was a vision. The closer she got, the hotter he looked, his hair in stark contrast to his matte black leather jacket and pants.
He waited, gloved hands on the grips, his feet encased in black harness biker boots.
If Harley-Davidson were to put him on their website, they’d sell a million bikes in minutes.
She halted right in front of his tire and stood there, drinking him in while listening to the Road King’s soul-satisfying rumble. If this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up.
“I can’t believe this.” She shook her head, her hands on her hips.
“Believe it, Penny.” Ian unleashed a rev bomb, his mouth curving into a sexy smile. “It’s ride o’clock. Get on.”
·
This was a thousand times sexier than when she’d ridden behind him on that Jet Ski in the Bahamas.
The excitement began building when she’d thrown her leg over the seat and put on the red helmet he’d extracted from the tour pack. He hadn’t asked her where she was staying; her luggage, she assumed, would be delivered.
Now Claire relished the vibration of the Harley beneath her and the feel of Ian’s body as she pressed against his back, her arms encircling his waist. Their full-face helmets without mics didn’t allow conversation, but none was necessary.
His rigid muscles, tensing and releasing whenever her hands moved, told her all she needed to know.