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  On the wings of love, only the two of us. Together flying high on the wings of love. — Jeffery Osborne, ‘On the Wings of Love’

  The lights of Buenos Aires are magical.

  It’s my first time in Argentina, and I wasn’t expecting it to be so romantic. The city is spread out below us like a twinkling carpet, buildings and suburbs knitting together beyond the oval windows of the jet.

  The rest of the flight went off without a hitch. I should be celebrating; turning mental cartwheels at my first successful solo run on a private jet with a celeb client. Instead, there’s only room in my head for one thing. One man. The same person that’s occupied more real estate there that he’s had any right to for years now. Reed.

  I’ve missed you, Rori.

  Who knew four little words held the power to undo me from the inside out?

  The plane begins its final taxi down the runway. As we circle around, a crowd is just visible beyond the airport gates. Most are holding signs and banners with Brash’s face plastered all over them.

  Something about the sight of the fans exhausts me suddenly. Emotion, stress, and jet lag catch up with me all at once. They slam into me with the force of a 747.

  The realization dawns on me then. Tomorrow, I’ll catch a turnaround flight and head home for a week off before checking my new schedule. Right off to who knows where.

  Meanwhile, Reed will be here. With Brash, on tour.

  I swallow hard past the lump that’s just appeared in my throat. I’m living the exact life I wanted for myself, and it suddenly feels unbearable.

  “I’d like you in the first limo that goes out to the hotel.” It’s Reed’s voice, deep and sexy and right in front of me. I’ve been so caught up in my internal pity party that I didn’t notice he’s been going over the safety instructions for deboarding. “Along with Eliza and Dani, the chef.”

  “Sounds good,” I nod up at him. In the pale blue moonlight being cast from the windows, he’s devastatingly beautiful. “Hey?”

  Reed pauses, those Tiffany blue eyes piercing right through me. The night sky filtering in from outside gives him an icy grey halo. Like a sinful angel, carved out of pure granite.

  “Yeah?” He asks.

  There’s a tension between us. A hesitation that’s never been there before. I want nothing more than to reach back, rip away six years and everything else between us.

  “Thank you. For earlier. I appreciate it. Not,” I add with as much impertinent sass as I can muster. It’s been my one rule when it comes to Reed. If I can’t have what I want, what I need, then damn it I’ll at least walk away with my chin held high. “That I couldn’t have handled it myself.”

  Right on cue, he drags an exasperated hand through his close crop of dark hair.

  “You’re impossible, Rori.”

  The captain clicks onto the intercom then, letting us know that it’ll be a few minutes before the doors open. I keep my eyes on Reed’s face, scanning it for some sign, some hint of where his thoughts are. The silence stretches, nearly unbearable between us. I can hear my pulse, feel the nervous hammer of my heart behind my ribs. Twice I open my mouth, a tumbling confession hovering on the tip of my tongue.

  Maybe if I just tell him, let him know what I think of him, how I’ve always thought of him? Surely, he’ll be forced to see me as my own person then, right? I’ve nearly drawn in enough trembling breaths to gather the courage when—

  “Have you seen Beth lately?”

  Defeat rushes over me like an icy shower.

  “We text a lot,” I tell him honestly.

  The shift in my equilibrium has nothing to do with landing and everything to do with crashing back down to earth.

  I talk to his baby sister nearly every day. She’s my only real tether to my old life.

  Unless, of course, you count the burning torch I’m still carrying for you, Reed Baker.

  Not that he’ll ever know that. The bastard. Why the hell does he have to be such a good man that he can’t see what’s always been right in front of his face?

  “Anyway,” I go on, much crisper now. “I just meant thank you, but you shouldn’t have put your job on the line for me, Reed. I really am capable of handling myself.”

  He’s in my space before the next heartbeat. There’s so much of him, he just consumes the space around us, taking up all of my oxygen, every inch of my vision.

  “Rori,” His low growl is a caress against my skin. All pretense of an indifferent demeanor flies right out the window at the intense look in his grey-blue eyes. “I’m sure you’re more than capable. I know you, remember?”

  His eyes dart down, drinking in my entire shape in a leisurely look before meeting my gaze again.

  Not nearly as intimately as I’d like you to know me.

  “But if you think I will ever stand by and watch while you’re disrespected, then you’re a lot crazier than you were when I left.”

  I can’t think of a single clever comeback.

  Instead, I watch him stroll off the plane at Brash’s side and disappear into the steamy South American night.

  Chapter 5

  Reed

  Run and tell the angels, this could take all night. Think I need a devil to help me get things right. — Foo Fighters, ‘Learn to Fly’

  One. Two. Three-four.

  I don’t have to look up to know that Rori is making her way through the lobby.

  The distinctive click of her heels across the Spanish tile is like a heartbeat, uniquely hers. I could pick that girl’s walk out of a lineup while blindfolded. The sway she puts into her sashay has always been enough to stop a man cold in his tracks.

  I’m anything but cold for Rori Stewart. One look into her dazzling hazel eyes is enough to make my blood run hot for hours afterward.

  “Good morning, Rori.” I’m up before she’s finished crossing the lobby, a cup of coffee extended in her direction. “I hope you still like your terrible sugar-free creamers.”

  I’m caught off-guard by the small wheeled suitcase she’s tugging along behind her. I don’t know why I expected her to stay with the rest of Brash’s crew for the duration of the tour. It makes sense for her to fly back off into the skies and disappear from my life again.

  I just can’t stand the thought.

  She seems surprised to see me waiting for her, though I’m quickly rewarded with one of her killer smiles. There’s a moment of guilt, that slice of uncomfortable reality that always threatens to strangle me whenever I let my feelings for Rori materialize.

  She’s too young. She’s Beth’s age. She’s Beth’s best friend, dipshit.

  “Of course I do,” Rori glides over, wrapping her fingers around the travel coffee mug just above mine. Her skin brushes mine, and there’s a bite of heat much more intense than anything rolling off her takeout coffee. “Sugar-free creamer gives me at least twenty extra carbs to spend on dessert later. If I save them all up for the weekend, that’s got to be, what, a brownie a la mode, right?”

  Then again…

  I laugh at her reasoning.

  What can it hurt?

  As much as my rational brain is screaming at me that this is a terrible idea, the truth is, I don’t want to keep pushing Rori away. I know damn well that it can hurt. It can hurt a lot. Rori’s been through enough in her young life. The last thing I want is to jeopardize the relationship with her best friend, the one solid, steady thing she’s always had in her life.

  And the truth is, I love my little sister, too. Family is important to me. Beth adores me. I’d hate to risk my relationship with her.

  But South America is one of the most beautiful, exciting parts of the world. I want to enjoy it with Rori. She’s funny, smart, witty, and engaging in a way so few people in my life have ever been. Something about her has always drawn me in, no matter how hard I’ve tried to ignore it. We’re isolated from the world, cut off from prying eyes and wagging tongues.

  The other bodyguard is on duty for the night and I can’t imagine having
an opportunity like this again.

  “Stay.” The word is out of my mouth before I even realize it’s materialized. But I know immediately that I mean it. I want to spend more time with Rori. I don’t want her to leave yet. “Stay in Argentina with me for a few days.”

  A single auburn eyebrow arches at my request. I have no idea what she’s thinking, and she takes her sweet time mulling my request over. Finally, Rori rewards me with another one of those dazzling smiles. In the warmth of the morning sunlight streaming in through the massive windows, I can see the dusting of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. There’s something warm and reassuring about them. As sexy as the rest of her is— and she is by far the hottest woman I’ve ever seen— this hasn’t changed about her. They’re the same constellation across her skin that I’ve always associated with her.

  “Maybe. I’ve never been to Argentina before,” she says Argentina with a flourish. The exotic lilt of someone who’s seen a bit of the world since leaving Omaha behind.

  “Well, you’re in for a treat then,” I maneuver the overnight bag easily from her hand, handing it to the concierge at the desk behind us. “Here, will you see that Miss Stewart’s things get settled into a room on my tab por favor?”

  Rori watches, shaking her head.

  “Honestly, men are hopeless.” She waits for me to turn and give her my full attention again. I’m starting to realize she’s always held it. “Didn’t I tell you I could take care of myself?”

  I take advantage, drinking in the sight of her first thing in the morning. Yesterday her hair was pulled back, hanging straight down to the middle of her back in a sleek ponytail. Today she’s dressed for the warmth of a South American summer day. The pale yellow dress flirts with her thighs, showing off the generous swell of her breasts and the pale stretch of her legs. Her hair is a sleek fall down her back, like a spill of sunshine. Golds and reds against the cheerful splash of her dress.

  When a respectable enough stretch of time passes, she finally gives me a nod. “Alright. I’ve got a couple days off. I guess I can check out Buenos Aires with an old friend.”

  Something about the way she says ‘old friend’ makes me both nervous and very, very excited.

  “I promise, dessert will be worth all your extra carbs.”

  Chapter 6

  Rori

  Caught like a wildfire out of control. Until there was nothing left to burn and nothing left to prove. — Bob Seger, ‘Against the Wind’

  The sun is setting over the city again.

  Nighttime in Buenos Aires is even more romantic from the ground. I can’t believe Reed and I have spent all day together. I don’t remember ever having a whole day to ourselves like this before. It feels gloriously selfish. Decadent and greedy, like getting the biggest piece of cake all to myself and washing it down with the best champagne.

  Alone with Reed on the streets of Argentina, the hours have melted together.

  We’ve strolled through town, snapping a few pictures here and there. We stopped for coffee in a local cafe. Hot and bitter, sweetened with lots of real sugar and topped with milk, I can still taste it on my breath hours later. I hope I always can. We ducked out of the midday heat into a tiny art shop. It was owned by an adorably ancient couple. Between our broken Spanish and their richly-accented English, Reed and I learned that Javier sold his wife Elena’s paintings here in the city where they grew up, got married, had a family.

  Reed is still carrying the small painted canvas I picked out, tucked under his arm now.

  A group of school children plays soccer in the park as we weave our way through, watching the sun sink the rest of the way over the city. They laugh and shout to each other with abandon, grass, and dirt liberally applied to every available surface.

  “Do you ever think about having kids?” It feels like a natural question, and I hope that he can’t feel the ache behind my words.

  “Sure. I’d like to, someday. My parents are great, you know that.” Reed pauses, considering me from the corner of his eye. “I’d like to pass some of that on, you know?”

  He’s not wrong. Beth and Reed’s parents were patient and sweet. The kind of sitcom mom and dad that I never knew existed in real life until I met them. There’s a reason the Baker house was never empty, always full of not only their own brood but half a dozen neighborhood kids as well.

  They let us make our own mistakes, were always there with a patient ear if we had a question.

  It was a godsend. I didn’t even have words for the relief I felt when the Bakers welcomed me into the fold with open arms. I walked home with Beth after the first day of kindergarten and never really left. My own mom was usually more caught up with the wrong end of a vodka bottle to spend much time or affection on me.

  Beth and Rori.

  It was a given; one just went with the other. Reed would tease us, laugh about the way it sounded like one word— BethandRori.

  The guilt threatens to creep in again, but I smile at him.

  “You’d make a wonderful father.”

  Reed looks like maybe there’s something else he wants to say, but he doesn’t.

  By the time we make it to a quiet street lined with open-air grills and cafes, my stomach is grumbling audibly. The scent of meat being cooked over open fire flickers on the early evening breeze. We’ve been walking for hours, wandering without a destination in mind. It’s a refreshing way to explore an unfamiliar city— no place to go, no deadline to meet. But I’ve definitely worked up an appetite.

  “It all smells so good.” I wish I could freeze the moment in each one of my senses like a postcard.

  “Parillas,” Reed nods towards the massive grills piled high with beef and sausages. “It’s the local specialty. I know a great little spot. Come on.”

  He slips my hand into his as we make our way along the pavement. Weaving in and out through the light crowds means pressing closer to Reed. He’s so strong, such an unyielding force behind the soft material of his canvas shirt. His hand is big and sure around my own; safe and warm against the cool breeze caressing my skin.

  It’s achingly sweet, a mental picture I’ve painted for myself so many times and in so many ways before. I wonder if I can freeze the moment forever. I already know I’ll need to pull out the memory, caress it and look back at it with love and longing for the rest of my life.

  He doesn’t let go, keeping our fingers tangled even after we emerge on the other side of the sidewalk. The restaurant we’re facing is small, with an outdoor patio lit entirely by rows of tiny white lights. The tables all surround a small dancefloor, where dark planks of wood gleam with an almost mirror polish. Most of the diners are couples, huddled over tables lit by squat yellow candles in the center.

  The aching strains of sensual tango music waft over the floor, mixing with the smoke from the parrillas.

  “I hope you’re hungry, Short Stack.” Reed leads me over to a table with a view of the dance floor before pulling a chair out for me.

  “Ravenous.” I give him a pointed look before settling in, but decide to let his use of my childhood nickname slide, especially since I started it. “What’s good?”

  As far as I can tell, every table around us is piled high with a mile-high selection of meat that looks grilled to absolute perfection. It all looks to be served family-style— or army-style, since it seems like waiters are dishing up battalion-sized portions.

  Works for me. Bring in the cavalry, cuz I’m ready to dig in on more than just dinner.

  “It’s all about sharing at these places,” Reed confirms my suspicions. “My personal favorite is the mixed grill, fried potatoes, and— if you’re ok with serious garlic breath— chimichurri sauce.”

  “Garlic is life,” I deadpan across the table at him. “But you’re not allowed to abandon me in a strange country just ‘cause my breath is offensive. That’s the rule.”

  Reed laughs, the faint lines around his beautiful blue eyes only making him more ruggedly handsome in the c
andlelight. It feels good to be this relaxed around him. For once, the specter of Beth or his family or our age difference isn’t hanging over us. We’re just two adults enjoying an evening together in an exotic place. It feels good. Right.

  We might just make it through the rest of this trip unscathed.

  “Don’t get too full to dance,” he springs on me just as a waiter walks up to the table. “I plan on getting you on the floor after dinner.”

  Then again, maybe not.

  Chapter 7

  Reed

  I like pleasure spiked with pain. And music is my aeroplane — RHCP, ‘Aeroplane’

  Rori looks at me with abject horror as I offer her my hand.

  “Reed, I have no idea how to dance. Like, at all. Anything. I can’t even do the hustle, let alone the tango.” She laughs, but I just smile down at her.

  God, she’s gorgeous. Her big hazel eyes are ever so slightly afraid, but the rest of her face is a mask of pure calm. Her hand is delicate in mine, a soft contrast to my calloused paw.

  “It’ll be fine. Just follow my lead.” I say confidently.

  Rori hesitates for a second, but only one. She follows me out onto a corner of the dance floor, and I position her hands where they belong. One on my back, and one in my own big hand. The contrast between us is clearly evident in the way her hand fits almost entirely in just the palm of mine.

  “No, not like this. You’re too stiff, Rori.” I chastise her, a grin on my face to let her know I’m just teasing.

  “Mmhmm. Feels like I’m not the only stiff one,” she answers with a playful grin of her own as she leans into me. I pull her tighter still, eliminating all of the space between us, letting her feel just how stiff I am.

  “What can I say? You drive me crazy.” I whisper, our voices hushed as the music begins to swell around us.