Mary Kildare knows how to read people. It’s both why she makes a great therapist and why she refuses to trust the average bachelor. Staying fiercely independent has been her primary relationship strategy—until wealthy playboy pilot (and commitmentphobe) Glen Fairchild reappears in her life. After a yearlong teasing tug-of-war, Mary and Glen test the waters of attraction, only to find that their physical chemistry runs deeper than flirtation.At first, a bicoastal romance suits them both—especially since Glen can swoop in and whisk Mary away on one of his company’s planes. But no matter how close they get, they’re still three thousand miles apart. And when Mary’s life is threatened, Glen realizes the one luxury he doesn’t have is time. Can he close the distance between them before it’s too late?
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There were butterflies in Mary's belly. The giddy girlie kind that were a little out of place considering she’d seen Glen on so many occasions the newness should have worn off.
She opened the door and sighed. He wore a jacket, minus the tie . . . and dark slacks. Even from where she stood she could smell he’d just taken a shower. And he held flowers in his hand.
While she was looking at him, his ever-ready cocky smile slowly dropped as his eyes swept over her twice. “You’re, uhm . . . wow!”
Glen speechless was a rarity. She liked it. “Are those for me?” He lifted the bouquet.
“First date flowers. It’s in the rule book.”
She took them, smelled one of the half dozen roses in the mix, and smiled. “Not everyone read that book.”
“Makes those of us who did look even better.”
She nodded toward the inside. “Let me put these in water and grab my purse.”
Glen followed her into her kitchen.
The four-inch heels made it easier for her to reach the shelf where she stored her vase, but as she reached for it, Glen stood beside her and helped.
God he smelled good.
He simply hummed as he handed it to her.
She tried to ignore the heat in his eyes as he stared.
“I’d say you didn’t have to.”
“But that wouldn’t be sincere.”
“You can’t go wrong with flowers. Candy is hit and miss.”
She removed the wrap and fanned the arrangement in the vase as it filled with water. When she was done she set it in the window and turned to find Glen still staring.
He didn’t move. “Have you ever had dessert before dinner?”
She shook her head. “Are you trying to tell me we’re having cheesecake for dinner?”
He smiled, took a step closer. “When we were kids, every once in a while my mom would have some kind of bridge night, or girls’ night . . . I don’t know what it was. But we loved it, Trent, Jason, and I. Our dad always brought out the pie, cake, even ice cream sundaes before we’d have dinner.”
“Did you finish your dinner?”
“Not always. But we enjoyed it more because we’d done it backwards.”
“That’s sweet. If we’re not having cake first . . . then what made you think of that story?”
Glen took another step closer and reached over to push one of the curls from her shoulder. Heat rose in his eyes, and the response of her body was chemical. “Because of this.”
His hand slid behind her neck and encouraged her into his arms as he lowered his lips to hers.
She was stunned. From head to toe her body short-circuited. He was warm and smelled delicious . . . and utterly confident as he pressed her body next to his. The span of his hand wrapped around her waist but didn’t move beyond that spot. She slowly woke up, closed her eyes, and kissed him back. It felt good to be kissed. She barely tasted his tongue before he backed away.
With her eyes closed she felt his stare.
“I wanted to do that for a very long time,” he confessed.
She slowly opened her eyes and kept looking at his chest. “You caught me off guard.”
He placed his finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “We’re even then. Now we can have a nice evening without either of us wondering what that was going to taste like.”
“You had your dessert first.”
Glen shrugged. “What can I say? I have a sweet tooth.”
She grabbed her clutch on the counter. “Shall we?”
He placed his hand on the small of her back and led her outside.
Catherine Bybee was raised in Washington State, but after graduating from high school, she moved to Southern California with the hope of becoming a movie star. After growing bored with waiting tables, she returned to school and became a registered nurse, spending most of her career in urban emergency rooms. Now, she writes full-time. She has penned the popular Weekday Brides series as well as the beloved Not Quite series. She resides in Southern California with her two sons.
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