The Trouble With Tomboys(20)

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“Ready?” she asked.

He nodded and opened his mouth. No words

came out.

Her stomach did a flip-flop, but she amazed

herself by keeping it cool. Arching a brow, she asked,

“Yeah?”

He closed his mouth, shook his head, and then glanced away, obviously horrified with himself for chickening out.

“Then let’s head out,” she answered brusquely.

“I just finished my inspection.”

Not bothering to touch his luggage this morning, she deserted him and made her way to the cockpit.

Behind her, the cargo doors shut and seconds later, Grady slipped into the seat next to hers. A wave of déjà vu hit. Hadn’t they already played this game before? Uncomfortable silence. Awkward attempts at conversation. Stolen glances.

Except this time around, B.J. knew what he

looked like naked.

She didn’t think she could do it. There was no way she could act like nothing had happened. On the other hand, there was no way she could talk to him about what happened either. And there didn’t seem to be any kind of happy medium.

Briefly she wondered what he’d do if she politely said, Hey, would you please step out of the Cessna and find your own way home? I can’t take the sexual tension and all this guilt I’m feeling.

B.J. shook her head and started the plane.

Okay, so they were obviously going to go with the whole memory-loss plan and pretend neither of them could recall attacking each other less than eight hours ago and ripping the clothes off their bodies.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered under her

breath.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw him turn 56



The Trouble with Tomboys



his head her way as if he’d heard her speak but hadn’t caught the words. When he didn’t comment, she blocked him and proceeded to get them in the air. Five minutes later, they’d climbed as far into the sky as she was going to go, and B.J. pushed the limits of their speed. But it didn’t help. As much as she loved going fast, today it didn’t seem to give her the rush she craved. Instead, she kept staring at Grady’s knee from the corner of her eye. His thigh was incased in tight Wranglers, and she wondered if she reached over and set her hand on it, if it’d still be as hard as she remembered it being last night.

God, she really needed to get her mind away

from that. If she was going to do anything about their evening together, she should be giving an apology instead of partaking in a little air action.

This was so not the day to join the mile-high club.

She had an awful feeling if she tried to eat crow, though, and own up to her mistake of pushing him into the sack—er, against the door, as was the case—then she’d somehow turn the tables around and demand to know why he’d ditched out on her just when things were getting good.

Okay, so she knew why, and she didn’t blame

him a lick. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Gritting her teeth, she commanded herself to stop thinking about it altogether. There wasn’t going to be any kind of resolution if she tried to bring up the topic, not that she wanted to anyway. So, ignoring the tension was going to have to be her best bet. But, hell, there was no way she could ignore it, especially when he shifted in his seat and stirred the air around them, rustling up his scent so her body responded and the insides of her thighs tingled.

B.J. couldn’t do it any longer. She glanced over.

“Want to learn a couple of things about flying?” she blurted out, not even realizing what she was going to 57







ask. He lifted his face. His blue eyes showed surprise, but other than that, she couldn’t read anything. The nerves in her guts knotted and then tightened painfully. She ripped her gaze away.

“The basic concept is pretty simple,” she started in, ignoring his lack of response and the growing ball in her stomach. She needed to get her mind

off...well, you know. And nothing could grab B.J.’s attention like talking planes.

So, she talked planes.

“There’re four forces at work when flying. Lift, weight, thrust and drag.”

Oh, God. Did she just say thrust?

“To take off, your thrust, uh, has to be more powerful than your drag and your lift has to be more powerful than your weight. To land, it’s vice versa.

Drag dominates thrust and weight dominates lift.”

When he didn’t say a word in reply, she

shrugged and continued. No way was she going to drive herself nuts, just sitting there, letting her thoughts take over. So she blubbered on.

“Weight and drag are natural forces. You see, weight is merely gravity trying to yank the plane back to earth, and drag is like the wind on your face when you’re running. It’s air pushing against you when you’re trying to go forward. Therefore thrust and lift are fashioned by the plane mechanically to get it up and going.”