The Flyboy's Temptation

Risky business...

A redhead with long legs, creamy kissable skin and a big fat wad of cash? That’s the kind of trouble former Air Force pilot J. T. Carmichael can’t resist. With his charter flight business on the verge of bankruptcy, J.T. can’t afford to say no to the money or the uniquely sexy woman who needs to get to South America immediately. Until the bullets start flying...

When his plane goes down somewhere in the Mexican jungle, J.T. realizes two things: (1) he might not make it out alive, and (2) he wants Hope Larsen something fierce. Stranded and fighting for their lives, neither Hope nor J.T. can avoid the inevitable rush of pure, heated lust. Now this flyboy isn’t just flying in the face of danger...he’s sleeping with her.

“Sometimes you just have to go with the moment...”

“Shared intense experiences can create a false sense of attraction that is often misconstrued as something deeper,” Hope said, lifting her chin.

“Interesting,” J.T. said. “Care to put your theory to the test?”

“W-what do you mean?” she stammered, her eyes widening as he walked slowly toward her. “And it’s not a theory. It’s a proven scientific fact.”

“So prove it,” he said in a low tone, stalking her like a jungle cat. He backed her against the wall, trapping her within the space of his arms. She looked adorably perplexed and uncertain as to how to handle their close proximity.

He knew he ought to knock it off, and, in truth, he’d started this just to mess with her. But now that he was in her space, he was just as affected.

“We agreed to keep things professional,” she reminded him in a breathy voice.

“I don’t remember making that deal,” he said, leaning in...

Dear Reader,

I’ve always wanted to write a story with a plane crash in a jungle. I don’t know why this appeals to me so much, but I adore stories featuring this plot element. So when I struck upon an idea that involved this very thing, I was beyond excited.

What I didn’t take into consideration was the immense amount of research I would have to do, seeing as I know next to nothing about the Amazon jungle aside from it is very dense and there are a million ways to die a grisly death.

All I can say is thank goodness for Google Earth.

However, it was a fun challenge to craft a fun, sexy and wild ride through the Amazon with two complete polar opposites for love interests.

I hope you laugh, bite your nails and blush when you read this story!

Enjoy.

Kim

Hearing from readers is a special joy. You can find me in the following places:

Website: kimberlyvanmeter.com

Facebook: Facebook.com/kim.vanmeter.37

Email: [e-mail]

Snail mail: PO BOX 2210, Oakdale, CA 95361

The Flyboy’s Temptation

Kimberly Van Meter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KIMBERLY VAN METER wrote her first book at sixteen and finally achieved publication in December 2006. She writes for the Harlequin Superromance, Blaze and Romantic Suspense lines. She and her husband of seventeen years have three children, three cats and always a houseful of friends, family and fun.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

1

“HELLO? UM, HELLO? Is there anyone here?”

James “J. T.” Carmichael banged his head against the frame of his Beechcraft turboprop charter plane and swore a blue streak as he rubbed his dome.

“Who’s asking?” he said, squinting against the blazing Southern California sun as his hangover made the pain of bumping his head that much worse. “If you’re a creditor, then I ain’t here.”

A leggy redhead wearing a pencil skirt and spindly heels peered at him through dark-rimmed glasses. “Not a creditor...Mr....”

J.T. straightened and wiped his hands on a dirty rag from his pocket, giving her the once-over just as openly.

He supposed she wasn’t lying. He didn’t know many creditors who actually showed up on a person’s doorstep to collect. And heaven help him, creditors didn’t look like her. Or at least, he hoped they didn’t.

He’d rather think that creditors hung out in darkened cubicles, didn’t shower and had complexions that reflected their junk-food diet. “J. T. Carmichael, co-owner of Blue Yonder. My brother, Teagan, is the other half. Is there something I can do for you?”

She pushed strands of fine red hair away from her china-doll face and straightened her glasses. “Mr. Carmichael, I’m in need of a charter to South America. Are you available?”

South America? That was a heckuva journey. Pricey, too.

Teagan’s voice rang in his head from last night’s argument alongside the pounding of his brain.

Teagan was in favor of calling it quits; J.T. wasn’t ready to give up on their dream.

The numbers don’t lie, J.T. We’re going to be bankrupt in two months at this rate.

Why had he thought mixing Jack and tequila was a good idea?

Because the bartender had been hot.

“Mr. Carmichael?” The redhead’s firm voice held an edge of impatience. “Are you capable of such a charter?”

Capable? Hell yes. But should he accept the job? His Spidey sense was tingling off the charts. Something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t just that this hot-looking chick was coming to his small operation when she plainly could afford something nicer. Although, now that he thought about it, that seemed a little off, too.

But hadn’t Teagan groused that they’d need a miracle to keep the doors open? Hell, looked like a miracle wore fancy designer glasses and an air of mystery.

And who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?

“Of course,” he answered, eyeing her warily. “But that’s a pretty expensive ride. Not to be rude or anything, but...you got the cash?”

She smiled thinly as if she’d expected his question, opened her purse and pulled a small wad of bills free. “I believe this should be sufficient to get us off the ground?”

His eyes bugged. There had to be at least five grand in her hand! “Whoa, lady—” he snatched the cash and tucked it under his arm, glancing around “—don’t go flashing that kind of money around here. Times are hard and you never know who’s watching.”

“You have a suspicious nature, Mr. Carmichael. I think that will serve my purposes quite well.”

“Yeah? And what purposes would that be?”

“My own. When can we leave?”

“Look, I need to know some details. I can’t just blindly agree to zip you off to South America just because you flashed some cash in my face.”

“No? And why not?”

Uh... “Well, because I can’t. How do I know you’re not a drug dealer? I don’t want to get caught up with the feds over some illegal shit.”

“That’s a pity,” she said. “Because there’s more where that came from if you could be trusted to do your job quietly and without question.”

He didn’t like her tone, but he had to admit she’d hooked him pretty good. “Yeah? Like how much?”

She smiled again. “Enough to make it worth your while.”

Teagan’s voice intruded in his thoughts, only this time J.T. had a feeling his brother was telling him to walk away because this job promised trouble. But that was a lot of cash. And cold hard cash was the answer to their prayers right now. He had no doubt that Blue Yonder could pull through if they could just weather this rough spot.

“When do you need to leave?”

“Now.”

It was then he realized she’d come with a small rolling bag.

“Seriously?”

“As a heart attack.” She glanced behind her before saying with a bit more urgency, “In fact, if we could be up in the air within the next ten minutes, that would be great.”

Ten minutes? He had to file a flight plan, gain clearance... Hell, he had to drain his bladder and grab his meatball sub from the fridge. He chuckled, pumping the brakes. “Let’s start with the basics. How about you tell me your name, where we’re going, like a normal chartered excursion, and then we’ll schedule your flight.”

Her green-eyed gaze narrowed with irritation. “I don’t have time for that. We need to be in the air now.”

“Well, too bad. We have protocol, rules. I can’t just go willy-nilly into the air like a drunken bird. I could lose my license.”

“Mr. Carmichael...”

But whatever she was about to say was cut off by the sudden screech of tires.

“Shit,” she muttered, her calm and precise demeanor crumbling quickly. “There’s no time to argue. Let’s go!”

A black car sped toward them, mindless of the tarmac, and J.T. got a real bad feeling. “What the hell?”

She shocked him by roughly pushing him. “We have to move, now! They are not coming this way to shake hands. Trust me—let’s go!”

The way the car was barreling toward them, J.T. had to agree with the woman. Hell, he didn’t even know her name yet, but there was no time for niceties. He grabbed her bag and tossed it into the cabin, then helped the woman in afterward.

“I hate when Teagan is right,” he muttered, quickly buckling in and securing the cabin doors. He rushed through his preflight ritual—a quick prayer and a gentle swipe at the hula girl stuck to his cockpit dash—and gunned the engine. Taxiing, he hit the throttle and quickly picked up speed, but the distinct sound of bullets being fired put a whole new spin on things.

“They’re shooting at my plane!”

“Yes, and if you don’t get it in the air, we’re going to end up in a fireball!”

“Who are you, lady?” he shouted, pushing forward on the throttle, his adrenaline running like jet fuel through his veins. “If anything happens to my plane—”

“Get us out of here alive and we’ll talk! Until then, focus on getting us out of here!”

Couldn’t argue that logic. J.T. wiped at the sweat gathering at his brow and pushed the plane to gain altitude. The sound of bullets hitting the frame was hard to ignore. He could just imagine the holes. Teagan was going to freak.

Resale value, J.T., he would no doubt yell. No one’s gonna want a shot-up plane!

After what seemed an eternity, J.T. cleared the airfield and gained enough altitude to escape the trajectory of the bullets, but now that he was sure he wasn’t going to die, he was pissed as hell!

If he’d wanted to be shot at he would’ve remained in the Air Force! He’d already done his share of tours in the combat zone and he was finished with that shit.

“You want to explain what the hell just happened?” he shouted. “Why are people shooting at you? Who are you? It’s drugs, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, actually, it is,” she shot back, surprising him with her blunt answer.

He hadn’t expected her to cop to it so easily. “Heroin? Meth? Pot?”

“Nothing illegal. Pharmaceuticals. I hate to burst your bubble, but what they’re after is totally legal.”

“Yeah, like I buy that,” he shot back derisively. “Don’t let my baby face fool you. I’ve been around the block enough times to know that people don’t hand out bullet sandwiches for Tylenol. What the hell is really going on?”

“Look, nothing has changed. I’m still willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money for you to transport me to South America. We’ve lost the people who were shooting at us, so let’s just stay the course.”

“Stay the course? Are you kidding me? People put bullets in my plane. There’s no course I want to travel that involves bullets. You hear me? No way, lady. I’m finding the first open airfield and dropping you off. You can find a different chump to peddle your story to, because I ain’t buying.”

“No? From my research, Blue Yonder is dangerously close to shutting its doors. You’re teetering on bankruptcy. I’m offering you one job that could put you in the black.”

“How do you know my personal banking information?” he demanded, chafing at his privacy being invaded. He’d had enough of the government knowing his every move when he’d been property of the good ole US of A.

“Trust me—it’s not as if you’re living off the grid. A simple Google search with the right query and I found everything I needed to know. Am I right?”

“That’s not the point,” he groused, feeling exposed. “The point is, it’s none of your business to go poking around in my private affairs.”

“Look, I’m not the enemy. I’m just a scientist and I need your help to get to my company’s lab in South America. Can you do that?”

“I can, but I won’t,” he answered, still thinking about the holes in his plane and how he was going to repair them when the bank account was dangerously dry.

She must’ve sensed a break in his resolve. “I can’t express to you how important it is that I get to my destination. Make your offer and I’ll pay it. My company will authorize a handsome sum to get what I’m carrying.”

“What are you carrying?”

“Part of the deal will be no questions asked. It’s safer for you that way.”

“Well, now you’re just leading me on. Either you tell me or I turn around.”

“Your business will be toes up by next month,” she countered firmly. “And then what? You have the opportunity to stave off the inevitable or maybe even pull out of this skid. But if you drop me off, your business is certain to fail because I didn’t see anyone else knocking down your door to throw money at you.”

He hated that she was right. Hadn’t Teagan pounded that point into his head last night? Hadn’t his brother’s reasoning rung in his brain in spite of J.T.’s attempt to drown it out with Cuervo? By the bottom of the tequila bottle, things had seemed pretty hopeless.

Until the hot, troublesome redhead had walked onto the property.

But now he didn’t know if he was about to make a devil’s bargain.

“What kind of money are we talking?” he asked with grudging curiosity. He was already up in the air. Maybe it wouldn’t be too much trouble to get her to where she needed to go, drop her off, then take the money and run.

“Enough to keep you afloat for a few months, maybe six if you’re frugal. My company has very deep pockets.”

Damn, that was persuasive. “And I’m just supposed to drop you off, no questions asked, and that’s it? I never hear from you again and no more people come after me with guns?”

“That’s exactly the deal, Mr. Carmichael.”

Didn’t seem so bad. Maybe it could work. It would certainly quell Teagan’s all-fired desire to cut bait and bail on their dream.

He had to make a choice. They were about two minutes away from critical decision-making time. Giving up Blue Yonder was like asking him to cut off his favorite finger—the middle one—and he didn’t see that happening. All they needed was a little time to sort things out. Business would pick up. He could feel it in his bones.

They flew past the last available airfield and his decision was effectively made.

“All right, I’ll take the deal. But I need to know your name, at the very least, unless you want me to call you Hey, lady the entire flight.”

“Seems fair enough.” She took a breath and said, “My name is Dr. Hope Larsen. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Carmichael.”

“Okay, let’s get one thing straight... My father was Mr. Carmichael. If you know everything about my private business, but the color of my drawers, I think you can call me J.T.”

She nodded. “J.T. it is, then.”

“Doctor, huh? Like an MD?”

“Science doctor. A molecular biologist.”

Damn. He knew the deal was to keep quiet, but the questions were already bubbling around in his head. What the hell kind of scientist got shot at? What was the pretty doctor involved with?

Collect the money and leave the questions.

That was sound advice—the kind of advice that would likely keep him on the right side of breathing.

But as he’d realized too late after one too many altercations with the higher-ups, he wasn’t so good about taking orders without question.

He had a feeling dodging bullets might be easier than keeping his mouth shut.

As it turned out, they had bigger problems than the questions he wasn’t allowed to ask.

“Shit,” he muttered, his gaze trained on the altimeter.

“What’s wrong?”

His lips seamed together. This was all sorts of bad.

“J.T.?” The worry in her tone mirrored the bad feeling in his gut. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” he said, tapping his altimeter, hoping it was just a glitch. But when the needle continued to sink, he knew things were about to get dicey. His gaze traveled the gauges, locking on the fuel. Bingo. You’ve located the problem.

“What is it?”

“Buckle up, Doc,” he said, gritting his teeth. “We’re about to run out of gas.”

“What?” She frantically tightened her belt. “Where are we?”

“Best guess? Somewhere over Mexico.”

And nowhere near an airfield.

A grim smile found his mouth.

And he’d mistakenly thought getting shot at was the worst that could happen.

He just loved it when Murphy’s Law seemed hell-bent on kicking him in the ass.

* * *

“WAIT! WHAT DO you mean you’re running out of gas?” Hope screeched, unable to hide her panic. “Fix it. Do something!”

“I’m open to ideas, doll face, but unless you have a way to patch the hole that has no doubt been ripped through my fuel tank, we’re out of options.”

Sweat gathered at her brow as her fingers gripped the seat beneath her. “What are the odds of surviving a crash like this?” she asked, clinging to facts and figures as her life flashed before her eyes. “Give me a percentage.”

“You don’t want to know.” His grim answer wasn’t very soothing. He muttered expletives as he fought the throttle, and she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing at the moment that she’d been more religious. She supposed now was not a good time to question her decision to be an atheist.

The little plane hit a rough pocket and they dipped hard, causing a girlie scream to pop from her mouth. She thought of the package she was transporting and her panic doubled. “You have to promise me that if we crash and I die, you have to take the package that I’m carrying straight to Tessara Pharmaceuticals. Don’t let anyone else take it from you. Promise me!”

He didn’t have time to shoot her a look, but she could hear it in his voice as he yelled, “What the hell are you talking about, lady? I’m just trying to land safely and you’re spitting out your last will and testament. Don’t you know it’s bad luck to talk about death when you’re in a plane that’s about to go down in a fireball? Just shut up, buckle up and let me try to save our damn lives!”

Hard to argue with that logic. Hope wasn’t the kind of woman to scare easily, but it was hard to stay cool and collected when she was sitting in a metal coffin as it hurtled to the ground. Picking Blue Yonder had been a calculated risk. Right about now, she was rethinking that decision. Why hadn’t she taken her chances with first class?

A brilliant canopy of verdant green rapidly approached the descending aircraft, and even though he’d told her to shut up so he could concentrate, scared babbling escaped her lips.

“I don’t want to die in this plane. I don’t want to die like this. Please, J.T.! Oh, my God!”

“Brace yourself—this ain’t going to be pretty!”

The tops of the trees scraped along the belly of the plane, scoring the metal as they barreled through the air, hitting branches and sending leaves flying as the plane bounced and crashed through the thick jungle foliage. Birds took flight as they careened wildly, narrowly missing thick tree trunks as they crashed to their possible deaths.

Twisted metal screeched as a wing took a hard hit and the plane listed to the side, and it was all Hope could do to hold on for dear life.

The small plane went nose-first through a small tree, spraying obliterated shards of wood everywhere as they blasted through the humid jungle floor, slamming into another tree big enough to stop their descent.

Blackness eclipsed her vision at the point of impact and then there was nothing.

Hope slowly stirred, her hand going to her head and finding it sticky. The copper scent of blood followed, and she groaned as she did a shaky assessment of her own body. She was alive. It was a damn miracle.

She unhooked her seat belt and her recovering senses immediately smelled fuel leaking. J.T. was slumped forward, not moving, and Hope bit back the fear as she reached across the seat to check for a pulse.

At the tentative touch of her fingertips to his neck, J.T. groaned, but didn’t awaken.

Hope didn’t have time to sag with relief. The situation was no less dire. The fuel tank was leaking and at any moment the plane could become a scorch mark on the jungle floor. She unhooked J.T.’s belt and gently pushed his head back to assess the damage. Potentially a concussion. He must’ve slammed his head pretty hard with the crash.

“J.T., we have to get out of this plane.” She tapped his face lightly, cringing at the knowledge that someone with a head injury shouldn’t be jostled, but in light of the situation, she had to take the risk. “The fuel tank is leaking. We have to go now! Wake up, J.T.”

She slapped his face a little harder and he groaned, opening his eyes blearily. “What the...”

“We crashed. We’re alive, but that might not be for long if we don’t get out of this plane,” she said, maneuvering around him and opening the pocket door with a hard shove, her own head pounding. She dropped to the soft jungle floor with her pack, the sounds of wild things echoing in the humid air, and nearly broke an ankle as her heel cracked in two.

“Stupid idea to wear these, anyway,” she muttered, grabbing her bag and pulling her sneakers free. Thank God she always packed her running shoes. She tossed her useless heels and shoved her feet into her sneakers, grateful for small favors. Her rolling pack converted to a backpack, a feature she would’ve needed in South America—she’d read travel warnings about thieves snatching rolling luggage straight out of tourists’ hands—and once again, she thanked her stars for that bit of wise decision making.

J.T. was still a little out of it, but he managed to climb out of his seat and half crawl to the pocket door, where he promptly slid out and landed with a grunt at her feet.

“I think I just cracked a rib,” he groaned, looking like a brand-new calf trying to walk on wobbly legs.

Hope quickly slipped beneath his shoulder to steady him and he went down like a sack of potatoes.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me,” she muttered, but he was out. What was she supposed to do now? Put him over her shoulder and pack him out in a fireman hold? He slipped from her grasp and went straight to the ground in an unconscious heap.

She wiped at the sweat and blood trickling down her face and grabbed J.T.’s arms, pulling him inch by excruciating inch away from the wreckage. Shoulders screaming, Hope managed to pull his deadweight far enough away from the plane before she collapsed beside him, breathing hard.