Sheltered by the Millionaire(8)

"Without question, Evie would love the adventure. I'm not able to offer  her much in the way of vacation or special trips. She's also been  hesitant to stay at the sitter's...." Megan drew in a shaky breath.  "Saturday it is then."

A thrill of victory surged through him, stronger than any he'd experienced in a damn long time.

"Excellent. And hey, feel free to make more calls and line up a place  for the extra dogs and we can make it a weekly outing. Wait-before you  accuse me of using the animals to get to you, the offer still stands if  you want to send one of your staff in your place."

She laughed dryly. "Let's take it one week at a time."

But he knew she wouldn't be able to turn down the offer. He'd found the  perfect in with her. "And by the way, a trip that long won't all fit  into one day. Be sure to pack an overnight bag."

* * *

Megan held a clipboard and cross-referenced the information on the  printout with the card attached to each cat carrier lined up inside  Whit's aircraft. The plane could easily hold a dozen or more people, but  those sofas and lounge chairs were empty. The kitty cargo had been  creatively stashed beneath seats and strapped under the food station  bar.

Most of the felines were already curled up and snoozing from the  sedative she'd administered prior to crating them. Three of the cats,  though, were staring back at her with wide, drugged eyes and the  occasional hiss, hanging on to consciousness and looking at her  suspiciously. Sheba, an all-black fluff ball, had come from a home where  she was an only pet and queen of her domain, but after her owner passed  away, the extended family had dumped their mother's beloved pet at the  shelter. Sheba had been freaked out and terrified ever since. She needed  a home environment, even a foster setting, until an adopter could be  found. Skittles, an orange tabby stray, had been found at the shopping  mall with no name tag, no microchip and no one to claim her. If she went  much longer without a home setting, Megan feared Skittles would turn  feral. And the third of the cranky passengers, Sebastian, was a  gorgeous, very huge Maine Coon cat that desperately needed more space to  move around than the shelter could offer.

Provided the Colorado group was as wonderful in person as her contact  and the vet indicated, by evening the twelve cats would be with a rescue  that only operated with foster homes until adoptive homes were found.  No more shelter life for them.

She rested a hand on top of a crate, exhaustion from the past month  seeping through her. Maybe now that she had some help in sight, her body  was finally relaxing enough to let all those extra hours catch up with  her. She still could hardly believe this was happening-and thanks to  Whit Daltry, of all people. The last man she would have expected to go  the extra mile for her.                       
       
           



       

But the very man who'd done more than that for her when he'd helped her reach Evie after the tornado.

Megan stole a quick glance to check on her daughter, currently sprawled  out asleep on one of the leather sofas. They'd had to get up early to  ready the cats at the shelter. Evie had insisted on wearing a cowgirl  outfit today-with the ever present tiara, of course.

Footsteps sounded outside on the metal stairs, and a second later Whit  filled the hatch. He looked Texas-awesome, with broad shoulders-as if  Texas ever did anything half way. He wore a chambray button-down with  the sleeves rolled up. And his jeans-Lord help her. The well-washed  denim fit him just right. Her mouth watered. He ducked and pulled off  his hat to clear the hatch on his way inside.

"Everything's a go outside whenever you and Evie are ready to buckle  in." His boots thudded against the carpeted floor as he walked to Megan  and rested a hand on her shoulder.

Static sparked through her so tangibly she could almost believe  crackles filled and lit the air. Whit's clean soap scent brought to mind  the image of a shared morning shower, a notion far too intimate to  entertain, especially when they had to spend the next two days in close  confines. She eased away from him under the guise of flipping the page  on her clipboard. Except it was already the last page so she looked too  obvious.

Quickly, she flipped all the papers back into place.

Whit stuffed his hands in his jean pockets. "We might as well talk about it."

"Talk about what?" How she couldn't peel her eyes off his strong jaw?  Could barely suppress the urge to step closer and brush her cheek along  the fresh-shaven texture of his face? She was having a hard time  remembering why she had to stay away from this man.

"When you kissed me."

"Shhhh!" she whispered urgently. "Do you want someone-Evie-to hear?"  Her daughter was a great big reason she needed to tread warily with any  man she let into their lives.

He stepped closer. "Okay, how's this?"

His voice rumbled over her like the vibration of quiet thunder in a  summer rain. Desire pooled low in her belly, her breasts tingling and  tightening as if the first drops of that summer storm were caressing her  bare skin.

Damn. She was in deep trouble here.

She clutched the clipboard to her chest. "I didn't kiss you that day. Not exactly."

"I remember the day well. Your lips on mine. That's a kiss," he  bantered with a devilish glint in his eyes. "But just so that we're  clear, none of this trip today is contingent on there being another  kiss."

"I meant to kiss your cheek as...a thanks." A mind-melting, toe-curling  thanks. "You're the one who turned your face and made it into something  more."

He dipped his head and spoke softly, his breath warm against her ear.  "And you're the one who smells like cinnamon and has this sexy kitten  moan. I dream of hearing it again."

She fought back the urge to moan at just the sound of his voice and the  memories his words evoked. "I thought you were taking the animals on  this flight as a totally philanthropic act."

"I am."

She tipped her chin and stood her ground. "Then what's this flirting about?"

"I'm a multitasker." He knocked on the clipboard still clasped against her breasts. "Let's get strapped in and ready to roll."

* * *

An hour later, Megan rested her arm along the sofa back and watched the  puffy white clouds filling the sky. The plane cruised as smoothly as if  they were cushioned by those pillowy clouds, not a bump yet to  disconcert her.

Shortly after takeoff, Evie had asked to join Whit. Megan had started  to say no, but apparently he'd heard and waved her daughter up front to  the empty co-pilot's seat. As a single parent, Megan was so used to  being the sole caregiver and primary form of entertainment for her  daughter-especially since the tornado. This moment to relax with her  thoughts was a welcome reprieve.

Hell, to relax at all seemed like a gift.

The cats were all happily snoozing now in their tranquilized haze. No  more evil eye from the three stubborn ones that had stayed awake the  longest.                       
       
           



       

Her gaze shifted back to her daughter up front. Evie, rejuvenated from  her nap, was now chattering to Whit. He sat at the helm, piloting them  through the skies with obvious ease and skill. His hands and feet moved  in perfect synch, his eyes scanning the control as he seamlessly carried  on a convoluted conversation with her four-year-old daughter.

"Mr. Whit, I'm a cowgirl," Evie declared proudly.

"I see that," he answered patiently as if she hadn't already been  peppering his ear with accounts of every detail of her life from her  best friends at school-Caitlyn and Bobby-to what she ate for breakfast  this morning-a granola bar and chocolate milk in the car on the way to  the shelter. "Last week, you were a knight with a sword."

"A princess knight," she said as if he was too slow to have noticed the difference.

Megan suppressed a smile.

"Right," Whit answered. "You always wear that pretty tiara."

"This week, I'm keeping the monsters away with my rope." She patted her  hip where the miniature lasso was hooked to her belt loop. "It's a  lassie."

"Lassie? Oh, lasso. I see," he said solemnly. "You're going to rope the monsters?"

Megan swallowed down a lump of emotion at how easily he saw through to her daughter's fears.

"Yep, sir, that's right," Evie answered with a nod that threatened to  dislodge her tiara. "Rope 'em up and throw 'em in the trash."

He stayed silent for a heart-stopping second before he answered with a measured calm, "You're a very brave little girl."

Evie shrugged. "Somebody's gotta do it."

Megan choked back a bittersweet laugh as her daughter parroted one of her mommy's favorite phrases.