Crash Landing

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“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.