Stella takes the plane back up toward sky. Up, up, up … and over. Her hair is on end. My stomach is in my throat as the plane does a loop. I’m yelling again, laughing, utterly alive in this moment.

She levels out, and it takes a minute to get my bearings. My head spins and my blood is pumping but I’d happily stay up here with Stella and watch her do loop after loop.

“I take it you like this,” Stella says, her voice small and crackling in my headset.

“Like it? I love it.”

“Me too.” Her face glows with happiness as she flies us along the pale strip of beach that makes up Long Island. “I feel free up here, literally being away from the world. But competent too. I’m in complete control in my plane. Doing the maneuvers requires perfect precision. I don’t have time to focus on anything else. And that’s freeing too.”

“I get that. It’s how I feel about music. It pulls me into the moment and there’s nothing else. I don’t feel like a fuckup because I know I’m good at it.” I glance at her. “That probably sounds conceited, huh.”

“No. It sounds like the truth. You are good. False humility is way more annoying and conceited.” Her nose wrinkles. “Nothing worse than someone pretending they think they aren’t any good just so you can gush about how good they are.”

“Most musicians I meet know they’re good but still want you to gush. We’re arrogant that way.”

“You want me to sing your praises, Blackwood?”

“Tempting. Depends on what you’re wearing while doing it, though.”

Stella snorts. “That will have to wait for later. There’s a storm moving in faster than the weather had predicted.” Dark clouds are on the horizon and coming closer. “Let’s head back.”

I watch as Stella does her thing, talking to air traffic control, maneuvering the plane toward the runway. But when we’re on final approach, and she gets clearance to land, she turns to me. “You want to take us in?”

“What? Me?”

“Yeah. Take the yoke. Put your feet on the pedals.” She grins at my stunned face. “It’s okay. You’d be doing this your first time up if this were a lesson.”

I do what she says, slightly nervous I’m going to kill us, but trusting Stella knows her business.

“Pedals connect to the rudders, which turn the nose of the plane left and right. The yolk controls the pitch and roll. Up and down, side to side. Pull the yoke back a bit. We want the nose up more. Good. Now, a little pressure on your left rudder to counteract the wind.”

Under my clumsy moves, the plane wobbles, then steadies. Stella messes with flaps and throttle, all the while giving me instruction with her smooth voice. My palms sweat, my heart beats faster.

“Steady. A little back on the yoke. Little more. Hold it.”

Although we’re slowing, it still looks as though the ground is rushing up to meet us. Then we’re floating for a second, suspended in time. The wheels hit with a small bump and jolt. Stella takes over, braking. And like that, we’re taxiing on the runway.

It’s surreal the way it feels to be on the ground again, like we’d been something else entirely up there and now we’re back, slightly changed. Or maybe I’m the one who is changed. I don’t feel like the same guy who started the day. I’m altered—something within me has shifted or cracked. I don’t know which, but I know I’m not the same anymore.

I keep quiet at Stella parks her plane. I keep quiet as she does her postflight check and ties everything up. I keep quiet until she turns to me with a wide but slightly wobbly smile on her pretty face. “All done. You ready?”

Yes. Yes, I am.

That’s when I pounce.

Chapter Twenty-One

John

* * *

Stella’s eyes widen, her pink lips parting as I stalk up to her. My legs feel like rubber, and I don’t know if it’s from being in the plane or because I’m so completely undone by Stella that I can’t contain myself. Either way, I’m practically shaking by the time I stand before her, my hands cupping her smooth cheeks, fingers sliding up into the silky strands of her hair.

My forehead rests against hers, and for a second, I just breathe her in. She carries the scent of her beloved plane, the leather of the jacket she wears, of sweat and sunshine and warm woman. It isn’t comforting, her scent. Not by a long shot. I can’t call it comforting when she makes my heart pound and my mind race with all the ways I want her. The scent of Stella doesn’t comfort; it kicks me into high gear.

“Stells,” I rasp, because my voice isn’t all there yet. “You’re always surprising me. Always making me so fucking happy just to be with you.”

I want to tell her more, tell her how glad I am that I found her, and the thought of losing her scares the ever-loving shit out of me, but I can’t say any of that now. I have to taste her.

Her mouth is soft and plush, a sweet peach of a mouth. I groan like a man dying of thirst and finally tasting the rain as I slide my tongue in her warm, wet heat to get another taste. God, she’s delicious, addictive.

Kissing Stella is a full-body experience. She moves with me, her lips surging against mine, her little tongue a slick, sly tease. I feel it at the base of my cock, in heated flutters along my abs, raking up the backs of my thighs. I’m floating, and only she can ground me.

My hand finds the smooth satin of her back where she’s slightly damp and warm. The curve of her waist fits my palm perfectly, and I stroke here there, loving the way she shivers, the delicate little squeaks of want she makes in her throat.

I know, honey, I want it too.

I press closer, sliding my thigh between hers, when a loud voice cuts right through my haze of lust.

“We got kids here, Stella,” a man says gruffly. “And they didn’t come for a show.”

Stella jerks as though pinched and steps back from my embrace. But she leaves a hand on my chest. It’s a simple, proprietary act that has me biting back a smile. Though it probably wouldn’t be a great idea to sport a shit-eating grin right now. An older, weathered man is glaring at me like he knows exactly where my mind was and he does not approve.

“Hank,” Stella says, a little breathlessly, “I didn’t see you there.”

“No doubt, as you were otherwise occupied,” Hank says drolly. He might be fifty or sixty. It’s hard to tell. Deep crinkles fan out from the corners of his eyes and run down the crests of his cheeks. A veritable paragraph of frown lines ripple along the dark-brown skin of his forehead. I don’t know if they’re always around or forming because of his scowl, but I’m betting the former.

Stella laughs, her cheeks going pink. “Yes, Hank. I was.”

He proves no less immune to her smile than I am, and his furrowed brow smooths a little. “Have a good flight?”

“An excellent one.” Her palm glides down my chest and centers over my heart. “This is my friend John.”

Hank’s eyes narrow. “Friend, eh?”

“Good friend,” Stella amends, completely unfazed and adorably happy.

Since Hank is just standing there, glaring a hole through my forehead, I step forward. “Good to meet you.”

He takes my hand and gives it a death squeeze. But I’ve played guitar since I was a kid, so my hand is too strong to crush. We end our standoff with Hank letting go and giving me a nod before turning to Stella. “Saw you up there. Your pitch was off by a degree on the hammerhead.”