Love Under Two Flyboys [The Lusty, Texas Collection] Cara Covington (short story to read txt) đ
- Author: Cara Covington
Book online «Love Under Two Flyboys [The Lusty, Texas Collection] Cara Covington (short story to read txt) đ». Author Cara Covington
Tamara was about to ask Penelope to explain her cryptic comment when a car turned off the state road and headed for the front of the older hangars.
âAnyone expecting someone in a dark blue Buick Regal?â Jordan asked from his perch on the top of the hangar. Being the only professional builder on the site, heâd staked out the highest and most dangerous position for himself.
When no one answered him, Morgan said, âCrap, tourists. Iâll get rid of them.â
âTourists?â Tamara asked.
âYeah, we get some every once in a while. They see itâs an airfield, and they wonder if they can rent a plane, or take lessons, stuff like that.â
âWhich they will be able to do, soon,â she said.
âWell, true enough. But thatâs soon, not now, damn it.â
âDonât scare off potential customers,â Henry called after him.
Morgan, whoâd just gotten down off a ladder and was heading toward her, waved his hand in the air in response to his brotherâs taunt. He stopped beside Tamara and swooped in for a kiss.
She couldnât help but respond to the heat of his mouth or the seduction of his tongue. She opened wide, sucked him in, and let her own tongue dance with his. His flavor drenched her and fired her blood, making her instantly crave him. She wished the three of them were back at the cottage, naked and stretched out on that gloriously decadent bed.
As quickly as heâd bent to her, he straightened again and headed for the door to the helicopter hangar.
âOnce the family finds out about this, they are going to be seriously freaked,â Penelope said. âAny single men and women not wishing to be matched at this time will likely go on sudden, impromptu, and extended vacations.â
Tamara shook her head and looked at the woman sheâd thought to be as intelligent and logical as she was beautiful.
âUm, because Morgan Kendall kissed me? It was, to quote the title of a really good book I read not that long ago, Just A Kiss.â
âWhen Morgan said he and Henry would find their own woman when the time was right, Kate said, and I quote, âYou say that as if the right woman is going to just fall right out of the sky,â end quote.â Penelopeâs grin widened.
Tamara opened her mouth and then snapped it shut again. Then she shook her head. âI may have âfallenâ out of the sky, but trust me, I am not the right woman, and this is not a forever kind of thing happening here between us. Forever may be good for some people, and more power to them. But some of us just donât have the stick-to-itiveness gene in our makeup.â
Penelope didnât argue the matter, which won her points in Tamaraâs opinion. So much so that she decided to forgive the small look of pity the other woman sent her. Penelope Primrose was a woman in love, and everyone knew women in love wanted to spread what they considered the happy condition to all and sundry.
Tamara had seen what love looked like, Jones-style. Sheâd seen it in the desperation on her motherâs face when her latest boyfriend took a walk, and in the way her father kept trying to make himself younger and more hip for each successive, younger girlfriend.
Love had made her parents into selfish, hard individuals who easily forgot they had a daughter between them.
No, Tamara Jones had seen love up close and personal, and she wanted no part of it. She nodded her head once for emphasis, even while her right hand moved up to massage the tiny ache that bloomed deep in her chest.
* * * *
Morgan strolled through the helicopter hangar, hands in pockets, his focus on appearing relaxed and at ease. Henry was right, it wouldnât do to scare off any potential customers, which the person or persons in the Buick could very well be.
Morgan wasnât known for being overly loquacious, or friendly. That was Henryâs talent and he had no doubt that, given complete freedom, his brother would build their business clientele in record time.
The dark blue Buick sat, motor turned off, just to the left of the Lear hangar. Morgan frowned. The large bay door to that hangar stood wide open, likely, he knew, because theyâd all hit the drink machines and the lounge around lunchtime. This hangar had the best bathroom facilities, too, which would have accounted for the door being left up.
Just inside a man stood, his back ramrod straight. Going with his gut impression, Morgan thought he carried himself like a man whose senses had been turned on high alert. The manâs beige chinos, brown loafers and blue sport coat told Morgan this wasnât one of the areaâs rough-and-tumble ranchers. Yet he didnât think the label âtouristâ fit him, either.
âMay I help you?â
The stranger pivoted neatly, his eyes landing on Morgan then skittering off to either side, and Morgan felt his own body go on alert. When the stranger smiled, the light of that smile didnât reach his eyes.
Grandma Kate had once told him to be wary of people whose smile didnât reach their eyes.
âOh, hi there. I didnât know this was here, you know? I just happened to look over as I was driving and said to myself, hey, thatâs an airport.â
âThis airfield has been here for several years.â Morgan couldnât put his finger on what it was about the man that set him off. He decided to play the role of taciturn local.
âWell, yeah, I guess it has been, when you think about it. Finding it here was a surprise.â
Morgan simply raised one eyebrow and waited.
âThe nameâs Rogers. Preston Rogers. Iâd like to hire you to fly me to New York City. I have a business meeting at the beginning of December, and I thought, you know, this would be a lot better than flying commercial. And hey, Iâd be willing to pay top rate.â
âIâm sorry, this is a private airfield. The planes here arenât for hire.â
âOh.â Rogers
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