Primal Calling. Jillian Burns
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on how he was going to jack up the fuselage. “And you can bring me my sunglasses from the visor when you’re done with that.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she quipped from inside the plane. He tried not to smile. Didn’t she know killers don’t appreciate sarcasm?
He didn’t have a jack. He could forage for wood, but, what if…
She climbed out and set the crate beside him, then pulled his sunglasses off the top of her head and handed them to him.
“Ahem, your sunglasses, my liege.” She was bent over at the waist, holding his Ray-Bans in her palms with her arms extended. She had guts, he had to give her that. He took the glasses and she straightened and plunked her hands on her hips. “Will that be all, master?”
She had one brow raised and her ski jacket was unzipped, revealing a tight sweater beneath. It was cold enough her nipples were two tight little points through the sweater. Her bra must be thin. Or she wasn’t wearing one. The thought got him all riled up below the belt.
Her lips tightened into a thin line again and she zipped up her coat.
Dammit. His face heated and he brought his gaze to hers. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
For the first time he wondered why she was here. Sneaking into his plane, hiding out. Chasing after a years-old story. She must be desperate. Surely there were hundreds of other more important things happening in the world she could be reporting on.
“So, can you fix it?”
He pulled the oxyacetylene torch kit out of the crate and prayed he had enough propane. Then he unloaded the rest of the stuff, turned the crate upside down and sat on it. At least one of them would have a dry butt.
“How much do you weigh?”
She sputtered. “Excuse me?”
“Enough to unbalance the center of gravity in my plane and stall the engine? Say, one-twenty? One twenty-five?”
“Gee, you sure know how to charm a girl.”
He just raised a brow.
She pursed her lips. “That’s close enough.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” He stood and went to retrieve one of the coolers. “I’m going to tip the plane over.”
“What?”
“Just listen.” He set the cooler next to the wing opposite the bent strut and went back for the second cooler. “When I tip the plane, you’re going to climb onto the wing over there with a cooler on either side of you.”
When he turned with the other cooler in his arms she’d narrowed her eyes at him. “And when you yank down the other wing I go flying off, never to be seen again?”
Never to be seen again. Like his friends.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Bad joke.”
He came back to the present, the heavy cooler straining the muscles in his arms. He carried it around to join the other, and the woman followed him.
“Is your name really Serena?”
She nodded. “Serena Sandstone. Named after my paternal grandmother.”
“If this doesn’t work, I’ll have to go into the forest and cut some timber to act as a jack. That could take hours.”
“Well, let’s get started then.” She dusted her hands together.
SERENA BIT her lip and clenched her hands into fists as soon as Max turned away from her. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep up the pretense of undaunted confidence. She had a feeling she wasn’t fooling anyone but herself, anyway.
Max went around, squatted beside the bent wheel and positioned his hands under the fuselage. “Ready?” he shouted.
“Ready,” she shouted back.
As he pushed up, Serena looked her fill of bulging thigh muscles beneath his jeans. His teeth shone as he gritted them, grunting as he strained to lift the side of the plane. Was it antifeminist to be totally impressed with his he-man strength?
The passenger side wing lowered and she lifted first one cooler on and then the other, doing a bit of straining herself. Then she searched for a handhold, found a raised steel bar under the fiberglass, hoisted herself up and twisted to sit on her already wet butt.
“I think that’s going to work,” he called.
“Good,” she yelled back.
She heard a click and a whoosh and assumed he was lighting that welder-looking thing attached to the two tiny fuel tanks. He didn’t speak and every so often she’d hear him hammering on the metal. She drew her knees up, pulled her hood over her head and stuck her gloved hands under her armpits. It seemed as if hours passed.
She wished she had her purse up here. There was a candy bar in there, for sure, and a package of peanut butter crackers. Her mouth started watering.
Max never spoke except for an occasional curse.
She didn’t remember when she started shivering, but the sun had traveled way to the other side of noon. Daylight lasted about as long as the night this time of year. Her stomach had been growling since he’d mentioned dinner, and she’d swear her butt was frozen to the wing. He’d probably have to bring that welder over here and melt her ass just to detach it.
Her eyelids felt heavy, and she laid her head on her knees.
“Okay. I think it’s good.” Was that Max? Serena raised her head. He came around the nose of the plane, his stride sure and his gaze steady, a tall handsome Inuit in his fur parka and boots come to rescue her from the cold.
“Hold on.” He pulled one cooler down, then the other. His hands were red and raw. The wing started rising and he reached up to catch her as she slid off.
But her legs wouldn’t hold her and she would have fallen to her knees except he caught her against him, his arms a powerful vise around her. Their lips were almost touching and despite her shivering she felt something stir inside her, in her chest and between her thighs. The heat from his body surrounded her and the heat in his eyes scorched her.
For a moment she thought he would kiss her again.
“Mags.” Why was she slurring her words?
He pulled back and scowled. “Your lips are blue. Why didn’t you say something?” He swung her up into his arms, carried her to the passenger door and opened it. “Get inside.” He set her down in the seat, then tugged his parka off over his head. “Put this on.” He tossed it at her and marched away.
“But—”
“Just put it on and crawl into the back, get on the tarp.” As she slid the warm parka on, he loaded the toolbox and crate through the driver’s side door. From the crate he pulled a lantern, lit it and handed it to her. “This should heat you up. You have hypothermia.”
The coolers and boxes got shoved back into the plane. Max whistled and Mickey barked and came running. Then man and dog both jumped into the plane. But the man crawled into the back with her.
“Look at me,” he commanded as he held her chin between his thumb and fingers. His stare was intense as he examined her face. He pulled a large knife from his boot.
Her eyes widened on the knife and then on him.
Catching her look, he snarled. “It’s to open a can.” He twisted around, dug into the crate and pulled out a big can of stew. “You need to eat.” He punctured a hole in the metal and began cutting it open.
Now she felt like an idiot for doubting him. Why was he being so nice? Taking care of her, after what she’d done? This was all her fault. “I’ll d-do it.” Her voice, her whole body, was shaking uncontrollably. “You g-go ahead and f-fly the plane.”
He