Her Christmas Temptation: The Billionaire Who Bought Christmas / What She Really Wants for Christmas / Baby, It's Cold Outside. Debbi Rawlins
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“Excuse my cousin,” said Hunter. “He doesn’t know when to stop talking business.”
“I’m just asking—”
“Do you like basketball, Kristy?” asked Hunter.
Kristy turned to him and blinked. “Basketball?”
He nodded, taking a sip of his champagne.
“I … uh … don’t know much about it.”
“Cleveland loves basketball,” Jack put in.
Kristy turned her attention back to Jack. “I’m afraid I don’t watch sports.”
“Hmm,” Jack nodded sagely, his brow furrowing.
“Is that a problem?” She glanced at Hunter and then Jack, trying to read their expressions. Was it like corporate golf? Was Osland family business conducted at a basketball court?
“Would you recommend …” she paused. “I mean, should I learn something about basketball?”
“I would,” said Jack.
“Jack,” said Hunter.
“Well, I would.”
Kristy took a big swallow of her mimosa. Okay. Basketball. She sure wished she’d known about this earlier. She could have taken in a game, watched some ESPN or read a sports magazine.
Then she had an idea. “I don’t suppose you two would share …”
Jack grinned. “Sure. He’s a Lakers fan. And I wouldn’t mention the Clippers if I was you.”
Hunter jumped in. “I have tickets to the Lakers Sonics game on Friday, if you’d like—”
“Bud Reynolds is his favorite player,” said Jack, shooting Hunter a glare. Then his more normal expression quickly returned as his attention shifted to Kristy. “The Budster is up for player of the year. He’s ten for thirteen on threes from the straight away.”
“And seventeen for thirty-five from downtown,” said Hunter. “You should really join me at—”
“Kristy doesn’t like basketball,” said Jack.
She fought a moment of panic. “I never said I didn’t—”
“She might change her mind,” Hunter put in.
“I could learn,” Kristy offered. If basketball truly was the golf game of the Osland corporate world, she was more than willing to give it a try.
Jack’s mouth thinned as he spoke to Hunter. “Dating Kristy is not the answer.”
Dating? She glanced from one man to the other. Dating? What had she missed?
“It’s nothing but a basketball game,” said Hunter.
“Drop it,” said Jack.
Then a voice interrupted from the plane’s intercom. “Mr. Osland?”
Jack pressed a button on his armrest. “Yes, Simon.”
“Just to let you know, we’re reading an indicator light up here.”
A muscle in Jack’s temple twitched, and everything inside Kristy went still.
“I’ll be right up,” he said.
“No need,” Simon responded with a static crackle through the small speaker. “I’d like to have air traffic control divert us to Las Vegas to check it out.”
Jack shot Hunter a glance.
Kristy tried to interpret his expression. Were they out of gas? Out of oil? Losing an engine?
He pushed the intercom button. “Your call, Simon.”
“Roger that, sir.” The intercom went silent, and Kristy’s throat turned paper-dry.
Neither of the men spoke.
“An indicator light?” she rasped.
“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” said Jack.
Kristy waited, expecting him to say more.
“That’s it?” They were at thirty thousand feet, and something was wrong with the plane. She picked up her mimosa and took a healthy swallow.
“The jet is in perfect running order,” said Hunter.
Her voice rose. “Except for the indicator light.”
Her thoughts flashed to her sister. Sinclair had begged her to postpone the trip until after the holidays. But Kristy hadn’t wanted to risk losing Cleveland’s interest. So she’d insisted on rushing to California.
If only she’d listened. If only dreams of fame and fortune hadn’t clouded her brain.
Then she wouldn’t be here. She’d be home and safe, instead of facing … She stared up at Jack. “Can you at least ask him what the light was indicating?”
“Kristy—”
She nodded to the intercom button. It was her life at stake, too. “Will you ask him?”
Jack heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Trust the pilot. He’s a professional. And if it was serious, Simon wouldn’t be chatting about contacting air traffic control. He’d be declaring an emergency and taking us down.”
Kristy peered out her window at the last orange sun rays in a darkening sky. She didn’t see a fire, didn’t hear any metal twisting, and the aircraft wasn’t losing altitude or bouncing around. Then the steward appeared, looking calm and collected as he cleared away the drinks.
She supposed there would be a few more signs of panic if a fiery death was imminent.
“Relax,” said Jack.
“It’ll be fine,” said Hunter.
But both men were on alert.
Then something banged on the airframe. The plane lurched sideways, and the steward nearly fell over.
“Buckle up,” Jack commanded.
The man nodded, his face instantly pale. He slipped into the nearest seat and clipped on the belt.
There was relative silence for a few minutes. No more banging, and the plane stayed smooth, the engines purring normally.
“Ever been to Vegas?” Jack asked into the steady hum.
Kristy blinked at him.
“Ever been to Vegas, Kristy?”
She shook her head, stroking Dee Dee with a trembling hand. She wished now she’d left the little dog at home. At least then Dee Dee would be safe. Sinclair would have adopted her, Kristy was sure of that.
She blinked away a burning in her eyes. Sinclair. What if she never saw her sister again? Or her parents? What if her family was forced to watch the twisted, fiery wreckage of the jet on the evening news, knowing—
“Kristy?”
She glanced up to see Jack’s expression soften with sympathy. “Everything’s going to be just—”
The plane banged again, this time taking a sudden drop in altitude and leaving her stomach behind.
“Simon is the best in the business,” Jack bravely carried on.
“That’s reassuring, but it’s the plane that’s the problem,” Kristy reminded him.
“It’s just an indicator light.”
“Well, it is indicating something.”
Her fear morphed into anger. She knew it didn’t make sense to be mad at Jack. It wasn’t his fault they were all about to die. But he was the one arguing with