All I Want Read online

  “Aw, now you’re just trying to sweet-talk me,” he said.

  She shook her head and ended the call.

  Parker shoved the phone back in his pocket and turned to face Zoe, who was unabashedly eavesdropping.

  She had the good grace to look apologetic, nibbling on her lower lip, which reminded him of how sweet that lip was. He’d enjoyed her kiss, short as it had been, but it was messing with his head in a very different way than Sharon ever had.

  Work had been his priority for so long he’d neglected his own personal needs. It had been months since he’d been with a woman. He’d have liked to say that would change now that he was on “vacation,” but he knew it wouldn’t.

  At least not until he caught Carver. All his concentration was going toward catching that fucker, and maybe then he’d take a badly needed real vacation. Maybe somewhere in the South Pacific after all, for some surf and turf.

  Maybe Alaska for some fishing.

  Hell, maybe he’d actually go home.

  But he knew the truth. He’d do none of those things. He’d jump into a new case, like always. Because his life was his work.

  “Sorry,” Zoe said. “Thin walls. Sound carries in this old house.”

  “Something to remember.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes somehow both sharp and yet vulnerable at the same time, her sassy mouth slightly curved.

  Damn. He loved a sassy mouth and was a complete sucker for sharp yet vulnerable eyes.

  Not interested. You’re not interested, you don’t have time to be interested. . .

  And maybe as long as he kept repeating that to himself, it might actually have a chance at being true.

  Four

  The next morning Zoe opened her eyes and blinked blearily at the clock. Seven thirty. “Oh crap!” she gasped, and leapt out of bed.

  She’d forgotten to set the alarm.

  That was what she got for staying up late working on the damn kitchen sink—which she’d only made worse. Even more demoralizing was the fact that Parker had stayed up just as late, working at her kitchen table on his laptop, a witness to the whole debacle.

  He’d been watching when she’d pinched her finger between a pipe and her wrench. He’d offered to play doctor and patch her up and fix the sink.

  She’d declined both offers with far more reluctance than she’d ever admit to.

  He’d been watching when she’d broken a pipe and had ended up with a gallon of water in her face—and though he’d made a clearly superhuman effort not to laugh, she’d caught the small smile around the mouth she couldn’t stop thinking about.

  Which really ticked her off because he’d been talking to a woman on his phone yesterday, one he was clearly close to. For all she knew, she’d kissed another woman’s man. Good going, Zoe.

  So she’d again refused his help with yet another terse “I’ve got this,” which if anything seemed to amuse him all the more. He’d still been watching when she’d finally sworn the air blue, shoved clear of the sink, and stalked off to bed.

  Now she was late for work on top of grumpy. She was giving a flight lesson and then had a flight scheduled. Kicking it into gear, she raced out of her bedroom. Oreo was right on her heels with an excited bark, hoping the rush was to breakfast. They both ran down the hall and straight into the bathroom, belatedly realizing the shower was running.

  She’d forgotten she was sharing a bathroom with her houseguest.

  She’d never forget again. He stood in her shower, the glass steamed but still plenty clear enough to see him—every single inch of him as his hands ran over his lean, hard body, water and soap sluicing in their trail.

  Good sweet baby Jesus . . .

  Slow and calm as you please, Parker turned his head, those deep green eyes meeting hers where she stood frozen in place.

  “Need something?” he asked, casual. Calm. Like it was an everyday occurrence to have a woman walk in on the middle of his shower.

  God. God, he was so beautifully made, and now that the soap had vanished into the drain at his feet, she could see him even more clearly. His entire right side was a bloom of fading bruises, the colors of a kaleidoscope. Heart pounding in her ears, she took a step back and right into the doorjamb, hard enough to scramble her wits.

  Or maybe that was just him; maybe he scrambled her wits. “Sorry,” she managed, covering her eyes. “My alarm—I’m late—The door wasn’t locked.”

  “The lock’s broken,” he said.

  “Right.” She knew that. It had been broken forever. “I’ll get it fixed right away,” she said, nodding like she was a bobblehead. “I’m really sorry. I . . . forgot.”

  He smiled. “Just remember, paybacks are a bitch.”

  Oh God. She took another step back and tripped over Oreo. Catching herself, she whirled and ran out of the bathroom. For a minute she stood there in the hallway, torn between horror and another emotion that took a second to process.

  Sheer, unadulterated lust.

  “Woof,” Oreo said, nudging her toward the stairs, reminding her that he believed he was starving, wasting away to nothing.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “We can recover from this.” She had no choice. Running back into her room, she shoved herself into clothes and raced downstairs, needing to get out of the house before Parker came down. She hurriedly fed Oreo and then stopped and stared at the kitchen sink.

  It wasn’t dripping.

  She’d actually fixed it?

  “Woof!” Oreo had gobbled up his food in about a nanosecond and wanted more.

  “Sorry, Wyatt said I had to put you on a diet.”

  From upstairs she heard the shower go off. Oh shit. She shoved Oreo out the back door. “Hurry! Do your business!”

  Oreo stared at her.

  “You know what I’m saying!”

  Oreo looked out at the yard. There were no adventures in the yard. No mailmen to terrorize. No new bushes to anoint. He let out an unhappy whine.

  “We don’t have time for a walk,” she told him. “I’ll make it up to you later, I promise, just hurry!”

  With a huge doggy sigh, Oreo loped off to do his morning constitutional.

  Zoe grabbed a bagel and a Slim Jim left over from Darcy’s stash and deposited them in her purse for later, got a bummed-out Oreo back inside, and left.

  She went straight to Wyatt’s empty house, let herself in, and used his and Emily’s shower, the whole time picturing how Parker had looked in hers. Which was amazing. Gah. She stole a new toothbrush from Wyatt, dressed from a go bag she kept in her car for unexpected overnight flights, and left for work.

  And still, every other second or so she felt her face heat up as she remembered walking—no, racing—into her bathroom, interrupting Parker’s shower.

  Which meant she had a semipermanent blush on her face. Not that Parker had seemed all that bothered—unlike her; she was very bothered. As in hot and bothered.

  She hoped he’d been kidding about payback. Maybe he would laugh it off. Maybe he would forget it.

  And maybe pigs could fly.

  She didn’t know much about Mr. Mystery yet, but she doubted he forgot much. Still, she’d talked herself into feeling slightly better by the time she parked in the airport lot.

  The fixed-base operator she flew out of had three hangars. One for the business front, one for maintenance, and one for plane storage. Services provided at the FBO were the usual located at such regional airports; fuel, charts, maintenance, hangar services, lounges for pilots between flights with TV, WiFi, comfy recliners, and even a private room with a bed if needed.

  What made the Sunshine Airport different from most of the other small airports around the country was the altitude and the fact that the airport was situated in a mountainous bowl surrounded by the rough and jagged Bitterroot Mountain peaks. Unique wind and weather patterns created a challenge for all types of aircraft and required special skill and training—which she taught.

  “Looking real good today, babe.” T