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  “Ecstatic,” he said grimly, and held firm when she would have shoved free. “Have you had them tracked?”

  “Working on it.”

  He traced a finger over the worry groove between her eyes. “Leave it alone?”

  “Yeah.” She lifted a shoulder. “Thought maybe at first it was you.”

  For a moment he couldn’t figure out how to speak without losing it. “Jesus,” he finally said. “You think so highly of me, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Logic prevailed, all right? I figured leaving it alone is the last thing you want me to do.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  “Look, I don’t want to do this now.” She pushed away. “I have shit to do and…” She cast another quick glance over his body, but he wasn’t aroused now, he was tense with frustration, anger, and worry.

  “Any more secrets you want to reveal?” he asked tightly.

  She turned away. “I’ve got a flight.”

  So there were still more secrets. Fuck. He listened to the sound of her boots as she walked away. For distraction, he inhaled the coffee she’d brought him, in desperate need of the caffeine. Then he closed up the hangar, entered the lobby, and accepted the usual fuck-you glare from Dimi. He didn’t care. He helped himself to Mel’s office and the shower in her bathroom there, which meant that he smelled just like her.

  He could smell himself all damn day as he flew to LA to see a man with a fleet of antique Beechcraft. Not a 1944 in the bunch…Bugger it all to hell.

  By the time he got back to North Beach, it was late afternoon. He was with Danny in maintenance, looking on the Internet for parts when Char called. “Danny, get your cute buns into the lobby, please.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Just hustle.”

  Danny looked at Bo hopefully. “Maybe it involves food.”

  On the chance it did, Bo tagged along.

  They walked into the café and Char hurried them behind the counter. “Quick, duck!”

  Bo ducked down without knowing why until one moment later when Mel walked in off the tarmac, hot and irritated and gorgeous, and everyone leapt up and yelled “Happy B-day!”

  There was a huge cake, with decorations hanging over their heads and helium balloons. They pushed Mel onto a chair and sang “Happy Birthday” to her. Ritchie offered to spank her, and then Kellan shoved him and said he’d do it, and then Al hit them both upside the back of the head while everyone gathered in like the tight unit they were and talked and laughed and talked some more.

  Al took pictures. Char refilled soda glasses from a frothy pitcher in her hand. Danny kept reaching out to the boom box to change the music from Def Leppard to Green Day, but Char kept laughing and changing it back.

  Kellan picked up each present on the table and shook it in turn, stopping at one in particular. “This one sounds like a vibrator,” he said hopefully.

  “Yeah? Hope it comes with batteries,” Mel responded, which had Bo frozen to the spot, his mind caught on the image of Mel using a vibrator on herself. Good God, the image seared his brain, so much so that when Al asked him a question, he could only stare at the man…struck deaf, blind, and mute.

  Ritchie helped himself to one helium balloon at a time, sucking in the gas, amusing himself and the others by singing along to the radio in a high-pitched squeal.

  Mel had a smile on her face, a real one that Bo hadn’t seen before, and it stopped him cold. Her eyes were lit, sparkling with life. She wore a pair of jeans and two tank tops layered over each other, black and white. Her hair, all that long, thick, glorious red hair, hung over her shoulders and down her back, and he knew just how it would smell if he buried his face in the silky strands because he’d smelled just like her all damn day long.

  She glanced at him once, her gaze briefly dropping to the buttons on his Levi’s.

  She was thinking about this morning, about his morning erection, and what a horny little secret keeper he was, and he waited until her gaze lifted before he arched a daring brow.

  She blushed. Blushed. He’d had her naked and writhing in his arms, he’d watched her come all over him, and she was blushing, after being caught looking at his package. “I don’t have a present,” he said to her. “I didn’t know it was your birthday.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t expect a present from you.”

  Right. Because he wasn’t part of her life. He didn’t fit in, she didn’t even want him to. All around him was an easy affection, even love, and he felt a pang. A deep, dark pang that he didn’t understand. All he’d wanted was to get his father’s money and get out of here. He hadn’t wanted to belong. Or like these people.

  So how had it happened that though he wanted the first he had already done the second?

  Char lit the twenty-seven candles on the huge cake, decorated with—what else?—a plane.

  “Blow hard,” Char suggested.

  Mel glanced at Bo and blushed, once again giving away her thoughts. Blow hard.

  In his dreams.

  “Don’t forget to wish!” Dimi told her.

  “I won’t,” Mel said, eyes still locked on Bo, thinking…what?

  He didn’t know but he’d have paid a lot to find out.

  Mel sliced up the cake, extremely aware of Bo on the outer edge of everyone, looking in but not really a part of the party.

  Everyone took a piece of cake but him, and with the gang talking and laughing and occupied, she stepped close and offered up a plate.

  He hesitated so briefly she couldn’t be sure she hadn’t imagined it, then took the plate. He stabbed a bite with his fork, but brought it to her lips.

  Over his fork, their gazes met, the air charged. No need to wonder what he was thinking, it was there in his green eyes—a desire so potent it rocked her world. As she opened her mouth and took a bite, licking off a dollop of frosting from her lips, his eyes flamed some more.

  God. Her knees shook. What was she doing? Having no idea, she turned away, but he came up behind her.

  She knew it was him by the sheer heat that flooded her body. He pressed close, his shoulders brushing against her back, his thighs to hers, a big, warm hand setting low on her spine.

  “What did you wish for?” he asked, his voice a low murmur, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just beneath her ear.

  A set of delicious shivers chased each other down her spine and she told herself to get a grip. He was hardly touching her. Her body was just overreacting. She turned her head to meet his eyes. A mistake, as they were still on fire. “World peace.”

  His mouth twitched. “And?”

  “And for the answers to my fave TV show, Lost.”

  “And?”

  “If I tell, it won’t come true.”

  He looked at her for a long beat, his fingers very slowly gliding beneath her tank top to stroke her bare skin just above the waistband of her jeans.

  Then those clever fingers dipped just beneath, toying with the elastic on her panties.

  Yeah, that pretty much dissolved the bones in her legs. With him this close, the view of everyone else was blocked out by his broad shoulders, so that all she could focus on was him; his solidness, his scent, the way he was looking at her.

  It did something funny to her tummy, and longing twisted and coiled through her. Longing. For this man.

  Hadn’t she already talked to herself about this? He was a bad idea.

  Luckily, Ernest distracted them all with his latest jar filled with an eight-legged occupant, and then Kellan juggled salt shakers while Danny polished off the rest of the cake, and Ritchie once again sang “Happy Birthday” in his helium-high voice, and then everyone was saying good-bye for the night.

  Skin still burning from Bo’s touch, Mel gathered all her things and headed out.

  The heat had softened with the setting sun, and as she walked toward her car, she was suddenly more exhausted than she could remember being in a long time, and that was saying something. All she wanted was