The long layover in San Francisco meant she should have time to finish her economics paper and sightsee, but for that to happen she had to get a different airplane or get the radio fixed.
The terminal door opened as she approached and one of her current headaches stepped out—thirty minutes ahead of his ETA.
Gage’s gaze ran over her, taking in her fitted black uniform jacket, pencil skirt and low heels. She’d never considered the HAMC uniform sexy, but the way he looked at her kicked her pulse up a notch. His attention settled on her mouth, and she could feel yesterday’s kiss all over again. Her stomach hit turbulence. Wasn’t it bad enough that she’d dreamed about that kiss last night? Repeatedly.
She mashed her lips together and snapped to attention, trying to rein in her inappropriate response. “Good morning, Mr. Faul—” His shoulders stiffened and his eyes darkened with anger. “Gage,” she corrected quickly. So much for reestablishing proper protocol between them. “You’re early. I still have a few things to take care of. Why don’t you wait in the lounge and have a cup of coffee and maybe some breakfast?”
HAMC always put out a continental breakfast for its clients.
If she was lucky, he’d stay behind the bulkhead again today. Passengers, especially this one, belonged in the passenger cabin. She didn’t want Gage in the copilot seat and didn’t want to have to talk to him and edit every word that came out of her mouth.
“I’ve already had breakfast.” His dark gaze shot beyond her to the aircraft then returned to her. “Is there a problem?”
“The Internet connection is down on the jet. It’s probably just a loose wire in the transmitter. I’ll get a mechanic to check it out. If it can’t be fixed, I’ll request another plane. Our Mustang is in for routine service today.”
His jaw set in that stubborn angle she’d come to recognize didn’t bode well for her. “I won’t need the Internet on this trip.”
But she would. Her paper was due by eight Monday morning. She still had to verify some research, do a final edit and submit her work to the professor via e-mail. Without the Internet she couldn’t do any of those, and she didn’t know where they’d be staying or if their hotel had service. She also needed to check in with her mother, who’d suddenly decided to play hard-to-get by taking a trip to the Caribbean.
Playing cat and mouse with Jacqui was getting tiresome. After two months of trying to get answers Lauren still had nothing. She was beginning to think her mother was avoiding her.
“It won’t take long.” She stepped forward to cut around Gage and enter the building, but he didn’t move out of her way. She jerked to a halt, her shoulder touching his. A static shock skipped up her nerve endings, and his cologne invaded her senses before she could back away.
“Did everything else check out?” The minty smell of his breath caressed her face. His jaw gleamed from a recent shave.
“Yes, but—”
“And we both know you’re thorough in your preflight check.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Let’s stick with what we have. I’m short on time. Trent assures me this aircraft can go the distance without stopping to refuel, and it can land at the smaller airfield we’re targeting.”
“Yes, but—”
“Lauren, I don’t have time for this.” He caught her elbow and turned her toward the jet. The heat of his touch penetrated her suit jacket and kicked up a crosswind of sensation, but his high-handedness made her dig in her heels.
“Gage, I’d rather have a fully functional plane. We’re early, and we’ll make good ti—”
“If this one isn’t unsafe—and I can’t believe it is since it’s your brother’s personal aircraft—then let’s go.” He urged her toward the jet.
She planted her feet. “Gage—”
“Call it in, Lauren. Get it fixed on the other end.” He pivoted and strode toward the jet without her.
She wanted to argue, to insist, to bash her head against the fuselage. But she couldn’t. Her time was his time. HAMC wasn’t paying her to do schoolwork. They were paying her to be a pilot at the client’s disposal. They didn’t care if she didn’t get her degree and couldn’t get another job.
The customer is always right unless safety is an issue.
Her father’s words echoed in her head once again, reminding her why she was here. She sucked up her irritation and followed Gage to the aircraft, determined to get through the next three days without jeopardizing her job or her education.
Finding a hotel without Internet access in a metropolitan area like San Francisco had been a challenge, but Gage had succeeded—just as he’d succeeded in getting Trent to disable the Internet connection on the plane to keep Lauren from contacting her mother.
Encore, Please, the small bed-and-breakfast hotel in The Haight district of San Francisco had come highly recommended by a former client. It had no pool, no gym, no business center and no Internet—nothing like Gage’s usual choice of accommodation. But he had to admit, despite the lack of amenities, the place had a certain charm.
If the property had belonged to him he would have toned down the girlie paint job in shades of lavender, purple and raspberry and eliminated some of the elaborate gingerbread trim and busy spindled railings. Otherwise the Victorian row house appeared to be a valuable, attractive and well-maintained piece of property in keeping with the surrounding homes and businesses.
A guest interested in relaxing would enjoy the postcard-worthy views from each window. But Gage didn’t have time to unwind when he was doing the work of three consultants.
“Refill your glass, hon?” Esmé, the proprietress asked. “Another shrimp? Another stuffed mushroom?”
“No, thank you. It’s all very good. But if you want me to have room for the delicious-smelling dinner you have prepared, I need to stop.” There had been a time when he never refused food because he never knew when his next meal might be. But those days had passed.
When he’d returned from the job site he hadn’t been interested in chatting with Esmé, a retired soap opera star with a dramatic flair, or Leon, her sixtysomething-year-old boyfriend, but the couple had somehow managed to bulldoze him onto the front porch and into a white wooden rocking chair and ply him with appetizers and Leon’s homemade wine. They’d also put him through a thirty-minute inquisition worthy of the FBI with such subtlety that anyone who didn’t dig for details for a living would never have recognized the interrogation. If his evasiveness frustrated them, they never let on. And they never let up.
He couldn’t imagine Esmé making a profit running the B and B with the superior quality and high-end food she prepared for her few guests. But then Esmé probably didn’t need money. She wore enough expensive jewelry to pay off a substantial mortgage and then some. For her sake, he hoped the gems were heavily insured.
But her finances were not his problem. He had papers to review and accounts to study for the company that had paid for his services, and he needed to locate Lauren. According to the couple, she’d left soon after they’d checked in this morning. Where in the hell had she gone?
“There’s our girl now,” Leon said.
Gage’s abdomen tightened even before he looked in the direction his host indicated and spotted Lauren cresting the hill. A breeze lifted her straight hair away from her face. The setting sun streaked the strands with a copperish hue. Her jeans and zipped-up jacket outlined her slender shape. She paused, shifting her bag on her shoulder then turned toward Golden Gate Park as if soaking up the view one last time before retiring for the evening. Her jeans hugged her backside as faithfully as her leather riding pants had, but had interesting faded spots on each lower cheek. His body reacted predictably, given his recent all-work-and-no-play stint.
Why couldn’t he get Lauren out of his head? The memory of that damned kiss and the feel of her pressed against him had disrupted his concentration all day, which was the reason he’d been forced to bring a case of files back to the B and B to work on tonight.
She pivoted and resumed walking toward the house. Where had she been all day?
She must have spotted the wildly waving Esmé because Lauren lifted a hand to wave. He knew the exact second she spotted him because her steps and hand faltered, and her blinding smile dimmed. Her fingers curled and her arm lowered. Even her stride changed from light and bouncy to laborious, as if she were slogging the last hundred feet uphill through knee-deep mud. Her obviously negative reaction nicked him, but he brushed it off. He didn’t want to be her friend. Or her lover.
He might admire her confidence, competence and intelligence, but those were merely skills that made her a good pilot and a decent employee for Trent. Without trust none of those attributes mattered. She climbed the stairs and both Esmé and Leon jumped up to greet her like a grandchild they hadn’t seen in months.
Esmé hooked an arm through Lauren’s and all but dragged her to the rocking chair beside Gage’s. “Did you find the Wi-Fi café and get your paper done?”
“I did. Your directions were excellent. My paper is finished and e-mailed to my instructor days early.”
She’d been online again? “What paper?”
Lauren bit her lip and shifted on her feet. “I have an economics paper due Monday morning.”
“You’re taking a class?”
She hesitated as if debating answering…or making up one. “Yes. Online through the University of Central Florida. You didn’t need me, did you? You could have called my cell phone.”
Her face looked honest enough, but his goal of keeping her offline had failed. He’d need a new strategy for tomorrow. “No. I didn’t need you.”
Leon took her bag and pressed a glass of wine into Lauren’s hand. “Try this. It’s my latest batch of vino.”
She smiled her thanks and the old man beamed.
“Why are you taking classes?” Gage asked, recapturing her attention.
“I’m working toward a four-year bachelor’s degree in business administration. In this economic climate it’s always good to have a backup plan.”
Add ambitious to her list of assets. But was she the type to take shortcuts and use others for personal gain? Something didn’t add up. The discrepancy between what Trent believed and what Gage saw was too great. Good thing Gage enjoyed solving puzzles because Lauren was a complicated one.
Esmé patted Lauren’s shoulder. “Smart girl. And what about your mother? Were you able to reach her? Did she give you what you needed?”
Lauren hid a frown behind her glass as she sipped her wine and eased into the chair. If he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would have missed her slight grimace. So she wasn’t a fan of wine. But she smiled at her host and nodded her head as if she loved the subpar stuff rather than hurt Leon’s feelings. “It’s good.”
That was an outright lie, but he could hardly blame her since he’d uttered the same one before she’d arrived. The wine had a distinctly metallic taste.