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Reservations about her decision were pointless now. She was going to Europe with the man who’d stolen—and broken—her heart eighteen years ago.
Malcolm steered the helicopter through the sky.
He had to admit there were definite perks to having an unlimited bank account. He had the coolest toys. His work with Interpol had only expanded the scope.
Plowing through the sky in a helicopter, having the little bird at his disposal, beat the hell out of the days when he and his mom could barely afford to keep a rusted Chevy running. Vulnerable women were his weak spot, and he knew that. When it came to Celia and their history, his tendency to protect was all the more powerful.
He monitored the controls, his feet working in tandem with his hands—like playing the piano, it required two-handed coordination along with his feet. He played the chopper through the air, over tiny houses far below. Far above the threat to Celia, for now.
Because no matter how much he wanted her in his bed again—and he wanted that so much it gnawed at his gut—he could not lose sight of his primary goal here. He had to keep her safe. And that meant keeping his libido in check. A more restrained approach once he had her tucked far away from here seemed the better plan than pressing her on that kiss now.
Given her death grip on the seat, it appeared Celia had left her daredevil days behind. Her paling face sucker punched him, making him feel guilty as hell for being cranky with her when she talked about sappy emotions. Love hadn’t pulled him out of his messed-up life. He’d put his world on track with practical determination and hard work.
Still, he couldn’t stand to see her hurt …
He thumbed the private mic button. “It’s going to be all right, Celia. I swear. We’re going to meet up with a school friend of mine at his vacation home in the Florida panhandle. He’ll be able to help us slip out of the country without the fanfare, attention and danger of going through an airport.”
At least he had her away from Azalea now. One step in the right direction.
She looked away from the windscreen and over at him. “A school friend?”
“Yeah, a few of us have kept in touch.” A few? A select few. The ones who worked for Salvatore, a group of pals from school who’d dubbed themselves The Alpha Brotherhood.
“Close friends?”
“Definitely,” he said simply. “There were two types of people at that boarding school. Those who wanted a life in the military. And those of us who needed the regimen of a military education.”
“You were already incredibly regimented and motivated.” Her soft voice caressed his ear, the hum of the helicopter engine fading until he only heard her. “You didn’t need that.”
“Apparently I did.” He couldn’t deny it. “Hanging out at bars underage, knocking up my girlfriend. I wouldn’t call that succeeding at life.”
“I played a part in that.” Her voice held so much regret it reached across to him.
“I’m damn lucky I ended up there, where they could straighten me out.”
“How bad was the school they sent you to?” Her hands slid from the seat to twist in her lap. “I worried about you.”
“Not as bad as jail would have been. I know I was lucky. Like I said, I got a top-notch education, music lessons and discipline.” It wasn’t what he would have chosen for himself, but he’d made the most of the opportunity, determined to prove himself to all the doubters. “And the major bonus? My mother didn’t have to work double shifts anymore.”
“Ahhh.” Her melodic voice hummed softly. “So you really stayed at the school for your mother.”
“You always did see right through me.” He checked the controls again, refusing to let the tension knotting his gut affect his skills. “I was so angry back then that I wanted to tell the judge where he could stick his ‘deal.’ I was innocent and no one was going to label me a drug user. But one look at my mother’s face, and I knew I had to accept.”
“So you left town.”
“I did.” He’d left her. That had been the toughest part, knowing she was carrying his child and he’d failed to provide a future for them. “Chances of me walking away from that trial with a clean slate were slim.”
She’d already told him she planned to give up the baby, and as wounded as he was by her decision, he had nothing to offer to change her mind. He’d left town. There’d been no reason to stay.
“Tell me about these close friends who are going to help us out?”
A safe enough subject. Most of the press knew who his friends were; they just didn’t know the details of what bonded them to each other. “Troy Donavan will be meeting us when we land.”
“The Robin Hood Hacker … I didn’t expect that.”
Troy had hacked into the Department of Defense’s computer system as a teen to expose corruption. He’d done the crime and proudly served his time at the military school. If anything, Troy had griped about not being sent to jail.
He continued naming. “Conrad Hughes will meet us along the way.”
“A casino magnate with questionable ties? And Elliot Starc, as well, playboy race-car driver?” She laughed, but she also sank deeper in her seat. “I’m not feeling all that safe here.”
If only she knew …
He explained what he could. “Yes, we landed at that school for a reason and came out better men. If it makes you feel any better, our Alpha Brotherhood includes Dr. Rowan Boothe.”
“The philanthropist doctor featured in People magazine’s 100 Sexiest Men issue? He invented some kind of revolutionary computerized surgical technique …”
“With our computer-expert buddy Troy. Do you trust my friends now?” He glanced over at her and found a twinkle in her eyes.
Damn. She’d played him, getting him to share more than he’d intended. He’d always been susceptible to this woman. She might appear less impulsive, more steady.
But she was every bit as seductive.
Why did everything she learned about Malcolm have to be so blasted appealing?
Celia had worked during the whole helicopter ride to find a flaw in him, and the more he shared about how he’d spent his life since he left Azalea, the more she found to admire about him.
She pulled her eyes off his handsome profile as the helicopter began landing at his friend Troy Donavan’s beach house on the Florida Gulf Coast. Apparently the Robin Hood Hacker allowed choppers to land on his lawn, as well.
What an unexpected friendship. Malcolm had been so straitlaced as a teenager. Although the tabloids certainly painted him as a partying Romeo now.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about his saying he’d chosen the reform-school option for his mom rather than fighting the charge. Without question, Celia knew he’d never touched drugs. And she also knew him to be very prideful of how hard he’d worked. To swallow his pride and accept a plea bargain had to have been horribly difficult for him.
This decision to go with Malcolm to Europe grew more complicated by the second—and more enticing. What other secrets might she discover about him? What other nuances were there to the adult man he’d become?
A man who flew a helicopter as adeptly as he played the piano.
The chopper touched down lightly on the lawn with a simple kiss to the earth. The blades rotated overhead, sea grass bending with the rotor gusts. A uniformed guard opened her door and offered a hand to help her out. She snagged her floral tote bag and stepped free, the ground buzzing beneath her feet.
Before she could blink, Malcolm was at her side. His arm looped around her waist, warm and muscular, guiding her not toward the stucco beach mansion but toward a small private airstrip with a Learjet parked and waiting.
She felt as if Alice had just slipped a little farther down the rabbit hole. Her father traveled first-class, and even periodically rented a Cessna, but nothing on as grand a scale as this.
Seconds later, Malcolm palmed her waist as she stepped inside the luxury aircraft, where another couple waited in the cabin of white leather and polished brass.
A red-haired woman with freckles stood, her hand extended. “You must be Celia. I’m Hillary, Troy’s wife.”
The wife of the Robin Hood Hacker.
Hillary appeared down-to-earth, blessedly normal, wearing jeans and a T-shirt—no doubt designer given how perfectly they fit. But still, no fake boobs or platinum-bleached hair. Just genuine red hair and freckles with a natural smile.
Already, Malcolm had moved past her to shake hands with a man she recognized from newspaper articles—Troy Donavan, quirky computer mogul who’d once used those skills to breach the cyber walls of the Department of Defense.
She overheard Malcolm’s familiar Southern drawl. “Sorry we’re late. The drive out took us longer than we expected.”
“No worries, brother.” Troy led him to a row of computer screens at a corner-office console in the tricked-out jet. “I’ll give you a quick update while my wife keeps our lovely guest occupied.”
Her eyes lingered on the broad expanse of Malcolm’s shoulders, the strong column of his neck exposed as he leaned over the computer.
Hillary touched her lightly on the arm to regain her attention and gestured to a seat. “You look shell-shocked. I’m guessing he didn’t take much time to explain. But covering his trail from the press, the fans and whoever has been bothering you had to happen fast.”
Celia sank onto the leather sofa and patted along the seat for the belt. They were leaving now? No packing, no passports? No telling her friends … What the hell had she agreed to?
Her gaze tracked back to Malcolm. Who was this man she’d just agreed to leave the country with?
Hillary sat beside her. “We’ve heard a lot about you from Malcolm.”
She looked up quickly, warily. “What did he say?”
“That you’re old friends and you’re having trouble with a stalker. So he’s helping you out.”
“He is. I’m lucky,” she conceded to Hillary and herself just as the Learjet engines buzzed to life.
The captain’s voice piped over the intercom, welcoming them all. All four of them. Not just Malcolm’s friend, but Donavan’s wife, as well. She hadn’t expected Hillary to come along. Did the woman’s presence here—the whole “group” outing—mean the romantic signals she’d been getting from Malcolm were wrong?
No wonder he hadn’t acted on the kiss.
She should be grateful. The pressure was off since he wouldn’t be tempting her. She could tamp down the crazy desire to jump his bones and just chalk it up to nostalgia. She kept right on repeating that to herself as they climbed into the sky, heading for the first stop on Malcolm’s European tour.
Except, no matter how many times she told herself otherwise, she couldn’t deny the truth. She wanted more, more of Malcolm’s kisses. More of him.
And there wasn’t a chance in hell she could afford to act on that desire.
Seven (#u497e4491-fd13-55cd-85ad-050ac00d1c5b)
The trip across the Atlantic to France passed in a blur for Celia as the time change plunged them into the night. But then her flights usually consisted of delayed connections, long layovers and lost baggage, followed by finding a cab in the heat, rain or snow.
Thanks to Malcolm’s influence, she’d experienced superstar posh luxury and speed. Even sending in her grades had seemed surreal as she’d sat at a decked-out business center on the plane, with a cabin steward bringing her tea and fruit.
Now the Learjet was parking at the terminal at the Paris–Charles de Gaulle Airport, the first stop on Malcolm’s European tour—with his friends along.
Surprisingly, though, she’d enjoyed getting to know Hillary during the flight, and bottom line, she should be grateful for the distraction. Distraction? Okay, the chaperone who would help Celia hold strong in her resolve not to plaster herself against Malcolm again in some impulsive moment.
And there were at least a few hundred other chaper-ones outside waiting under the halo of halogen lights. She glided her fingers down the glass of the window, showcasing legions of fans waving signs that were both handmade and professional.
I heart Malcolm.
Marry me.
Je t’aime.
Police and airport guards formed a human wall between the fans and the carpet being rolled out to the Learjet. Screaming, crying females threw flowers and …
Panties? Ew. Gross.
The gentle hum of the plane stopped, and everyone unbuckled as the steward opened the door. Noise swelled inward, high-pitched cheers, squeals and screams. The words jumbled together, but their adoring enthusiasm for Malcolm Douglas was unmistakable. He was this generation’s Harry Connick Jr. and Michael Bublé—times ten.
Chuckling, Troy scooped up a fedora and dropped it on his head. “Dude, I think there’s a woman out there who wants you to autograph her breasts.”
Malcolm scowled, shrugging on a blue jacket with his jeans and button-down. “We’ll just have to tell her I forgot my marker.”
Hillary held up her leather portfolio and said with a wicked glint in her eyes, “I’m sure I have one in here you could borrow.”
“Not funny.” Malcolm smiled tightly.
Celia agreed. The thought of women climbing all over him made her ill.
Troy clapped him on the back. “Where’s your sense of humor, man? You’re always quick with the sarcasm when somebody else is stressed.”
A joker? He hadn’t been that way back in high school. He’d been intense and driven, but never sarcastic or jaded. The fact that his achieving his life’s dream hadn’t left him unscathed niggled at her.
“I’ll be a lot less stressed after we reach the hotel. So let’s get moving.” Malcolm picked up Celia’s floral bag and started to pass it to her.
Troy choked on a cough.
Malcolm looked at him sharply. “What now, Donavan?”
“I just never thought I’d see the day when you carried a woman’s purse for her.”
Celia snatched it from his hands. “It’s not a purse. It’s a tote bag for my computer and my wallet. My favorite bag, for that matter. I bought it from the Vera Bradley Collection—” She stopped short, wincing. “I’m not helping you, am I, Malcolm?”
“No worries,” he reassured her, planting his hand between her shoulder blades with unsettling ease. “I’m confident enough in my manhood I could carry that pink flowery bag like a man purse straight into that crowd.”
“Photo, please?” Troy asked. “I’d pay good money.”
Celia watched them joke and laugh together as they made their way to the door, and she realized she’d never seen Malcolm with friends before. Not even eighteen years ago. He’d never had time for recreation then. Between school, work and music lessons, he’d been driven to succeed, to make his mother’s hard work pay off even at the expense of any social life most teens expected as their due. What other changes were there in his life now?
They stopped in the open hatch, and the crowd roared to a fever pitch of squeals and screams. He’d earned this, fame and adulation, yet he was still a man at ease with carrying her bag. He waved to the crowd, stirring the cheers even louder.
His hand slid along her spine until his arm went around her waist, cutting her thoughts short with the shock of his solid hold.
“Malcolm?” Halting in the open hatchway, she glanced at him, confused. “What are you doing?”
“This,” he warned her a second before sealing his mouth to hers.
So much for worrying about holding strong against kissing him again. He planted a lip-lock on her to end all lip-locks. The familiarity of his mouth on hers tempted Celia, and before she could think, her hand gravitated to his chest. Her fingers curled into the crisp linen of his jacket.
The crowd roared. Or was that her pulse?
