Billionaire Biker #2, The Mile High Club
Detroit, Michigan
The Detroit Metro airport was bustling. I held on to Shane's arm and let him drag me through the crowds, trying to ignore the doubts assailing my mind. It was one thing to talk about quitting my job, leaving my fiancé, and going to Africa with a near-stranger. It was another thing altogether to actually do it.
All I had was my purse and a backpack carry-on. Shane said we'd be better off buying luggage for me later than trying to go back to John's house. I didn't argue. The last thing I wanted was a confrontation with my ex-fiancé. I'd talked to my parents, and they were suitably horrified at the news that I'd quit my job and was flying across the world with a man I'd just met...into a war zone.
If I was being honest, I was a little horrified too. All my life I'd been responsible and careful. I went to community college after high school and lived with my parents, and then eventually moved in with John after we'd been dating for two years. I got my RN from a university I could commute to from home. I never joined a sorority or lived alone, never went on drinking binges or had one-night stands. I never did anything unpredictable.
And then I met Shane. He had a way of unlocking my inhibitions, a way of making me want to try new things and live on the edge. Of course, I'd only known him for forty-eight hours. Two days, or rather, a day and a night and the following day.
I wasn't about to change my mind, but I was a little shaky.
Shane seemed to sense this. "It's okay to be nervous," he said, smiling down at me.
Standing six foot four and built like Adonis, with chiseled features and arresting gray-green eyes, Shane Sorrenson attracted the attention of every woman, and not a few men, in the airport. Being the girl on his arm, I found myself the subject of more lewd and searching gazes than I was used to. I tried to ignore the looks and keep my feet moving as Shane led me through the concourse and to the security line.
He took one glance at the winding, backed-up line and shook his head. "I don't have time for this."
Tugging on my hand, he led me to the front of the line where he leaned in and whispered something in a TSA guard's ear. The guard glanced in surprise at Shane, then nodded and waved us through, to the vocal aggravation of the rest of the line.
That was my first hint Shane might be more than I suspected. What kind of man could, at a word, get waved past security? Shane shot me a cocky grin and dragged me across the airport to the international departures wing. Instead of finding a gate, however, Shane led us to an unmarked, locked door. He withdrew a keycard from his wallet, scanned it, and led me through a narrow, bright-white hallway.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
Shane just winked. "You'll see."
Further questioning resulted in an irritated roll of his eyes, so I fell silent and tried to keep up with his wide-legged gait. The hallway twisted and turned until I couldn't have found my way back if I tried, but Shane seemed to know exactly where he was going.
At length, Shane led us to a door marked with a red "exit" sign, shoved the crash-bar open and pulled me outside into the cool night air. The airport rose behind us in a looming, endless bulk. We were in a part of the airport I hadn't even known existed, row after row of blocky hangars with wide-open doors, whining jet engines, flashing lights, baggage cars whizzing past in all directions, taxiing aircraft...it was chaos. Shane led me on foot across the tarmac to a hangar door and into an echoing space filled with a small, sleek, matte-black private passenger jet. It was the kind of aircraft rock stars and actors and ultra-wealthy businessmen rode in, not lower-middle class ER nurses from Troy, Michigan.
A man in a rumpled business suit noticed our entrance and jogged to meet us. "The jet is fueled, stocked, and ready to go, Mr. Sorrenson. The flight plan has been logged and we're just
Detroit, Michigan
The Detroit Metro airport was bustling. I held on to Shane's arm and let him drag me through the crowds, trying to ignore the doubts assailing my mind. It was one thing to talk about quitting my job, leaving my fiancé, and going to Africa with a near-stranger. It was another thing altogether to actually do it.
All I had was my purse and a backpack carry-on. Shane said we'd be better off buying luggage for me later than trying to go back to John's house. I didn't argue. The last thing I wanted was a confrontation with my ex-fiancé. I'd talked to my parents, and they were suitably horrified at the news that I'd quit my job and was flying across the world with a man I'd just met...into a war zone.
If I was being honest, I was a little horrified too. All my life I'd been responsible and careful. I went to community college after high school and lived with my parents, and then eventually moved in with John after we'd been dating for two years. I got my RN from a university I could commute to from home. I never joined a sorority or lived alone, never went on drinking binges or had one-night stands. I never did anything unpredictable.
And then I met Shane. He had a way of unlocking my inhibitions, a way of making me want to try new things and live on the edge. Of course, I'd only known him for forty-eight hours. Two days, or rather, a day and a night and the following day.
I wasn't about to change my mind, but I was a little shaky.
Shane seemed to sense this. "It's okay to be nervous," he said, smiling down at me.
Standing six foot four and built like Adonis, with chiseled features and arresting gray-green eyes, Shane Sorrenson attracted the attention of every woman, and not a few men, in the airport. Being the girl on his arm, I found myself the subject of more lewd and searching gazes than I was used to. I tried to ignore the looks and keep my feet moving as Shane led me through the concourse and to the security line.
He took one glance at the winding, backed-up line and shook his head. "I don't have time for this."
Tugging on my hand, he led me to the front of the line where he leaned in and whispered something in a TSA guard's ear. The guard glanced in surprise at Shane, then nodded and waved us through, to the vocal aggravation of the rest of the line.
That was my first hint Shane might be more than I suspected. What kind of man could, at a word, get waved past security? Shane shot me a cocky grin and dragged me across the airport to the international departures wing. Instead of finding a gate, however, Shane led us to an unmarked, locked door. He withdrew a keycard from his wallet, scanned it, and led me through a narrow, bright-white hallway.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
Shane just winked. "You'll see."
Further questioning resulted in an irritated roll of his eyes, so I fell silent and tried to keep up with his wide-legged gait. The hallway twisted and turned until I couldn't have found my way back if I tried, but Shane seemed to know exactly where he was going.
At length, Shane led us to a door marked with a red "exit" sign, shoved the crash-bar open and pulled me outside into the cool night air. The airport rose behind us in a looming, endless bulk. We were in a part of the airport I hadn't even known existed, row after row of blocky hangars with wide-open doors, whining jet engines, flashing lights, baggage cars whizzing past in all directions, taxiing aircraft...it was chaos. Shane led me on foot across the tarmac to a hangar door and into an echoing space filled with a small, sleek, matte-black private passenger jet. It was the kind of aircraft rock stars and actors and ultra-wealthy businessmen rode in, not lower-middle class ER nurses from Troy, Michigan.
A man in a rumpled business suit noticed our entrance and jogged to meet us. "The jet is fueled, stocked, and ready to go, Mr. Sorrenson. The flight plan has been logged and we're just
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