longer until I finally turned and went back into the cockpit, closing the door behind me.
She may have been a stunner, but was either rich or taken care of. Neither was my type, I told myself. I’d made that mistake before; I wouldn’t again.
I closed out visions of her bending over and willed myself not to wonder what it would be like to slide my cock deep inside her.
Three
Jolene
The arrogant… jerkface… egotistical man. The nerve of him. I couldn’t believe what he’d said.
Though I had to admit his honesty was refreshing. Okay, the truth was he was crazy hot and my insides went all gooey at the thought of his big hands on me.
Gah… Why was I thinking this way? He was scum. Sexy scum, but scum all the same.
He probably thought he was God’s gift to women. And with a body and face like his, he was close to correct.
What was I thinking? I pulled my bag from the cabinet he’d tossed it in and got out my laptop. Maybe writing a blog post about this misadventure would clear my thoughts about what it would be like to do the horizonal naked thing with the man.
I’m not dating the pilot. I’m not sleeping with the pilot, I told myself over and over again.
Instead, I typed… How to deal with an arrogant pilot? My adventures with the big bad wolf on the way to Grandma’s house.
For the next hour and a half or so, I typed what I thought was a humorous piece until said pilot came over the speaker with that damn sexy voice of his.
“Strap in. It looks like we are taking a detour.”
I didn’t like the sound of his words and might have gone to the cockpit door to ask questions if the plane didn’t suddenly bank right, sending my computer to its almost death if I hadn’t caught it.
Hastily, I buckled in, wondering what was wrong as visions of the plane in a steep dive toward a fiery crash filled my head. There would be so many things I would regret not doing if I died. The first of many would be not telling my father how I really felt.
As I worked out the words that needed to be said, the plane smoothed out. Yet, I could tell we were descending.
So many questions were swirling in my head. I was grateful when his voice came through the speaker.
“The storm shifted weather patterns. The airports in New York have temporarily closed to inbound flights due to white-out conditions and possible wind shears. We are landing in Maryland. That’s as far north as I can risk going.”
Though I understood airports didn’t make decisions like that lightly, I was frantic with the idea I might not make it to my grandmother’s in time. Tears blurred my vision.
The one person in the world I knew loved me unconditionally was her. Yes, my mom loved me, but she had expectations about my life and who I should be. My grandmother, on the other hand, loved me as I was.
The idea that I might not get to say goodbye, that she could be at this very moment gone from this world, broke me in ways I didn’t know possible.
I fought the oncoming despair. As soon as the plane set down, I would call the hospital immediately. Which was what I did. Once the wheels struck the tarmac, I turned my phone on and made the call.
When it was answered, I managed only one word, “Father,” with so much desperation, he would have had to be an idiot not to hear the unspoken question.
“Jo,” he said with a much too long pause. I covered my mouth, afraid of what he was going to say next. “She’s still with us.”
I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Is she better?” I asked with so much hope, I probably sounded as if I was pleading.
“The same.”
It wasn’t the news I wanted, but better than hearing she was worse.
“I can’t get to New York,” I said. “Not in the next hour. They’ve closed the airports.”
“I heard.”
Of course, he had. He owned a major airline. News like that disrupted business, but it wasn’t uncommon and contingency plans were always made just in case.
“Can I talk to her?”
He sighed. “She’s sleeping right now. Once she’s up, I promise to call you.”
“Okay.”
Things were awkward then. We didn’t know each other well enough to have a conversation outside of family matters, which was why I called him Father