Page 134 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

The landing strip came into view. I exhaled hard. Almost home. I had to stay conscious just a little longer.

“Hold on,” I warned.

Dalton braced, curling over Pickle. It wasn’t going to be a smooth landing. I just wanted down. My vision blurred again.

The wheels hit hard, waking me up. The plane bounced once, twice, I could feel the ground beneath us. We were down. Actually down. I killed the engine, and for a second, I didn’t move.

“You good?” Dalton asked.

“Yeah, I think so. You?”

“Perfect.”

Then suddenly there were people surrounding the plane. Hands reached for us, voices shouting. Paramedics swarmed, taking Pickle from Dalton’s arms. I saw Chief running across the tarmac. I think I smiled but I couldn’t say for certain. I wanted to. I told my face to do it, but that blessed darkness was right there.

I sank into it, hoping someone would take care of me.

I came to feeling myself floating. Not floating. I was being carried. I felt strong arms under my knees and behind my back. The world swayed and bounced with each step.

“Move! Get out of the way! She needs help now!”

Dalton.

His chest vibrated against my cheek as he shouted. I realized I was cradled against him, my head tucked into the curve of his neck. Even through the acrid smell of smoke that clung to both of us, I could smell him. That familiar scent of soap and something uniquely Dalton that made me feel safe.

He was running, his breathing labored, his arms tightening around me protectively. I tried to speak, to tell him I was okay, but my throat felt like I’d swallowed razor blades.

“Almost there, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now, meant just for me. “Stay with me.”

Then I was being lowered onto something—a gurney mattress. The loss of his warmth hit me immediately, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable. A woman’s face appeared above me looking way too serious for my comfort.

“Hello, sweetheart. I’m Sarah. I’m going to take care of you.”

I felt a sharp prick in my arm, then the blessed relief of an oxygen mask being placed over my face. The cool, clean air filled my lungs. I could breathe without feeling like I was drowning.

“Herc, I need you to move back,” Sarah said. “Let us work.”

“Is she—” Dalton’s voice was next to my head.

“She’s going to be fine, but I need space. Move.”

I forced my eyes open, searching for him through the chaos of medical personnel. He was right there, his face streaked with soot and sweat, his dark eyes wild with worry. When our gazes met, I saw the fear he was trying so hard to hide.

I couldn’t speak around the oxygen mask, couldn’t tell him with words that I was okay, that we’d made it. So I looked at him, really looked at him, trying to pour everything I felt into that one look. Relief. Gratitude. Something deeper that I wasn’t ready to name.

He nodded slightly, understanding passing between us without words. He got my message.

“Herc, you need oxygen too,” another voice said. “You’ve got significant smoke inhalation.”

Before Dalton could protest, someone was slapping an oxygen mask over his face and guiding him onto a gurney beside mine. He fought them for a moment, his eyes never leaving mine, but exhaustion and smoke inhalation were finally catching up with him too.

His hand reached out toward me. I managed to lift mine just enough for our fingers to brush before the medical team separated us.

I closed my eyes and let them do their thing. I was so damn tired. I didn’t even have the strength to open my eyes. I felt my suit being cut away and was glad I had on jeans and a shirt underneath. I could hear voices all around me. Someone was saying they had to get Pickle to the hospital.

And then I heard Cheryl demanding to go with him.

That gave me some relief. I didn’t want him to be alone.

“I’m here,” I heard Dalton say.

And then his big hand was on my arm.

“Rest,” he said. “You’re fine. You’re going to be okay.”