Crash Landing

It was a mystical sight—the smoky clouds, wafting lazily around them, parting here and there to reveal shades of deep tropical green or craggy blue-gray rock formations. The view took his breath away.

Sophia sat relaxed in the seat, her dark hair curling sexy tendrils around her face, an otherworldly smile on her full pink lips, her hands loose on the yoke. The pink-and-white V-neck quarter-length T-shirt that she wore clung snuggly to her smallish but firm breasts. Tanned, shapely legs worked pedals on the floor that controlled the rudders.

He moved his left arm at the same time she moved her right, and their elbows bumped. A staggering streak of lust shot from his elbow to his shoulder and arrowed straight down to his groin. Instantly, he jerked his arm away.

So did she.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his heart punching hard against his chest.

The seats in a plane this small were disturbingly close. He should have sat in the back. Why hadn’t he sat in the back?

Sophia stared intently out the windshield. She had a delicate profile—a diminutive nose, gently sloped forehead, small but well-formed chin—that complimented her petite stature. Not a complex face that an artist might find a challenge to sketch, but a fun face, an open face, a happy face.

Looking at her made him smile. He did not want to smile.

There was no swelling of peppy music, no Ferris Bueller, “Oh Yeah” deep-based chorus, but the feeling that his life was about to change and change big, dug into Gibb and clung tight.

She guided the plane with what seemed to be an innate ease. Gibb had never thought of flying as anything more than a skill that anyone who put their mind to it could learn, but right now, watching her, his old belief disappeared, replaced by a deep certainty that there was such a think as a natural born pilot. She had an effortless, light touch on the controls and her sense of timing was impeccable. It was as if she’d strapped the airplane onto her, the way an old west gunslinger strapped on a holster, and the plane started to breathe with her.

Something told him he would relive this moment again in his dreams—the point where the cocky cowgirl became the consummate aviatrix and she was transformed. He felt transformed just by sitting next to her. He would be able to lie in bed at night, close his eyes and be with her again on wings of air, floating into a sweet, deep peace. If he could eat this moment, it would taste like one perfect bite of amazing amuse-bouclé—bitter, sweet, salty, sour, savory, piquant.

“I never tire of the beauty.” Sophia breathed.

“Impressive.” Gibb didn’t take his eyes off her.

She turned her head, caught him staring. Her smile deepened. “What would Blondie say?”

He blinked. “Who?”

“Your girlfriend.”

It took him a moment. “Oh, Stacy. She’d probably be texting or tweeting or something and never notice the scenery.”

“I wasn’t talking about the scenery.”

“No?”

“What would she say about the way you are staring at me?”

“I’m not staring at you. I was studying the instrument panel,” he lied smoothly, his stomach roiling and unsettled.

“Uh-huh.”

Well, damn, if she didn’t want men to look at her, she shouldn’t wear shorts like that. “You do have nice legs.”

“So does Blondie.”

He blew out his breath. “I think you must have gotten the wrong idea about Stacy and I.”

“I think I understand it pretty well.”

“We’re just…” What were they?

Sophia turned toward him, arched an eyebrow. “Friends with benefits?”

The benefit part was right, the friend part, not so much. “Could we talk about something else?”

“It is your three thousand dollars. We can talk about whatever you want.”

Silence stretched out wide as the sky. He had to fix that. He should ask Sophia something else. “How long have you been a pilot?”

“I got my pilot’s license when I was sixteen,” she said proudly.

“Wow, that’s young.”

“My father’s a pilot. This was his plane. He gave it to me when he retired.”

“Why did he retire?”

“He’s losing his sight.”

“That’s a shame.”

Sophia nodded. “Yes. Poppy is like a bird with a broken wing. It’s very sad.”

“You speak English like a native,” he said. “Much better than my Spanish.”

“I was bilingual even as a kid. I have dual citizenship. My mother was an American,” she said. “We visited her family in California every Christmas.”

“Where abouts in California?”

“Ventura.”

“Really? I have a beach house in Santa Barbara.”

“Of course you do,” she said.

“What’s that tone all about?”

“What tone?”

“The tone that says there’s something wrong with having a lot of money.”

She gave a half laugh that sounded more like a snort. “You are imagining things, Mr. Martin. I do not have a tone.”

Was he? “You don’t have anything against wealthy people?”

“Why would I have such an attitude? If it were not for the rich and powerful and famous who come to Bosque de Los Dioses, I would not have a job.”

“Because I know how some rich people can be. They can be very demanding. I’m sure you have to put up with a lot.”

A sly smile flitted across her face. “Ah.”

“Ah, what?”

She shook her head.

“What is it?”

“You are the one with the prejudice against the wealthy.”

“What! That’s crazy. I’m worth over a billion dollars.” Well, until this last investment, but he would be back up there again soon. “Why would I be prejudice against rich people? That’s like saying I’m prejudiced against myself.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Prejudiced against yourself?”

What kind of question was that? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No.”

“You weren’t born into money,” she said.

How had she guessed? He raised his chin. “What makes you assume that?”

“That chip sitting on your shoulder.”

“I don’t have a chip—” Shut up. Don’t argue with her. It doesn’t matter.

“Were you?” she asked. “Born rich?”

“No,” he admitted.

“So you are a self-made man.”

“There’s that tone again. You’re mocking me.”

“You are mistaking my jovial nature for mocking.”

“Am I?” Gibb shook his head. The woman was turning him inside out and he couldn’t say why. Sure she was cute and sexy, but so were a million other women. What was it about this one that stoked him and frustrated him and challenged him and made him want to grab her up and kiss her until neither one of them could breathe?

“This is going to be a very long flight, isn’t it?”

“It sure is shaping up that way.”

More silence. This time he wasn’t going to say anything. He could sit here forever and be quiet if need be. Not a word. Not another word was going to pass his lips.

She looked out over the nose of the plane, and with the slightest moments, shifted the plane northward. Underneath her breath she was softly humming, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.”

“Okay,” he blurted. “You’re right. Maybe I do have a chip on my shoulder.”

“I know.”

Did she have to sound so damn cheerful about it? Gibb clamped his teeth together. Not another word.

“About that chip on your shoulder?” she ventured.

“Yes?”

“It’s due to a sense of inadequacy.”

“Inadequacy? Where are you getting this stuff?”

“Why else would you resent what you are?”

“I don’t resent who I am.”

“Don’t you?”

“Thank you, oh, doctor of psychology.” He wiped his brow. “Okay, I’ll bite.”

“Bite what?”

“The bait.”

“What bait?”

While she might speak English like a native, the idioms seemed to throw her. “You throw out a challenging line like it’s the bait. So here I am, biting it like a fish.”

“Um, all right.”

“What do you mean by the chip on my shoulder is due to a sense of inadequacy?”

Sophia shrugged. She was totally nonchalant. How did one get to be so blasé about everything? “You feel like you don’t deserve your riches.”

Gibb coughed, tugged at his collar. He felt like she’d taken an endoscope and shoved it down his throat and could see everything that was happening inside his gut. Exposed. He felt totally exposed and he didn’t like it, not in the least.

She glanced at him. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he said tightly and coughed again.

“Sometimes the high altitude—”

“It’s not the altitude.”

“Maybe if you took off your tie.”

“I’m fine.”

Momentarily, she held up both palms, before her beautiful hands settled back down on the yoke. That smile of hers could seriously blind a guy. It was unnatural to be that happy.

Gibb took off his tie, undid the top button of his dress shirt. Instantly, he could breathe better.

She laid an index finger over her lips. “Shh, I promise that I won’t tell anyone if you take off the jacket, too.”

“I’m good.”

“As you wish.”

A long silence began as they passed over blue water and a lot of land. He hadn’t been this knocked off balance since the last time a corporate spy ripped him off.

She was back to humming, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” It ought to be illegal for anyone to be this cheerful.

He stared out the side window, studied lush green ground sliding by. How many times had he flown over a place like this, oblivious to the lives of the people below? “How did you know?”

She startled as if she had forgotten that he was in the plane with her. “Know what?”

“That I wasn’t born wealthy.”

She clicked her tongue. “You work so hard. Too hard.”

“Rich people work hard.”

“Old money knows how to relax, new money scrambles. You scramble like you’re afraid someone will take it all away.”

“Now you sound like a fortune cookie.”

She seemed to take no offense at that. “Maybe. And you spend money heedlessly. I saw you give Stacy that limitless black credit card. She is at the spa every day splurging on treatments with your money. People who are born rich tend to be frugal.”

“That’s a generalization.”

“True.”

“So what if I work hard and spend easily?” Stop being defensive. You don’t owe her an explanation. “I still don’t see how you drew your conclusion.”

“In two weeks time you never took off the suits.”

He ran a hand over the sleeve of his silk Armani.

“Not once.”

“I took them off to go to bed.”

“But not when people could see you. I had to ask myself why. Why does this handsome, successful man drive himself so hard? He’s supposed to be on vacation and he never takes off the suit. What is he so afraid of?” She paused. “And then it hit me.”

“What did?”

“You never felt loved for who you were.”

Goose bumps spread over his arms at the same time the hairs on the nape of his neck lifted. He tried to laugh, but he just exhaled harshly.

“So you drove yourself hard in order to get recognition. Status became everything.”

His throat worked, but no words came out.

“You became adept at charming others. You adopted whatever image worked. It’s why you wear expensive suits—status, attention getting, uniform of the wealthy.”

Gibb’s mouth dropped open. How did she know!

“You came to feel that it was not okay to be who you really were, that in order to be loved, you had to take on the feelings and identity of those whose love you wished to win.”

He wanted to deny it. He felt the need to contradict her, but he was so floored that he simply couldn’t find the words.

“Deep down inside,” she went on, “you believe that no matter how much success you achieve you’ll always be a failure. You feel like a fraud.”

He planned to say, “Hell, no, you’re crazy, you’re nuts,” but instead Gibb simply nodded and said, “Empty.”

“This friend of yours that you’re flying to see. The one you want to stop from getting married. He’s known you a long time?”

“Yeah.” Gibb grunted.

“Before you were rich.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s the only one who knows who you really are, isn’t he?”

Was the woman some kind of psychic or just perceptive as hell? “How…how can you possibly know this?”

She met his gaze. “Why, it’s written all over you. Anyone who bothers to look past the suit can see it.”

4

BESIDES FLYING, Sophia’s one great talent was the ability to read people quickly. She couldn’t explain her skill. It was intuitive. Perhaps it came from being the youngest of seven, where in order to get her way, she had to figure out what everyone else’s angle was and use it to her advantage. Or maybe it was simply because she loved people, and found them fascinating.

Unfortunately, she’d learned the hard way that most people did not enjoy being sized up. Usually, she kept her opinions to herself, but something about Gibb had loosened her tongue.

Now he sat there scowling at her as if she’d given him a bad tarot card reading. For many hours it would be just him and her together in this tiny cockpit.

“You should be proud that you are a self-made man,” she said, trying to smooth things over.

“But you see, I’m not.”

“If you weren’t born rich and you’re not a self-made man, then where did you get your money from?” she asked.

“My mother married a rich man. He adopted me.”

“And he died and left you all this money?”

“No, James is still very much alive.”

“He simply gave you a billion dollars?”

“Of course not. I earned my own money.”

“Then you are a self-made man.”

Gibb shook his head. “I couldn’t have done it without James’s connections.”

“So you are in the same business he’s in?”

“No. He’s in real estate, I made my first few million creating a game app for phones when that industry was just taking off.”

“Like Angry Birds?”

“Something along those lines.”

“What is the app called?”

“Zimdiggy.”

“Oh! I’ve played that game. It’s fun. I love all the detailed levels. Have you invented more game apps?”

“I sold out to a big gaming company, then I became a venture capitalist. I’m not really an idea guy.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m more of a moneyman, backing other people’s inventions. I seem to have a knack for predicting the next big thing and I’m not afraid to take risks.”

It was odd, this self-effacing side of him. It didn’t match with his confident outer persona.

“Really? You’d rather work yourself into the ground just to keep getting richer than do something fun that you love?”

“It’s not about getting richer. It’s about seeing how much I can achieve.”

“So achievement is your passion, not creating your own game apps?”

“This way, I help other people achieve their dreams.”

“Your game app helps people. I can’t tell you how much Zimdiggy kept my mind distracted while I sat at my father’s hospital bed after his eye surgery.”

A brief smile flitted over his lips.

“When do you get to enjoy the fruits of your labor?” she asked.

“My labor is the fruit,” he said it as if he really believed it, but a faraway expression in his eyes belied the words.

Poor guy. He was unhappy and didn’t even know it, but she wasn’t about to point that out. He’d just deny it anyway. “So see, you are self-made.”

“I wouldn’t have made it without my adopted father’s help.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I feel like I’m only where I’m at by a twist of fate. If James had married someone other than my mother, some other guy would be here instead of me.”

“You underestimate yourself, Mr. Martin.”

“Gibb,” he said. “Call me Gibb, we’ve got a long flight ahead of us and when you call me Mr. Martin, I think of my stepfather.”

“Even though he adopted you, you still don’t think of him as your father?”

“He’s a tough man to get to know. I don’t want to sound ungrateful because he’s done a lot for me and my mother, but he and I never really bonded, you know?”

Sophia didn’t know. Her father was her best friend. “So you are an only child.”

“Yes.”

“What happened to your real father?”

“Who knows? Dead maybe, or in prison? He left my mom when I was a baby. I never knew him.”

“You have no desire to seek him out?”

“None at all.”

How sad. She cast a sideways glance over at him. The man was a tight ball of barely contained energy, his hands curled into fists against his upper thighs. She remembered how he’d paced the balcony of his bungalow, restless as a tiger. He was not a man who sat still easily.

A sweet shiver, like fingers gliding over piano keys, ran up and down her spine.

Beneath the kumquat and leather notes of his cologne, she caught the scent of something deeper, more primal and masculine. Raw, sexual heat from his body radiated across the confined space, and crashed headlong into her.

Did he feel it, too? Or was it all in her imagination?

His gaze flicked to her legs again and something in his eyes flared hot. Oh, yes. He was feeling it, too.

When was the last time she’d felt such a strong instant attraction to anyone? His gaze tracked from her legs to her breasts with an expression so sultry she could hardly breathe. Um, never?

Who was she kidding? A man like Gibb Martin could never be interested in her. Not for the long haul at any rate.

She wouldn’t need him for the long haul. One hot night in his arms would do the trick.

Mmm. It was a delicious but dangerous thought.

Just thinking about having sex with him had her going soft and pliant in all the right places.

That light gray silk suit had clearly been tailored to fit his body. His hair was as sandy as the beaches of Limon, and cut short and neat.

She lowered her eyelids, looked at him through the fringe of her lashes, hoping he would think that she was inspecting the instrument panel and not him.

Be honest, Sophia.

No point lying to herself. She was flat out ogling him. Who wouldn’t ogle? The man had splendid bone structure and firm, elegant muscles—hard, but not bulky.

He was magnificent.

Gulping, she shifted her attention back to the landscape. They had passed over the center of Costa Rica, which, at its widest point, was only one hundred and eight miles across, and were headed toward the Caribbean Sea. Before long, they would be entering Nicaraguan air space.

“Sophia,” Gibb murmured.

Had he said her name or had she imagined it. Between the sound of the engine and the headset, she had trouble hearing him.

She turned her head again to find him staring at her. “Yes?”

“Are you married?”

The question took her by surprise, so did the heated flush that raced to her cheeks. She held up her left hand so he could see it was bare of a ring.

“Boyfriend?”

Good question. She still hadn’t told Emilio that they would not be taking their relationship to the next level. He was such a nice guy, but it wasn’t fair of her to string him along when she did not have any romantic feelings for him.

She studied the instrument panel, the tachometer reading, the fuel system cluster, the altimeter and temperature gauges. Everything was fine.

“Sophia?”

“Emilio is not my boyfriend any more so than Stacy is your girlfriend,” she finally answered.

“Ah,” he said. “A friend with benefits.”

She owed him no explanation about her relationship status. She would let him think whatever he wanted.

“So no one serious?”

Why was he asking? She lifted a shoulder. “I’m too young to get serious.”

“How old are you?”

“Did anyone ever tell you that it’s not polite to ask a woman her age.” She maneuvered the plane through puffs of late-afternoon cloud.

“I’m thirty-two,” he volunteered.

He was older than she would have guessed. “Twenty-six,” she admitted.

“And you’re still not ready to settle down?”

“Are you?”

He chuckled. “No, no, I’m not.”

That killed the conversation.

Good. She needed to concentrate on what she was doing. They were about to cross over into Nicaragua. She radioed the nearest air tower with her intentions and was cleared. They were cruising along at seven thousand feet and a hundred and thirty knots per hour.

But soon, the silence got to her, which was odd. Normally, she was happy as a clam when she was in the air and nothing upset her equilibrium. She canted her head, studied him from the corner of her eye.

He was handsome enough to be a movie star, especially when he flashed that grin. He was such an enigma. On the one hand, a serious workaholic, underneath though, there was a playful side he’d buried long ago to please a stepfather who, from Gibb’s account, withheld affection while at the same time, freely gave him material things. Such mixed messages must be very confusing.

“May I ask you a personal question?” she asked.

“Nothing has stopped you so far,” he said.

“You do not have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Let’s hear it. What’s on your mind?”

“What is it that you want most in life, Mr. Martin?”

“Gibb,” he said. “You can call me Gibb. Maybe you should tell me what I want, Sophia, since you just did such a good job of reading me.”

“Ah, but if I do it for you then you don’t have to do any soul searching.”

“Soul searching is overrated. I’m more goal oriented than emotive.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“You said I didn’t have to answer.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Emote.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you can be a bit bossy?”

“In other words, you have no idea what it is that you want from life?”

“I want for nothing. I’m living the dream.”

“And yet, you do not seem happy.”

For a long time he said nothing. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind. I don’t know you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, really. Go on. I want to hear your thoughts.”

“It’s just that…”

“What?”

“When will you have enough money to earn your stepfather’s love?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“All right.”

“It’s not.”

“You never did answer my question about what it is you want.”

“Food. I’m starving. I forgot to eat lunch. You got anything to eat?” he asked.

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