by Jill Shalvis
“Did you change your mind?” he asked.
Was he kidding? She wanted to jump him. Now. “No.”
With a smile that turned her bones to mush, he raised his arm so that the mistletoe was above their heads.
Oh, God.
“Your move,” he whispered.
She looked at his mouth, her own tingling in anticipation. “Maybe you could . . .”
“Oh, no. I’m not taking advantage of a woman in a closet, drenched in champagne.” He smiled. “But if she wanted to take advantage of me, now see, that’s a different story entirely.”
He was teasing her, his eyes lit with mischievousness and a wicked, wicked intent.
“I’m a klutz,” she whispered. “I might hurt you by accident.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. She laughed, and he closed his eyes and puckered up, making her laugh some more, making it okay for her to lean in . . .
And kiss him.
Chapter 3
Shayne felt her mouth touch his. Oh yeah, life was good, damn good.
She was tentative. Jerky. As if maybe she hadn’t kissed in a while. It was the most arousing sensation, but right then and there, he knew. The one quick peck? Not going to be enough.
Dropping the mistletoe, he cupped her face, his fingers gliding into her silky hair to hold her head as he better lined them up.
Her hands lifted, hovering in the air for a beat before settling on his chest. A soft little murmur of wanting escaped her, and just like that, he went insta-hard. Her fingers dug into the material of his shirt, holding on just a little, telling him she felt the same, telling him he wasn’t alone in this odd sensation of not wanting to let go, not ever wanting to let go.
And he didn’t even know her name . . .
She opened her mouth a little, but that was all the invitation his tongue needed, and then her tongue and his were doing a slow dance, an age-old imitation of what he really wanted to be doing, and she was right there with him, and when they finally both pulled back, her eyes fluttered open. “Wow,” she whispered.
Yeah. Definitely wow.
“That was . . .” At a loss, she let out a low laugh. “I don’t even have the words.”
Him either. That kiss had just registered off the scale for first kisses. Not really understanding why, he stroked a strand of hair from her face, then left his fingers on her because she was tightening her grip on his shirt, tugging ever so slightly, her gaze back on his mouth . . .
“That was . . .” she repeated.
“Wow,” he reminded her.
“So wow.” She licked her lips, and then they lurched at each other and went at it again, deeper than before. Wetter.
Hotter.
Her hair fell the rest of the way, assisted by his fingers, and the second pencil hit the floor. She arched against him, bumping into the zipper of his pants. Apparently she liked what she felt behind that zipper because she let out a little gasping “oh,” and then a sound of pleasure from deep in her throat as her arms tightened around his neck, her hair flying all around them.
God. He was in a closet, with an entire lobby full of people on the other side, important people that he’d brought here with his family connections so that he could further Sky High Air’s business, and what was he doing?
Making out in a closet like a high-school kid.
Only there was nothing high school about the mystery kisser in his arms. Christ, no. She was all woman, straining up on the tiptoes of her one-heeled foot to get closer. Closer worked for him. He hoisted her just a little higher so that he could rock his hips into hers, so that her breasts pressed into his chest.
Her shoe hit the floor.
It didn’t stop her, didn’t stop either of them. She let go of his shirt to entwine her arms around his neck. He let go of her head to slide his hands down her arms, up her slim spine, bared by that dress so he was touching smooth, silky skin. Hauling her closer, he turned, pressing her back against the door, where they strained against each other some more, the champagne from her dress soaking into his shirt.
He didn’t care.
But she slowly pulled back, breathing hard. Her eyes fluttered open and landed on his, glazed and dazed. Her gloss was gone, her mascara smudged. One of the thin straps on her little black dress had slipped off her shoulder, hanging down to her elbow.
God, she was sweet. And hot. And such a sexy, wonderful mess.
“That was some powerful mistletoe,” she whispered.
He laughed. “I don’t think that had anything to do with the mistletoe.”
Her gaze locked on his lips. “No?”
“No.”
“Maybe we should make sure.”
That worked for him. The mistletoe lay where he’d dropped it, near their feet. He nudged it beneath the shelving unit, out of sight, prompting her to let out a low laugh that sounded like half anxiety, half anticipation as she stared up at him.
He stared back, tracing her temple with his finger, stroking a strand of hair back . . . and then suddenly they were leaping at each other again, mouths fused, hands fighting for purchase on each other—
Until a knock on the door behind them nearly gave him a heart attack. Jesus.
“Hello in there?” came a woman’s voice.
Maddie. Shit. Shayne pressed his forehead to the woman in his arms and closed his eyes.
“Hello?” Maddie called again. “Is anyone in there?”
Shayne set a finger to his mystery woman’s lips because maybe, if they were very, very quiet, maybe Maddie would go far, far away.
“Shayne, is that you?”
Ah, hell. Who was he kidding? It was Maddie, bulldog terrier. Once she’d locked her jaw on something, she never let go. “How did you know?”
Through the door, she laughed. “When are you going to learn that I? Know everything.”
“Know this. Go away.”
“Touchy, touchy. What are you doing in there?”
“Maddie?”
“Yeah?”
“Code Pink.”
“Did you say Code Yellow?”
“You know I didn’t. Code Pink, Mad.”
There was a beat of silence, then nothing but the beautiful sound of her heels clicking as she walked away.
The woman in his arms slid out from between him and the door. “Your girlfriend?”
“No.”
She nodded. “Code Pink?”
Maddie was Sky High’s concierge, as well as assistant to Sky High’s three partners—Brody, Noah, and himself. Maddie was the best of the best, even if she was a pain in his ass. Code Pink was their private code for Back The Hell Off. As opposed to Code Yellow, which was SAVE ME. “It’s a work thing. Watch out—”
But she’d already backed right into the shelving unit. A stack of towels rained down on top of her, and with a little squeak, she ducked. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, trying to catch everything as it fell and put it back.
He watched for a moment because there was something so watchable about her. Her necklace had turned itself around and was hanging down her back. A tiny, delicate gold chain dangled between her shoulder blades, the pendant a capital D. As more things rained down on her, she swore, having absolutely no luck catching anything. Stepping close to her, he reached above, helping to stanch the flow.
She shoved the strap of her dress back up but it immediately slipped again, still giving off that whole slightly messy but adorably silly thing she had going, which he’d never imagined would be attractive.
But it was. And not just because her sweet ass was snugged up to his crotch.
Okay, partly because of that.
He touched her necklace, let his finger slip beneath the pendant, and dropped it over her shoulder so that it slid back between her breasts where it belonged.
At the touch, she went very still, and then, in that tight, small space, turned to face him, slowly lifting her face.
The only sound in the ro
om was their breathing.
“I really thought it was just the mistletoe,” she finally whispered. “You know, the whole holiday spirit, or something like that, and we just got caught up in it.”
“I think we already proved that theory wrong.”
“Maybe it’s the closet.”
Clearly, she needed it to be something. But it wasn’t the mistletoe, or the closet, and he slowly shook his head.
“What, then?”
“I’m thinking Chemistry 101.”
Her mouth was still wet from his. He had no clue what was so sexy about that, but he couldn’t tear his gaze off her.
“So.” She lifted a shoulder. “You’re Shayne.”
“Yes. And you’re . . . ?”
“Dani. Dani . . .” She hesitated. “Peterson.”
“Peterson.”
“That’s right.”
Peterson. A bad feeling began to worm its way to his gut, and his hands, which had been moving lightly up and down her arms, went still on her. “As in Sandra’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
Oh, Christ. Sky High Air had been built on love and sweat, lots of sweat. In the first lean year—last year, in fact—he and Brody and Noah all had been mortgaged to their eyeballs, scrapping their way out of the red and into the black by sheer determination alone.
And Shayne’s trust fund.
But even that hadn’t been enough. They’d needed connections, and Shayne’s family had them. Sandra Peterson had been one of these connections, and she’d brought her rich friends to Sky High, garnering them many new clients. And one thing those clients did was gossip.
A lot.
Sandra included. How many times had Shayne heard her talk about her daughter? Brilliant, she’d always said. But crazy. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”
“Neither did I.” Dani dropped her hands from his chest. “And I can tell from the look on your face that you’re ever so thrilled to find out who I am.”
Well, let’s review. He had the daughter of their most valued client in a closet, shoved up against a shelving unit, his hands—Christ.
He yanked them off her and opened his mouth to apologize, but she laughed harshly and shook her head.
Now he understood why she looked familiar—she was familiar. She was a dead ringer for her mother, minus twenty-odd years and four husbands. He’d just kissed his most valuable client’s daughter. His most valuable client’s crazy daughter.
“I see you’ve heard of me.”
Yes. Yes, in fact he had. “I fly your mother.”
“So you’re a pilot.”
And that’s when he realized. While he knew exactly who she was, she had no idea who he was, that he was one of the three owners of Sky High. That was new. New, and . . . oddly refreshing.
“I’m not a good flier,” she said, completely unimpressed by him. Another first.
“I’ve gotten many people over that hump,” he said, and something in her changed. Her eyes shuttered from him, and she crossed her arms.
“No. Thanks.”
Interesting. Usually once a woman found out who he was, her eyes lit up.
This woman hadn’t even completely realized it, and her eyes were lit.
“I’ve got to go.” She moved past him for the door.
“But—”
The door shut behind her with a decisive finality.
Nice going, he told himself. Using mistletoe to kiss your client’s crazy daughter. Really. Good job. When his cell phone rang, he glanced down at the readout and sighed.
“You about done in there, stud?” Maddie asked in his ear.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Hey, I’m not here to judge.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you need?”
“To talk to you. But I can wait until you finish.” She sounded amused.
“I’m not doing anything!”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She was out and out laughing now. “Men have needs. I get that.”
“Okay, you did not talk to Noah like this when he was in the closet several months back with Bailey.”
“That’s because Bailey had a couple of goons with guns after her. You have goons with guns after you, Shayne?”
“Why do I pay you again?”
“Because, wait for it, I just signed the Clark family’s Learjets to a six month lease. And,” she continued, “I told your stalker that you’ve left the building.”
“Dani?”
“Who? No, Michelle.”
“She’s still here?”
“Was. She said she had plans for you tonight. I corrected her, and she’s not too happy with you. But she’s gone now.”
“Scratch what I said earlier,” he told her gratefully. “Whatever we’re paying you, it’s not enough.”
“I’ll memo that. Now you might want to make an appearance out here before our guest of honor wonders what the hell you were doing with her daughter in a closet.”
Not only in the closet, but up against the door, tongue buried deep in her mouth. “How the hell do you know everything?”
He could practically hear her grin through the phone. “It’s a gift.”
Dani headed toward the large double front doors of Sky High, adrenaline still rushing through her veins, along with a shocking amount of yearning.
Had that just really happened?
Had she really just made out in a closet with a stranger named Shayne? A pilot—a frigging pilot!—whose demeanor said laid-back trust funder? Seriously? Because he was so far out of her league that they weren’t even on the same planet.
He’d heard the stories about her. She’d seen it in his eyes when she’d told him her name. He knew everyone thought that her elevator didn’t go to the top floor.
But she’d made a career out of not letting what people thought get to her. Nope. Not getting to her. She was simply moving full speed ahead in one heel toward the front doors for her health. Because that’s what she did. She ran when the going got uncomfortable.
She’d made a career out of that too.