Not Quite Enough (Not Quite series) by Catherine Bybee Page B

heavy with need and her body softened. Until he hardened.
    It was Trent who started this madness and Trent who eased his lips from hers minutes later.
    She sighed as he kissed her softly then moved his lips to her temples.
    They stood there, holding each other and catching their breath.
    “I couldn’t let you leave without tasting you,” he whispered in her ear.
    She heard the pain in his voice. “I’m not leaving yet.”
    He didn’t offer a comment about that. Instead, he asked, “What’s your last name?”
    His hand was rubbing up and down her back. “Mann. Monica Mann.”
    “When are they sending you back home?”
    “I don’t know yet.”
    He leaned back, placed one hand on each side of her face, and kissed her again, briefly. “Can you get away?”
    She shook her head. “No.” There was too much to do and only one other nurse there.
    His eyes searched hers. “Don’t leave without telling me.”
    “One kiss and you’re telling me what to do?” she asked with a smile on her face.
    “Please.”
    Her skin broke out in gooseflesh, despite the warm temperature.
    His thumb traced her lips and slid from her face, down her neck, and off her shoulder. He stepped away as if it was painful for him to do. Trent opened the back door and whistled. Ginger bounded to her feet and followed him to his car.
    All Monica could do was watch him go.
    She lifted her fingers to her lips and felt the sting of his kiss linger long after he sped away.

    Trent winced at the taste of the coffee in the pilots’ lounge the next morning.
    “That bad?” The pilot who asked the question was off a private jet that had landed thirty minutes earlier. His hand hovered over the carafe filled with coffee.
    “It needs CPR,” Trent told him.
    The pilot let his hand drop.
    “You wouldn’t happen to know who flies the chopper, would you?” the pilot asked.
    Trent pushed his coffee away. “You’re looking at him.”
    “My boss needs to get around the island. We’re told the roads are passable but slow.”
    Trent eyed the jet on the runway. “Do you have coffee on board?”
    The pilot laughed. “Yeah. We have everything.”
    Trent stood, put out his hand. “I’m Trent.”
    “Roy. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to my boss.”
    Trent followed Roy across the tarmac and up the steps into the luxury jet. He knew money when he saw it, and this Gulfstream was dripping in money. Leather seats, a couch, a door leading to what Trent assumed was a bedroom.
Nice!
    At a table sat a man close in age to Trent and wearing a cowboy hat and jeans.
    “Jack?” Roy called as they stepped inside. “I found your pilot.”
    Jack stood and offered a hand to Trent. “Jack Morrison.”
    “Trent Fairchild.”
    Jack’s handshake was firm, confident. You could tell a lot from a man’s handshake. “I’m not sure what Roy told you.”
    Trent rocked back on his heels. “All I heard was coffee.”
    Jack’s Texan accent laced his words. “That we can do.” He slid behind the bar, found a cup, and poured what smelled like nirvana. “How do you take it?”
    “Black or maybe intravenously at this point.”
    Jack laughed. “You sound like someone I know.”
    “Coffee is worth more than gold here these days.”
    Roy stepped around his boss and poured his own cup. Obviously, the employee/boss relationship wasn’t set with unnecessary pretense.
    Jack handed him the coffee and Roy left the plane.
    The first taste of good java hit his tongue and he felt the jolt hit his system. “Perfect.” He hadn’t slept much the night before. Thoughts of Monica leaving in the middle of the night haunted his dreams. Alternately, her kiss sparked his fantasies.
    “I can pay you for your help.”
    Trent shook his head. “Not necessary. I assume you’re not here on a pleasure trip.”
    Jack offered the seat opposite him and sat down again. “The Morrison was hit hard. I’m told the bungalows on sea level are wiped out, but the main hotel is