Page 47 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

Her defensive posture softened slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So you get it,” she said, her voice quieter now.

“I get it.” I looked at her then, really looked at her. “Your family might not understand the path you took to get here, but you’re doing exactly what you were meant to do.”

She was quiet for a long moment, then gave me a small smile. “Thanks. That actually helps.”

I couldn’t explain what was happening inside my body. She was different than I thought. She wasn’t just cocky and quick with a comeback. She felt the same things I did. And more than that, she understood.

I caught myself staring too long.

“What?” she asked.

I cleared my throat. “Your cookies.”

She blinked. “My what?”

“The ones from the other night. They were good.”

She grinned. “Baking is my therapy. It centers me.”

My lips twitched. “I guess if that’s what does it for you.”

“What do you do for therapy?” she asked.

“Fuck.”

She stopped walking once again. Her eyes were wide and horror was all over her face as she stared at me.

I shrugged. “You asked.”

She stared at me for a beat, her cheeks flushing pink, and then she burst out laughing. “Of course that’s your therapy.”

I smirked, shoving my hands into my pockets. “What can I say? It works.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure that counts as therapy,” she shot back, still grinning. “More like a distraction.”

“Same difference,” I said with a shrug. “You bake cookies, I distract myself. We all have our coping mechanisms.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she turned and started walking again. I fell into step beside her.

We made our way back toward the hangar. Tyson and Gilbert were still missing. We were alone and dammit if I couldn’t stop thinking about our discussion. I shouldn’t have said it because now that the idea was in my head, I couldn’t stop thinking about sex. Not just sex, but sex with her.

“All alone,” she whispered.

“We were alone before,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but that was before we started talking about… therapy.”

“Janna.” It was a warning.

“Yeah, Dalton?” It was said in a seductive tone.

“Don’t tempt me,” I warned again.

We were standing close now. It was too close. We were on the other side of the plane, hidden from view of the open hangar doors. I weighed my options. I tried to convince myself it would be a really bad idea to act on my desires. But the way she was looking at me was like the angel on my shoulder getting her ass kicked by the devil that sat on my other shoulder. The devil usually won in these situations.

She took another step closer, positioning herself inches from me. One kiss wouldn’t hurt.