Breakaway. Nancy Warren

      2

      MAX LOVED TO FLY almost as much as he loved sex. In some ways the two were similar. The freedom, the feeling of utter contentment. The ride was sometimes wild, sometimes smooth and familiar but he always, always ended up with a thrill.

      Today was no different. He flew over majestic stands of evergreens, interspersed with logging clear-cuts as he skirted the coast. His flight plan took him over tankers and cruise ships, a pod of hunting orcas. He landed his Cessna at Polar Air’s airfield in Spruce Bay, and coasted until he came to a stop on a serviceable strip.

      He turned off the engine, took off his headset. Climbed out of the plane and grabbed his battered briefcase.

      He secured his plane and then entered the small, squat building that housed Polar Air.

      And walked right into a very interesting situation.

      The first thing he noted was the shapeliest backside he had ever seen. The rounded hips belonged to a dark-haired woman with a ponytail hanging down her back who was currently asking a portly middle-aged man in a Polar Air jacket some very pointed questions.

      They were so deep in conversation that neither of them had heard his entrance. He was about to cough or announce himself in some way, when she said, “I spent the last couple of hours looking at the financial records on the computer. It seems to me that this company’s financial situation is worse than it should be.” Max bit back his fake cough and listened. Seemed his flight up here was already paying off.

      An ugly look came over the face of the guy at the desk. “What right do you have to study the books?”

      “My grandmother asked me to.”

      “And you’re an accountant now?”

      “I’ve got eyes and a brain, Frank. I don’t like what I discovered.”

      A deep flush began to mottle his ugly face. “What are you suggesting?”

      “I’m suggesting,” she said in a cool, even tone that was steel all the way through, “that the numbers aren’t adding up.”

      “You and your grandmother would be lost without me. I think you’d better watch your tone, young lady.”

      “Where’s the money, Frank?”

      “I’m not listening to this, Claire. I’ll call my lawyer if you don’t shut up.”

      There was a beat of charged silence.

      “I think that’s a good idea. You should definitely call a lawyer. You’re fired,” she said.

      Max didn’t like the expression in the fat man’s eyes. He didn’t like the way he rose from his chair so he could loom over the woman. “You can’t fire me.”

      “Yes. I can. And I just did. I think you’d better leave.”

      “You little bitch.” The guy moved an inch closer to her and she didn’t budge. “You can’t make—”

      Max decided it was time to make his presence felt. “I think you were asked to leave,” he said pleasantly, walking slowly toward the desk.

      Both of the combatants turned to face him. He got his first glimpse of the front of the woman with the great ass. As he’d hoped, her front was as alluring—more so—than her back.

      She might only stand as tall as his chin but she packed a lot of authority into her curvy body. He liked the way she filled out her jeans and the flight jacket that featured the Polar Air logo.

      She’d fed her ponytail through a Polar Air ball cap and she wore sturdy boots.

      No rings, he noted absently. In fact, the only jewelry she wore were small gold hoops in her earlobes. Her hazel eyes were big and round, with flecks of green and gold that fascinated him as he drew closer.

      She didn’t look thrilled at his interference, so he turned his attention to the fat guy who looked even less thrilled.

      “Let me get the door for you.”

      Max wasn’t a big man, but he was fit and tough. He took in the measure of the guy who’d been fired and decided he wasn’t going to end up engaging in a barbarian fistfight. This guy was all blubber and bluster. Still, he kept his muscles on alert, stayed light on the balls of his feet in case he was wrong.

      The man sneered at him. And at the woman. “This isn’t over. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

      “Good,” she said.

      The guy shoved Max’s shoulder on his way out and then slammed the door.

      The slam was still echoing when he turned back to face the pretty woman. She didn’t thank him for his assistance. Instead she said, “I was handling that. I didn’t need your help.”

      “I know you didn’t,” he said reasonably. “But look at it from my point of view. Once I’d walked in and heard him threaten you, what was I going to do? Creep outside? You’d think I was a coward.”

      He saw her lips twitch as she tried to hold back a smile. “I’m Claire Lundstrom,” she said. “How can I help you?”

      “Max Varo,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m a pilot. Heard there was a job.”

      “Do you have an interview?”

      “I did, but I think the guy I was interviewing with just got fired.”

      * * *

      CLAIRE LIKED THE look of Max Varo. Nice-looking guy, she noted. Neatly trimmed dark hair, Latino, even features. Great body. His jeans and navy fleece couldn’t hide a muscular build. He wasn’t much taller than she was, but the package was nice. Sexy. He had big brown eyes with ridiculously thick, curly eyelashes that most women would kill for. They didn’t make him look feminine, though. Simply added to the impact of those eyes.

      She didn’t know how loyal the dozen existing Polar Air pilots were to Frank, but she thought it would be good to have at least one pilot who was a new hire.

      Even though she hadn’t appreciated him butting in to go all Sir Galahad on her, she understood that his behavior showed courage and a sense of justice.

      “Come into the back office and sit down,” she said, leading him to a small room behind the main counter.

      He settled himself in the vinyl visitor’s chair and pulled out a résumé.

      She scanned it quickly. “You’ve got all the right certifications. But you haven’t flown for a commercial airline in five years.”

      “That’s true. I was running my own business, but I fly every weekend. I’ve logged 500 hours in the last year. The truth is, I needed a change.”

      As she knew only too well, people who chose to live in a place like Spruce Bay weren’t your run-of-the-mill types. They were adventurers, dreamers, people who were running away from any number of things. They were different.

      Max didn’t really seem all that different. But she caught the gleam of adventure in his eye. A thrill-seeker, she thought.

      “I’ll need to see you fly. Check your references. Then you’ll have