Shopping for a Billionaire 3 by Julia Kent Page B

who climbs back in the front seat.  
    I step out on legs that feel strong and well used. The copter blades start a slow circle and sound revs up.
    “I wish. But you’ll have to settle for plain old Declan,” he shouts.  
    “You’re anything but ‘plain,’” I call back.  
    Cupping a hand over his ear, he shakes his head. He didn’t hear me. That’s okay, though, because he doesn’t need to.  
    The ground feels springy under my feet as I hold my hair in one hand to keep it from whipping around my face as the helicopter blades rotate faster. The wind the machine creates is magical, the contraption about to elevate us into the air, high above the city. I have no idea where Declan is taking me and I don’t care. My body throbs and I’m sore from that amazing encounter in the limo, but I get the distinct sense that that ?
    That was only the beginning.
    Love in a helicopter? No way. The pilot gives me a sharp nod, the engines roaring so loud I can’t hear a thing. Declan offers me headphones and I put them on, muting the chuk chuk chuk sound.  
    “Welcome aboard, Ms. Jacoby,” says a new-to-me voice. The pilot raises his hand with a wave.
    “That’s Joel,” Declan’s voice explains, crackling over a static-y connection. He points to a little knob on his own headset and I realize it’s the volume control. I fiddle with mine and get the sound to the right level. Speaking in a normal voice is all that’s needed.
    Joel speaks a bunch of Flight Language to some sort of tower personnel. He might as well be casting a spell or getting directions to Hogwarts. The words and numbers make no sense to me, but I’m in awe of it anyhow. That a human being can learn how to successfully navigate a machine like this, not only through space but through three-dimensional space, is amazing.
    Driving a car on the ground is hard enough, but to know which direction you’re going and to keep track of where you are vertically? It’s like rubbing your tummy, patting your head, and playing Farmville while singing “ T he Star-Spangled Banner” at the same time.
    And this is why I never became a pilot. That, and failing Physics 101. Pesky detail.
    Declan’s speaking in code with Joel, his hip digging deep into mine as we cram next to each other on the helicopter. He closes the door and the sound of the blades changes. I t’s like someone shoved a feather pillow over them. The helicopter begins to jostle and I dig my fingers into his thigh.
    He smiles at me, all stubble and dimples and bright irises. A reassuring arm wraps around me. “Takeoff is always hardest,” he says.  
    “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
    Joel makes a snorting sound, then cuts his mic. Declan shoots him an annoyed look, but returns his attention to me. “I’ve never taken a woman in my chopper before. Not on a date.”
    “Is that what you call this?” I can’t stop touching him. My hand goes to the collar of his shirt, where a smattering of dark hair covers his collarbone. I want to lick him. Taste him. Nestle my cheek against his chest and hear his heartbeat. I want him in me again, the feel of his release, of his trust to give in to me.
    Divergence is turning my life into something unrecognizable. A few weeks ago I knew what to expect from your average day. No, I couldn’t plan it meticulously, no matter how hard I tried, but a certain contentment made each week pretty predictable. Settled. Relatively comfortable, if a bit lonely. Get up, have coffee, go to work, do mystery shops, prepare presentations, come home to Chuckles, hang with Amy and Amanda.
    Lather, rinse, repeat.
    Drive my junky car. Have dinner at Mom and Dad’s. Overthink and overplan everything, then obsess about my tendency to overthink and overplan.
    A billionaire player like Declan was, most definitely, not part of any plan. Not even part of my fantasies, which had taken a bizarre turn toward the superhero realm. If you can’t have a superman, you might as well