Too Close To Call. Barbara Dunlop
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Now, this was kissing
Jordan’s fingertips found the silky skin between Ashley’s short sweater and little skirt. He longed to explore farther, but they’d agreed on just a kiss.
So he focused on her mouth, kissing her longer, harder, deeper. Only coming up for air to pepper the corners of her mouth with mini-kisses, tasting her soft skin, treating himself to her hidden scent where her neck curved into her shoulder.
But the kiss was a lie.
He was living a lie.
She thought he was Jeffrey, and Jeffrey thought she was the enemy. And here in L.A., Jordan Adamson didn’t even exist. Of all the off-limits women in the whole off-limits world, Ashley took first prize.
There was no way for this to turn out well.
Ashley took a step back, slipping from his arms, breaking their touch. “That was…cataclysmic.”
And he so wanted it to.
Dear Reader,
When Colleen Collins and I decided to write two connected books, we knew we had to use the big city—her area of expertise—and the far north, which is mine. We came up with the idea of The Parent Trap for adults, and both realized we were onto something fun.
Throughout the writing I helped her with northern details, such as whether or not you’d find trees on the tundra and how a dogsled works. At the same time she told me about the peculiarities of television executives and where to eat and shop in L.A. It was an experience we’d both like to repeat someday.
I sincerely hope you enjoy meeting Jordan Adamson, the hero in Too Close To Call, along with his long-lost twin brother, Jeffrey Bradshaw, in Too Close for Comfort.
Happy reading,
Barbara Dunlop
Books by Barbara Dunlop
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
848—FOREVER JAKE
901—NEXT TO NOTHING!
HARLEQUIN DUETS
54—THE MOUNTIE STEALS A WIFE
90—A GROOM IN HER STOCKING
98—THE WISH-LIST WIFE
Too Close to Call
Barbara Dunlop
For my dear friend Colleen Collins—city girl extraordinaire.
And for my brilliant editor, Kathryn Lye. We’re not in Kansas anymore!
Contents
1
“NATIONAL WEATHER says there’s a snowstorm building off the Gulf of Alaska,” Jordan Adamson called to his dispatcher in the reception area of True North Airlines as he tore the printout from his fax machine.
“Is it going to shut us down?” Wally Lane swiveled on his chair, eyebrows lifting. “Cyd’s heading out on the Arctic Luck run in about ten minutes.”
“We’ve got a few hours leeway, but radio Bob and make sure he keeps an eye on it.”
Flying in adverse weather conditions was part of being an Alaskan bush pilot. Though late October snowstorms could be fierce, Jordan didn’t want his pilots taking unnecessary chances. Go or no-go was a combination of meteorological reports, the view outside the cockpit window and gut instinct.
Jordan reached through the window opening from his small office and handed Wally a copy of the report. “Tell Bob to hold tight in Sitka if necessary.” After a second’s pause, he added, “And remind him to—”
“Keep the customer satisfied,” Wally echoed the rest of Jordan’s words with perfect rhythm and intonation.
Jordan rolled his eyes heavenward. The staff at his small airline in Alpine, Alaska had been teasing him for months about his evangelical customer satisfaction mission.
“Bob’s picking up his ex-wife,” said Wally. “He might prefer the storm to holing up with her in Sitka overnight.”
Jordan grinned. “Pilot’s discretion.” He took a step back.
“Roger,” said Wally, with a snappy salute.
The front door opened, and Wally swiveled back to the counter as a man stepped into the reception area. Jordan assumed it was Cyd’s four o’clock passenger.
In that European suit and shiny loafers, the man was overdressed for a plane ride to Arctic Luck. In fact, he was overdressed for anything north of the sixtieth parallel.
The man looked up, and Jordan did a double take. There was something startlingly familiar about him. Had they met before? The man’s eyes widened, and he drew back. For a moment, Jordan wondered if he’d somehow offended him.
While Wally talked to the customer, Jordan turned to the stacks of papers on his desk, making a quick search for a passenger list to check the name. Part of delivering good customer service was remembering your customers’ needs and treating them as though they were important to the business. It was all right there in the Alaska Tourism Association brochure guidelines.
Jordan’s airline currently held first place in this year’s Alaska Tourism customer satisfaction surveys. If he could hang on to the lead for the rest of the season, it would mean free advertising in all of the government brochures next summer. That kind of exposure was sure to increase his business—a necessity if he wanted to add a commuter jet to his fleet.
Which he did.
As soon as possible.
While he located the manifest for the Arctic Luck trip, he heard Cyd land the Cessna. Right on time, but she’d have to be quick with the turnaround if she wanted to beat the snow.
Jordan squinted at the passenger name, hoping it would trigger a memory.
Jeffrey Bradshaw.
The name didn’t mean anything to him. He glanced back through the window, racking his brain. He knew he’d seen the man before.
“JEFFREY BRADSHAW is due back in L.A. on Monday.” Rachel Bowen, a set designer at Argonaut Studios stopped beside the treadmill where Ashley Baines was jogging to the beat of vintage Springsteen.
“What?” Ashley pulled off the headphones, snapping them around