“Where are we going?” Felicity cried out, hastily buckling the chin strap on her helmet.
Zane held up a finger in an infuriating signal for silence. Felicity shut her mouth and narrowed her eyes, watching as Zane casually steered one-handed while pulling his cell phone from his jacket pocket and texting something with the other.
“It’s illegal to text and drive,” Felicity couldn’t help pointing out, wondering what message was so urgent that Zane couldn’t wait to send it. “If you need me to send a text for you, I can.”
Glancing sideways at her, Zane grinned. “Unexpected advantage of the sidecar—hands free. Sure, catch.”
He flipped the phone at her and Felicity grabbed for it, heart jumping into her throat. “Be careful!”
“Careful is boring. Live a little. What’d he say?”
The phone buzzed in her hand before Felicity could tear out her hair. Or his. Checking the screen, she read what had to be the response to Zane’s text with a dawning sense of having stumbled into an upside down universe where nothing made sense. Her mouth dropped open.
“Tell me,” Zane demanded.
“Miles says the helicopter and pilot will pick us up from the town square,” Felicity reported dazedly, still skimming the rest of the text. She frowned. “And he also reminds you that you haven’t won the bet yet. What bet? And what helicopter? What on earth are you planning?”
Zane roared around a curve, narrowly avoiding an oncoming car. The other driver honked and Felicity ducked her head, partly in order to assume the crash position and partly to keep from being recognized as crazy Zane’s companion.
“That’s a lot of questions,” Zane replied, obviously unfazed. “Which do you want me to answer first?”
Another curve loomed, this one scoring a path around a hill with a sheer drop-off straight down to the ocean on the left. Heart hammering, Felicity squeaked, “Just concentrate on driving!”
She wasn’t so terrified out of her mind that she missed the hint of a smirk that pulled at Zane’s mouth as he shrugged and leaned into the turn. That was fine, she told herself as she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on breathing. Let him think he’d distracted her with fear for her life. When she got out of this ridiculous sidecar and back onto solid, blessedly motionless land, they’d have a little chat.
And Zane would answer every one of her questions, starting with fleeting look of panic she’d glimpsed on his face when she’d suggested taking a walk on the beach.
***
Zane whooped with pleasure, the rush of lift off making his entire body go light and weightless for a brief, heart-stoppingly awesome instant. “I love flying! Isn’t this amazing?”
Her pretty red mouth set in a firm line, Felicity was balancing her open binder on her knees and staring down at it as if imploring it to be interesting enough to distract her from having fun. “What’s amazing is how fast you hustled us onto this helicopter. I would have appreciated a few moments on the ground to talk and plan without having to scream over a loud engine.”
“We’re not screaming,” Zane pointed out, indicating the microphones built into their high-tech helmets. She’d made a face at swapping the motorcycle helmet for this one, but she’d been too busy trying to get him to answer her questions to argue about it.
Her sigh read loud and clear through the headset. Zane laughed, filled with the sheer exhilaration of soaring up and over the red, gold, and orange leaves rustling across Sanctuary Island’s town square. The helicopter flight was exactly what he needed to shake off the lingering darkness that had shadowed him since they crested that hill and stared down over a pristinely beautiful stretch of sandy beach and the sparkling blue ocean beyond.
He knew most people would probably catch their breath at a view like that. They’d do their best to etch it on their memories so they could revisit the perfect serenity of the scene forever.
That wasn’t an option for Zane. He’d locked a particular faraway beach into his brain a long time ago, and that memory was more powerful than any other. The instant he saw a pretty little postcard view like the one today, on the eastern coast of Sanctuary Island, his treacherous mind overlaid his sight with the memory of that other beach. That other day.
The day everything changed. The day Zane learned how precious and precarious life could be.
“Are you all right?”
Felicity’s voice, slightly tinny through the helmet’s speakers, was a welcome distraction from his thoughts. “Never better. Come on, close that binder and admit it—this is the best way to scout the whole island for the perfect party spot.”
Her hand clenched around her ballpoint pen, her fist resolute on the open binder page. But Zane was sure he’d caught a hint of wistfulness in the widening of her amber eyes when she gazed past him out the giant open window. Turning her gaze determinedly back to the binder in her lap, she said, “We’re short on time. I’ll use this trip to take some notes and come up with a plan of attack. Let me know when we get there.”
“Get where?”
“To the next potential location! I assume it’s on the other side of the island? Although the whole island is tiny, I’m sure we could have driven it.”
“We could’ve, but I thought this would be more fun.”
She tore her gaze from her notes to give him a narrow look. Even with her hair whipping around her face and some color in her cheeks, Felicity Carlson gave off an air of competence and ambition that Zane had to admire.
“Is fun all you ever think about?” she demanded.
Sinking lower into the luxurious embrace of the custom Hermès leather seat, Zane squirmed his hips and let his legs fall open with a filthy smile. “No. Sometimes I think about sex.”
“Of course you do.” Felicity’s cheeks had even more color in them than they’d had a minute ago.
“You don’t think about sex?” Zane asked lazily, studying her face. The curve of her cheek and the fine-grained texture of her skin, the sweet bow of her mouth and the crinkles at the corners of her golden-brown eyes—somehow, those things were more interesting to look at than the whirling panorama view outside the helicopter’s window.
She tensed slightly. “There’s more to life than pleasure and self gratification. I learned that the hard way. Think how much people could achieve if they channeled half the effort they put into getting laid, into something more productive, like their education or career.”
“More productive, maybe. But not as much fun.”
“There’s that word again!” Felicity shook her head, but at least she was paying attention to him, not scribbling away in her binder. “Are you saying it’s not fun to run a record label and a string of exclusive clubs and bars?”
“You’re right, I did basically achieve the impossible—my job is about as fun as it’s possible to have. And even then, sometimes it feels like work. Although I can always hire someone to take care of those parts of the business. Which I do. Drink?” Zane rifled through the well-stocked liquor cabinet between the passenger seats, and came up with half a bottle of gin and some tiny cans of tonic. “I bet there are even limes around here someplace. Want me to ask the pilot?”
But Felicity was like an extraordinarily lovely dog with a bone. “I’d think if anyone would understand the need to achieve, it would be a self-made man like you.”
Zane gave her his best naughty wink. “You read the Times piece.” There, that was definitely a blush. But she didn’t back down, and Zane had to admit, he liked her for it. Felicity “Fun Police” Carlson was turning out to be more interesting than he’d originally thought.
“Yes. I read. I research. I do my homework. It’s what makes me good at my job.” Crossing her legs with a silken swish, she arched a brow.
Okay. Zane was man enough to admit that his original thought about her had to do with the sinful length of her legs and the way she filled out that conservative suit. Riding a hot surge of lust, Zane leaned over the arm of his seat. “And let me guess. You’re the best at what you do.”
He liked the burn of determination in the depths of her brandy-colored eyes. Curiosity stirred in his chest. What drove a woman like Felicity Carlson? “Not yet. But I will be. And this wedding will propel me onto a whole new level.”
“I knew it! You’re just drumming up business for yourself.”
She twisted to face him, pretty face alight. “Of course I want more business! I love my job. And the more I impress this guest list of New York’s most powerful people, the better chance I have at being able to keep doing the job I love, for years to come.”
“And then what? You can take over the world and be crowned Empress of All Wedding Planners?”
Some of the fire died out of her gaze and she sat back. “Mock me if you like. I’m sure my goals do seem small and petty compared with the number of lives and careers and people you control every day at your company. But they’re
my
goals, and I intend to do whatever it takes to achieve them.”
Regret was a fist pressing into Zane’s sternum. He didn’t like it. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to mock you. It’s my automatic response whenever anyone gets going on how important their jobs are. I mean, outside of surgeons and emergency responders, how many truly important jobs are there? Take my entertainment company, for instance. I’ve made a lot of money at it, but I’d be the first to admit that no one lives or dies based on what I do all day long. It doesn’t matter.”
“Then why do you do it?” Felicity tilted her head to one side, as if she were puzzling through a conversation with someone speaking an entirely unfamiliar language. “I mean, I fell into wedding planning almost by accident, because I’d squandered all my other options—but now I love it. I truly can’t imagine doing anything else. The look on a bride’s face when she finds her perfect dress, the way the groom will try not to show how overwhelmed he is when he sees her walking down the aisle to him—I live for those moments. My work behind the scenes makes them happen smoothly. No, nobody lives or dies based on what I do, but I get to be a part of these couples’ most important day. I get to make their dreams come true.”
There was a look on her face, almost defiant, as if she expected him to make fun of her. But Zane couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but stare at her as every word she spoke resonated through his entire body.
It was the second time she’d referenced mistakes in her past, hard lessons she’d learned. The realization struck a chord of recognition deep in his heart.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, fisting his hands on his thighs. “I get that. And I can respect that.”
The moment stretched between them, taut and thick with memories and hopes and unspoken words. Felicity broke it by glancing out the window. “So, where are we going? You never answered my question before.”
He hadn’t answered any of her questions, and he’d do his best not to. Zane never lied—life was too short to keep track of a complicated web of deceit—but he wasn’t sure he could face telling the truth to Felicity. She was already burrowing under his skin, digging beneath bone and muscle to the living, vulnerable heart of him.
“Consider this a lesson in having fun,” he said, glad the microphone masked the hoarseness of his voice. “Enjoy the flight.”
Readying her camera, Felicity turned to gaze out her window, presumably searching for potential locations with single-minded focus. Zane breathed and tried his best to mimic the helicopter, hovering just above the island—never getting too close, never touching down, never getting caught.
Planning the reception with Zane over the next two weeks proceeded, in many ways, exactly as Felicity had foreseen. They agreed on basically nothing.
She wanted a romantic beach reception; he wanted to rent a ginormous yacht. She wanted a classy jazz trio; he wanted to fly in one of his label’s hottest rock bands. She wanted a dance floor for the guests; he wanted to bring in tumblers and acrobats. She wanted soft candlelight; he wanted a disco ball. Through it all, he’d managed to avoid ever stepping foot on the beach Felicity had earmarked as the perfect setting for a party.
And yet, in spite of their many frequent…okay,
constant
disagreements, something had shifted between them that afternoon on the helicopter.
“It’s almost as if, before, I wasn’t quite a real person to him,” Felicity said, helping Greta Hackley do up the row of tiny seed pearl buttons on the back of her ivory duchesse satin bodice and the even smaller once at the wrists of her hand-sewn lace sleeves.
“But now he’s gotten to know you a little,” Greta agreed. “So he can’t treat you like one of his nameless, interchangeable model-slash-socialite dates.”
“We aren’t dating!” Felicity met Greta’s wide eyes in the mirror and saw her own cheeks and neck flush. “I mean, you know that. Obviously. I just felt like it needed to be said, since we’re doing a lot of touring around this extremely romantic, picturesque island together, looking for the perfect place for your reception, and he’s actually coming here to pick me up in a little while and oh my gosh, I’m going to stop talking now.”
They were keeping the wedding dress under wraps in Greta’s small apartment over the hardware store her family owned, so that Miles wouldn’t see it and incur bad luck before the wedding day. But Zane had argued that it didn’t matter if he saw the dress, so he should be allowed to come along. Felicity had managed to distract him with a list of caterers to contact to find out who was available for a prestigious, high-profile wedding on short notice. But he’d be over here before she knew it, ready and raring to go on another adventure around the island. All part of his quest to teach her how to have fun. She couldn’t quite suppress a tiny smile at the thought.
“Please don’t stop talking on my account! It seems like it’s just about to get interesting.” Greta winked in the mirror, reminding Felicity of the moment when Zane had winked at her on the helicopter.
Everything reminded her of Zane. This was not good.
“No,” Felicity said firmly, buttoning the top button with steady fingers. “I’m here for your final fitting, not to discuss the reception. It’ll be perfect. You don’t need to worry about it.”