Avenging Us - Gina Whitney Page 0,72

neither of us wanted to deal with. With his temper, it was only a matter of time before he ran someone over. And with my hormones all over the place, I just might’ve let him.

We drove in the opposite direction of LA traffic, and I wondered where this place was. Everything lavish and trendy was in Hollywood. There was no need to venture off anywhere else. Ten minutes and three drugging kisses later, we pulled up to a private airstrip. My mind raced, wondering where in the hell this Casa Catalina was that we needed to be on an airstrip.

The car pulled alongside a small black helicopter. “Wait one minute. I thought we were going to a restaurant.”

The driver opened his door, ushering us out and into the waiting helicopter.

“We are.”

I took his hand, following him out, willing to play along. I wasn’t dealing with a normal man here. He lived by his own code. He bent down, sweeping me off my feet to lift me into the copter. Abel got in behind me, and Scott opened the front, getting into the pilot’s seat. Scott reached for the headphones, placing them over his ears, and started to flip some switches.

“He can’t fly…” I shouted as the propeller’s started up, causing a loud hum. “Can he?” I felt overly panicked, hoping my life wouldn’t flash before my eyes.

“He’s licensed, and we’ll be fine. I promise,” Abel said, kissing my nose. “Here, put these on.” He handed me a set of headphones, the big kind that fit over the entire ear with a mouthpiece attached to one side.

We lifted off, and I gripped Abel’s thigh hard with one hand while the other held the door for dear life. After a few minutes of smooth flying, I started to settle in, and Abel became the tour guide, talking into the microphone so that I could hear him through the earpiece. “See that down there?”

I looked over to where he was pointing, taking in the incredible view.

“Catalina is part of the Channel Islands Archipelago. Archipelago is made up of eight islands and is divided into two groups. Northern Channel Islands and Southern Channel Islands. They were founded by Native Americans. However, Catalina is the most inhabitable.” He drawled over the steady drone of the rotors. I was putty in his hands. He worked me, molding my body and mind until I was unable to resist. Charmer.

After what only seemed like minutes, we touched down. Abel was at my side, and our night in Catalina started off glamorously. Instantly, we were whisked away in the back of a blacked-out Suburban. We drove along the roadside beach until we entered the driveway of Descanso Beach Club. It was beautifully whimsical, but not the over-the-top lavishness I’d expected. Always expect the unexpected, I reminded myself. Abel was passionate about his lifestyle, as he was about any other aspect of his life. He was all in…

Abel guided me with his hand to limestone steppingstones that led to the beach. Tip-toeing over them in five-inch heels was comparable to being in American Ninja Warrior. Each step, the stones would shift side to side. It was a delicate balance of sheer will and determination. At the end of the path, there was an opening that led to the beach. I looked down. Sand.

“Here…” He knelt down, letting me lean against his shoulders to steady myself, and removed one shoe at a time. “Better?” He drew me to him, whispering into my ear as my eyes wandered. A white gazebo with burning torches lit up the beach in front of us.

I gasped after one appreciative glance. “Is that for us?” I didn’t even know why I asked. I knew him, and this was his personality. He always had to top the best. It’s just who he was.

“No,” he teased. “That’s for a guy who’s miserably in love with his bride to be.” Then he pointed to an outdoor tiki bar. “That’s for us…”

I had no choice but to roll my eyes. He was right. It was a ridiculous question. Which, in turn, got a ridiculous response. We walked along the cool sand hand in hand, a playful smile pulling at his mouth. He was oddly romantic, swinging our hands as we walked until we reached our destination.

“May I?” He pulled out my chair. What is he politicking for? I sat and dropped my clutch on the table. He sat himself, grabbing his napkin as a mature looking waiter came from beyond