Jill Shalvis - Aussie Rules

He’d been alone. Eighteen and alone. She didn’t want to think about that, or how it softened her, not when she stood so close she could breathe him in, feel the strength of him in his every line. “What did you do?”

“I went into the military, and then to college. It wasn’t until I finally went home that I realized what had happened.”

“Which was?”

“That my father’s 1944 Beechcraft was gone, and so was his savings.”

Leaving him with nothing. She didn’t want to think about that, either. “And you assume Sally took both?”

“Not took. Conned.”

“Sally said your father conned her.”

“I’m going to be able to prove my story,” he said. “Can you?”

No. No, she couldn’t. “You have the quit deed. Possibly forged.”

“Not forged,” he said tightly. “And in any case, it’s not worth anything close to the Beechcraft and the half a mil savings.” He looked around derisively. “From what I see, this place is worth a fraction of what I lost.”

“So what do you plan to do?” she asked, feeling a bit wary.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Now you. Where’s Sally, Mel?”

She shook her head, reaching behind her for the handle. But he followed her out into the hall, and naturally, Ernest chose that moment to come back through with his damn cart, slowing at the midway point, watching them curiously.

At a long look from Mel, he sighed and kept moving, cart clanking. God. She had to get Bo out of here before he started waving that deed around. In spite of his saying otherwise, she didn’t trust him not to claim to own everything and everyone, inciting a general panic.

But the minute Ernest vanished around the corner, Al appeared, and by the look on his face, Mel knew Charlene had sent him to eavesdrop.

Damn it. North Beach Airport gossip could rival any small town in the country for fast-traveling news. Clearly, an APB had been put out. Get news on the stranger. With a frustrated sigh, she put her hands on Bo’s chest to shove him back into her office.

But as she already knew, the man couldn’t be budged unless he chose to be. Trying to choose for him was like trying to move a two-ton bull. A damned stubborn one. “In here,” she said with another useless push, exceedingly aware of the heat and hard strength of him beneath her palms as she listened to Ernest’s cart coming their way again. Crap. “Hurry-”

“Why, darlin’,” Bo murmured, bending his head so that his jaw brushed hers. “All you had to do was ask.”

Yeah, yeah. She followed him back into the office, watching over her shoulder to see who was looking, shutting the door to give them some privacy. “Now.” But one look at Bo had the words falling right out of her head.

He was unbuttoning his shirt.

“What are you doing?” she asked weakly.

“You said hurry.” A wedge of sinewy, tanned skin appeared. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, exposing his chest, the defined pecs, the correlated ridges of his ribs, his belly-

“No.” She loved that spot on a man, so hard with strength yet so vulnerable, loved to put her mouth there-No. Concentrate! “Bo, I didn’t mean-”

His hands went to the buttons on his Levi’s.

Pop.

Pop.

“W-wait!” She forced her gaze up, up into his. “Seriously. I didn’t mean-” But at the laughter in his eyes she trailed off, her eye twitching. He was messing with her. And doing a damn fine job of it, too, standing there looking like sin on a stick. She was torn between the urge to kill him and wanting, with sudden, shocking violence, to gobble him up in one bite. It was so unfair that he looked as good as he did, that he sounded so yummy with that accent, that when he smiled, he looked even better. Where was the justice in that? She slapped her hands over her eyes. “Get your clothes back on!”

He let out another soft laugh that had her every erogenous zone doing a tap dance. But she had great control, and she waited until she heard rustling before lowering her hands, telling herself she was relieved that he’d gotten his shirt back on. Yep, very relieved. “And whatever you do, don’t be waving that deed around again!”

In the act of buttoning his shirt, he went still, then stepped close.

It was wrong, but all Mel could think about was his Levi’s. And how they were still undone. She let her gaze fall to his chest, his belly, trying to see-

“Mel.”

She closed her eyes, a defense mechanism.

“Mel.”

Reluctantly, she looked at him.

“Yeah, there you go,” he said in a tone that made her forget the Levi’s and want to kick him again. “The fact is I’m here.” His eyes were determined, hair tousled, mouth half-curved, his big body far too close. “I’m staying. And because I happen to hold the deed and you do not, I’ll be doling out the rules now. My rules.”

Bo had an interesting day. He had no idea what Mel told everyone before she left on her charter flight, but he kept his end of the bargain. He didn’t freak anyone out by revealing the deed. At this point all he really wanted was to straighten this out with Sally.

Privately.

In any case, he was left alone to wander around the airport, in and out of the different hangars, refamiliarizing himself with how the place ran.

Just being here brought back memories; of coming here with his father, high on the purchase of the ’44 Beechcraft. They’d planned on a complete renovation, then selling the RC-455 at a huge profit to start all over again.

And then Eddie had met Sally.

Sally’s smile had transfixed his father into a love-struck fool, and Bo could do nothing but helplessly watch as Sally broke his father’s heart so much that he’d lost concentration and driven off a bridge, plunging to his death.

Bo had been left all alone and devastated and, yeah, he’d acted impulsively by going into the military. But it had turned out to be a good thing for him. He’d gotten his business degree and had become a pilot, and by the time he’d gotten out, he’d gone from boy to man. Then the man had been destroyed all over again when he’d finally gone through his father’s things and discovered Sally had done more than broken Eddie’s heart.

She’d somehow conned him out of the Beechcraft and the cash, leaving nothing but the deed to the decidedly less-valuable North Beach.

Why had Eddie made that deal? What could he possibly have been thinking as he’d signed their life over? Bo didn’t know, and he probably never would.

As the day went on, a few private jets came and went, but with North Beach’s fuel pump down for the day, many customers bypassed the place entirely, which meant a huge loss of income.

It boggled Bo’s business-oriented mind. Ernest was still working on fixing the pump, and supposedly they had another guy coming out tomorrow or the next day. Bo himself could have probably lent a hand to the efforts, but as no one had exactly welcomed him or tried to even talk to him, he figured fuck it. Sure this place was his now, but damn it, it wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was the Beechcraft his father had loved. The money would have been welcome as well.

To get either, he also needed Sally. Where was she?

And what was pretty Mel hiding? He knew it was something, because things were not adding up. She couldn’t talk to him. Odd, since he didn’t have a beef with her. Though he was beginning to understand she had a beef with him.

Something else that didn’t add up…

Each of the employees here was interesting, to say the least. Not a one eager to make friends.

Bo didn’t care, but he’d hoped for some answers. And yet they were an incredibly tight-lipped, loyal bunch.

He’d thought he’d start with Dimi, but she threw him such a fulminating look, he just kept walking, instead trying Danny. The mechanic was quiet but steady as a rock, and knowledgeable as hell for someone with flip-flops on his feet and the surf report blaring on his radio. He warmed up a bit when Bo revealed his love for all things aircraft, but was careful not to take the bait with any of Bo’s careful probing, giving nothing away of Mel or Sally or anyone here.

Bo tried again with Kellan and Ritchie in the employee break room. They were playing darts, and after awhile, seemed to forget Bo was there, which scored him all sorts of interesting but useless gossip; such as the fact that Dimi serial-dated men, and Mel rarely dated at all.

Must be that cheer and sweetness she had in spades.

Later he tried the café. Char cooked him an orgasmically good burger while singing along to an old STYX song, although singing was a debatable word. She was clearly curious about him but managed to refrain herself from answering any questions.

It was seriously starting to piss him off.

Ernest came next. He was an odd bloke who muttered to himself and spent a lot of time looking at spiderwebs, and was definitely not going to warm up to Bo enough to give him any valuable information.

A bust. The whole day had been a bust, with the exception of the one piece of knowledge he’d gained about the people here: they shared a deep, abiding, unwavering love for this place, and an even deeper one for Mel.

He told himself he didn’t care. He was on a mission, and he’d only just also realized that the mission was going to have to include something he hadn’t expected: clearing his father’s name. Because no matter what happened, whether Bo got the Beechcraft or the money back, Eddie Black did not deserve to be remembered as a con artist, and the thought that it could happen started a slow burn in his gut. Eddie had once saved the young Bo’s life, then had raised him while trying to get his own dream off the ground, and as far as Bo was concerned, Eddie had been a fucking hero, and by the time this was over, everyone else here would sure as hell know it.