both ways, however. If he expected a woman to love him as he was, she had a right to expect the same.
Could he love a woman who was afraid of flying, who might end up hating the islands as much as his ex-wife?
Not a chance—he’d already tested that theory once. But that didn’t mean he had to be an ass about it.
“Hey, listen. About what I said—”
“Don’t worry. As soon as we land, I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Let me hook you up with someone I know who can fly you back. He’s totally safe. Doesn’t take any unnecessary chances.”
“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
She might be all grown up, but the quiet joy that had caught his attention at the hospital was gone.
Reaching over, he touched her hand, marveling at the softness of her skin. “Molly, we haven’t got off to the best start here.”
“You think?”
“I just didn’t expect Wayne’s daughter to be…”
Was there any good way to finish that phrase? He didn’t think so.
“You didn’t expect her to be what? A wimp?”
“I wasn’t going to say that.” Well, not those exact words, but the meaning was still there. “Knowing how your father died, it can’t be easy for you to get back on a plane.”
“Good thing you won’t have to deal with that problem any more, then, isn’t it?”
He waited for her to finish chopping him to bits, but Molly was evidently done, and rightly so.
Before he could figure out a way to smooth over the situation, the plane bucked, then settled back into place. He glanced out the cockpit window, realizing their heated words had diverted his attention for the past several minutes. Not good, because they were heading right into a long line of clouds stretching from side to side.
A front.
And an ugly one, from the look of it.
Molly threw him a panicked look, and Blake tensed.
There’d been nothing in the weather reports to indicate rough conditions today. But he knew things could blow up out of nowhere in this part of the world. This wasn’t exactly the way he’d hoped the day would go.
But then again, when did his plans ever fall smoothly into place?
“Make sure your harness is tight.”
“Why? What’s happening?”
“See those clouds?”
“Yes.”
“The little bumps in the road we’ve experienced are nothing compared to what’s coming up.” He glanced at her, adrenaline already beginning to spike through his system. “It looks like our smooth highway is about to turn into one oversize construction zone.”
CHAPTER TWO
A SIREN sounded somewhere inside the plane, but Molly was too busy trying not to throw up to open her eyes and look around her.
They’d been bouncing around for what seemed like forever. How much more could the tiny aircraft take without coming apart at the seams?
Her fingers gripped her shoulder strap, the nausea from the turbulence almost overwhelming her. She breathed through her mouth, but didn’t try to talk, too afraid she’d distract Blake and cause him to make some kind of fatal error.
Like her sniping and complaining might have already done.
Why hadn’t she just sat back and pretended she was heading for the warm sands of the Caribbean with a handsome man? Because she was done pretending. Done going along with what others wanted her to be and do.
Maybe he’d report her.
To whom? The Brotherhood of Wronged Pilots?
Pilots probably had to deal with frightened passengers on a regular basis. Molly had just never dreamed she’d end up as a prime example of one.
He could report her to anyone he wanted, as long as he got them through this storm in one piece. And if he couldn’t…
She swallowed the bile that rose higher in her throat. Her mother would have one more loved one to bury. Just like she’d predicted in that last rant before Molly had left the house for good.
Scratch that. They’d never found the bodies of her father or the nurse he’d been travelling with.
If Molly and Blake crashed into the ocean, theirs probably wouldn’t be found either.
The siren cut off. Chancing a glance to the side, she noted the way Blake’s hands fought with the controls, and she hurriedly shifted her attention to his face. The sight there wasn’t any better. The muscles in his jaw stood out in stark relief to the rest of his features, his eyes narrowed in fierce concentration.
That had to be a bad sign. The man who worshipped Evel Knievel was worried.
Are we going to crash?
She kept the words to herself, but they repeated over and over inside her head.
The plane plummeted for several gut-wrenching seconds, before righting itself and climbing back to its previous position. Her stomach didn’t follow suit, though. It was still dangling somewhere beneath the aircraft.
A mass of multihued gray bands seemed to scrape along her window as the plane plowed through the middle of the clouds. She flinched at each new bump and shimmy, expecting to be sent tumbling headlong into the sea at any moment. The fact that they were even high enough to be swallowed by clouds surprised her. For some reason she’d thought they’d be cruising well below them. “Don’t worry. I’ve flown through worse.” The tight words swirled around the cabin as if they too were caught up in the boiling turbulence outside.
Her hand went to her stomach and pressed hard. He’d flown through worse? An alarm had sounded, for heaven’s sake. How much worse could it get?
A gust of wind shoved the plane to the right before releasing its grip. She couldn’t hold back the question any longer. “How much farther?”
“We’re about a half hour out. We can’t land until the weather clears a little.”
“Can’t we climb above the storm?”
Another blast of air kept Blake from answering her for a minute or so. “Cessnas can’t fly as high as commercial jets.”
“Oh.” Molly decided it was in her own best interests to let him concentrate on flying rather than having to field a constant stream of questions. Besides, there was always the not so off chance that her voice could transform into a high-pitched scream that would end up killing them both.
Better to maintain silence.
Between stutters and bumps, she studied him, finding that concentrating on something other than the conditions outside the plane helped keep the nausea and fear at bay. At least, partially.
Blake’s hands were strong, his long tanned fingers gripping the controls. He’d shoved the sleeves of his black sweater halfway up his forearms, exposing lean muscles that bunched and released as he worked to steady the aircraft. Her eyes followed his arm up, curving over substantial biceps before she reached his shoulder. Broad. Taking up his space and some of hers in the tiny cockpit.
Reliable. Competent.
She couldn’t see his eyes at the moment, but knew they were deep blue. She’d watched them go from warm and balmy to icy cold in a matter of seconds. Much like the weather outside had done.
Unfortunately, just as she was about to move her attention to that thick head of dark hair,