Smart and Sexy
Jill Shalvis
ISBN 0-7582-1445-6
Read an Excerpt »
Buy Now »
Jill Shalvis mixes delectably steamy romance and pulse-pounding adventure, courtesy of Noah, Shayne, and Brody—three gorgeous pilots whose private airline caters to the rich and fabulous. Noah is a bad-boy rebel who’s always gone his own way, but when the stowaway on board turns out to be his secret crush, he’ll make it his mission to keep the passenger satisfied…
Flying Solo Is Way Overrated
Noah Fisher has worked for months to make Sky High the most prestigious charter airline in California. He’s long overdue for a break—something involving ski slopes, cold beers, and hot ski bunny babes, not necessarily in that order. The itinerary doesn’t include being hijacked by Bailey Sinclair, gorgeous widow of one of Sky High’s wealthiest (ex-) clients. But here they are, and being crammed in a cockpit with the scared, stubborn, unbelievably sexy former model he’s been fantasizing about invokes Superman tendencies that could get Noah in serious trouble.
Bailey is desperate to find the stash of money hidden by her conniving, thieving late husband—before the bad guys he owed find her. It’s a long shot, but nothing compared to the gamble she’s taking by being so close to Noah. Every minute in his company has Bailey thinking about doing crazy, reckless things like touching, grabbing, kissing…and oh wow, being kissed right back. Suddenly, seat-of-your-pants seems like the only way to fly, and maybe it’s the altitude playing tricks, but this is one trip she never wants to end…
Read an Excerpt
“I have to get there quickly. Like yesterday quickly.”
“As in hijack-a-pilot quickly?”
“I didn’t hijack you,” she said with a primness that made him want to laugh — if there’d been anything remotely funny about this situation. “You were going anyway,” she said in the same old refrain.
He slid her a long glance.
She broke eye contact again.
“Okay,” he said, deciding to bite. “So what is this ’something’ you have to get quickly?”
She put her nose to the window. “Are we almost there?”
“Done talking, are we?” he asked dryly.
She didn’t answer.
Yeah, apparently, she was done talking. She’d definitely omitted plenty, leaving out a whole bunch of her story, including how the hell she’d gotten herself roughed up and by whom.
Not his problem, he reminded himself, even if just looking at her invoked Superman tendencies. He was going to Mammoth for some desperately needed R&R.
And a ski bunny.
Nothing else, including saving damsels in distress.
With that thought, he began landing preparations. He reduced power and lowered the flaps, controlling the nose, maintaining altitude, but in yet another unwelcome turn of events, the landing gear didn’t lower.
Unbelievable. He flicked the switch again, prepared to adjust the trim at the drag to stabilize the nose again, but nope, the landing gear definitely did not lower. “Shit.”
“What is it?” she asked.
He looked into her lovely, terrified face. How to tell her they might be coming in for a landing on their belly? “Come here.”
“Why?” asked his suspicious little hijacker.
There was no sugar-coating the insanity. “We have a little problem.”
“That’s an oxymoron when you’re in the air.”
He let out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah. Listen, the landing gear didn’t lower.”
Her mouth fell open.
“I need you to fly the plane while I go crank it down manually.” Crank, kick . . . whatever it took.
The color drained completely out of her face. “Ohmigod. Without the landing gear, we can’t land. Right?”
“Sure we can, we just do it on our belly. Not nearly as smooth though, trust me.”
She swallowed hard. “That’s nowhere close to a little problem.”
“Compared to falling out of the sky, it is. Get over here, Princess.”
“Can you really fix it?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen a guy do it once or twice.”
“Omigod!”
“I’m kidding! Yes, I can fix it. If you get over here.”
“Noah–”
The plane shuddered. More turbulence. Perfect. “Now, goddamnit.” To help her along, he snagged a fistful of the front of her sweatshirt and yanked. With a gasp, she flew toward him, and something slid out of her front pocket, clattering on the floor.
A large, fat pen.
A pen that probably, if shoved up against him, would feel like a gun. He stared down at the thing until it rolled beneath the seat.
“You’re kidding me.”
The truth was written all over her face. “I–”
“You’re kidding me.” He couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. “A pen? You held me up with a pen?”
