Playboy Pilot Read online

  Copyright © 2016 by Penelope Ward & Vi Keeland

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  PLAYBOY PILOT

  Cover model: Sahib Faber

  Photographer: Greg Vaughan

  Cover designer: Letitia Hasser, r.b.a. designs

  Interior Formatting & Proofreading by Elaine York/Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting

  Praise For Stuck-Up Suit & Cocky Bastard (co-written by authors):

  “Graham and Soraya stole my heart! This book left me wonderfully content at its conclusion-->simply beautiful from cover to cover with twists and surprises I didn’t see coming. These ladies can WRITE, and they can write ROMANCE, and they do it so well I’m impatiently waiting for their next collaboration. Five Fabulous stars for Stuck-Up Suit!” - Raine Miller, New York Times Bestselling Author

  “Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward have created yet another cocky bastard to steal our hearts, and this one wears a suit - my favorite. I call dibs on Graham Morgan. Must read!” - Laurelin Paige, New York Times Bestselling Author

  “Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward are two of the very best authors in contemporary romance right now. Both have already released books I loved this year that are sitting on my list of Best Books of 2016 (The Baller by Vi Keeland and RoomHate byPenelope Ward) so when I saw that this book was written by both of them together, I absolutely couldn›t resist diving right in and I highly recommend you do the same! This is definitely a new top favorite!” - Aestas Book Blog

  “Witty & HIGHLY addictive standalone with a surprising plot twist we didn’t see coming! Confidently one of our top reads this year!” - The Rock Stars of Romance

  “I don’t even know what else to say, but STUCK-UP SUIT by Vi Keeland &Penelope Ward was SUPERB in every single way! I wasn’t expecting to feel so much, but HOLY HELL, I can’t even right now...” - Shayna Renee’s Spicy Reads

  “This will be, without question, one of my favorite reads for 2015!” ― 5 stars from Three Chicks and Their Books

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Other Books by Penelope Ward

  Other Books by Vi Keeland

  CHRIS HEMSWORTH.

  I flipped the page of the American Airlines Worldwide Destinations catalog through the section on Australia. The pages were filled with colorful pictures—kangaroos, turquoise water, that big white building that looked like a bunch of sails blowing in the wind. Pretty. But not what I was really interested in.

  Liam Hemsworth. Australian accents. Oh my God. Two of them.

  The next page had a worldwide map. I followed the dotted route line, my finger tracing Miami to Sydney. Crap. That’s a long ass plane ride.

  Sighing, I moved on. The next page—London.

  Robert Pattinson.

  Theo James.

  More sexy accents, with less than a third of the flying time. I dog-eared the corner of the page and kept flipping.

  Italy. George Clooney. Who cares if he’s practically the same age as my father? The man was like a good bottle of Cabernet—better with age and meant to be savored in your mouth. Another dog-eared corner.

  The bartender interrupted my destination shopping and pointed to my half empty martini glass. “Can I get you another Appletini?”

  “Not yet. Thanks.”

  He nodded and headed to the other end of the packed bar. I was already on my second drink and had no idea how many hours I was going to be stuck in this airport lounge. It was probably a good idea that I pick where I’d be spending the next ten days before the alcohol kicked in too much.

  Santorini. Hmmm. The pictures looked beautiful. Stark white buildings with bright royal blue doors and shutters. Yet…I really had no idea where I wanted to go. Nothing was jumping out at me; not even a tropical island was calling my name.

  Blowing out a deep breath as I realized I was just about at the end of the thick vacation catalog, I lifted my drink to my mouth and mumbled to myself, “Where in the world should I go?”

  I wasn’t expecting an actual answer.

  “My place isn’t far.” A deep, baritone voice said from next to me. Not realizing anyone had taken the bar stool on my right, I startled, tipping my martini glass and spilling what was left of my drink all over my brand new top.

  “Shit!” I stood, quickly grabbing for a napkin from the bar and started to blot at my brand new blouse. “This is a Roland Mouret.”

  “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Well then don’t sneak up on people.”

  “Relax. I’ll pay for it to be dry-cleaned. Alright?”

  “It’s going to stain.”

  “Then I’ll buy you a new one, sweetheart. It’s just a shirt.”

  My head snapped up. “Did you hear me say it was Roland Mouret? It was eight hundred dollars.”

  “For that? It’s a T-shirt.”

  “It’s designer.”

  “It’s still a damn T-shirt. Don’t get me wrong. You fill it out pretty nicely. But you got ripped off. Ever hear of the Gap?”

  “Are you joking?” I asked before finally giving up on my blotting and looking up at the man who had some nerve.

  Shit.

  He had some nerve alright.

  Some tall, dark and handsome nerve. Gorgeous, actually.

  I walked away for a moment to grab my bearings and went in search of more napkins. There wasn’t another one in sight. When I returned to my spot, Mr. Beautiful called to the bartender, “Hey, Louie. Can I get a glass of club soda and some paper towels down here?”

  “Sure thing, Trip.”

  Trip?

  “Your name is Trip?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “I’m in a freaking airport bar with a guy named Trip?” I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “And you are?”

  What the heck, I would never see this man again. I glanced down at the travel catalog I’d been sifting through when my eyes landed on the cover. “I’m…” I hesitated, then lied. “Sydney.”

  “Sydney…” he hissed out, skeptically.

  “That’s right.”

  Swallowing, I had to look away for a moment. Even with my gaze pointed away from him, I could feel the weight of his big hazel eyes on me. The heavy scent of his musky cologne was all-consuming. His tall, overbearing presence in my periphery made it difficult to focus my attention elsewhere.

  The bartender returned and handed him a glass and a handful of napkins.

  T
rip lifted his brow at me. “You want to get the stain out?”

  I nodded, my skin prickling as he leaned in. Within a few seconds, everything went from hot to cold as a shock of wetness hit me, seeping through the material of my shirt as he poured the soda water slowly and directly onto my chest.

  “Ah! What the…what the hell are you doing?” I spewed, looking down at the wet spot on my designer shirt.

  “You want to lift the stain out, don’t you? The carbonated water will do it. It just needs to soak for a while.”

  “The stain isn’t that big. You just poured water all over the front of my shirt!”

  “There was no easy way to avoid that.”

  “You could have not done it!”

  “That wouldn’t have been any fun.”

  I looked down at myself. My nipples were peeking through the wet fabric. “You can see right through my shirt now!”

  “I’m painfully aware of that.” He sucked a breath in, his eyes glued to my chest. “Christ, are you not wearing a bra?”

  “Actually, I’m not.”

  He finally looked up. “Might I ask, why you’re at an airport with no bra on?”

  Clearing my throat, I said, “I wanted to be comfortable on the flight. Plus…I’m…perky. I don’t really need to wear one in general. Well, at least, I didn’t until you poured seltzer all over me! I wasn’t expecting a strange man to assault me with water.”

  His eyeballs descended upon my chest again. “Perky…huh?”

  “Could you not stare at me like that?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting...”

  “To see me practically naked? You don’t say…”

  He laughed guiltily. “What am I supposed to say? Look, I came here for a bite to eat and got way more than I bargained for. You have fantastic tits. You’re right. They are perky…just like their feisty owner.”

  He suddenly took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around me. “Cover yourself with this.” It was heavy and felt like a warm hug coated in his sandalwood scent. If this felt good, I could only imagine what his actual body would feel like wrapped around me. I shook my head at the thought.

  Looking down while I zipped it up, I noticed a small pair of metal wings pinned onto the chest. “What’s this pin? Were you a good little boy on your flight or something?”

  He smirked. “Something like that.”

  When I cracked a smile, he reached his large hand out. “Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Carter.”

  Carter.

  Huh.

  He sort of looked like a Carter.

  I took his hand and felt shivers roll through me when he squeezed mine with a powerful grip. Narrowing my eyes, I said, “Carter…I thought your name was Trip.”

  “No. You assumed my name was Trip because that was what Louie called me. Trip’s a nickname.”

  “Where does it come from?”

  “Long story.”

  “How do they know you here anyway? Do you travel a lot on business?”

  “You could say that.”

  “You’re a little dodgy, you know that?”

  “And you’re fucking adorable. What’s your name?”

  “I told you my name.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Sydney…and your last name’s Opera-House. Sydney Opera-House.” He laughed, lifting the magazine and pointing to the actual Sydney Opera House on the cover. “Why did you lie to me, Perky?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t like giving my real name out to strangers.”

  “That’s not it. You’re not shy. You don’t even wear a fucking bra in public, for God’s sake. And it took you almost a full minute to cover your tits after you knew I could see them. You’re not reserved, and you’re certainly not being cautious.”

  “So, then why do you think I lied about my name?”

  “I think it gave you a thrill to pretend you were someone else. You figured you’re never gonna see me again, so why not? Am I right?”

  “You think you have me pegged as a careless thrill-seeker? You’ve known me for what…ten minutes?”

  “It takes one to know one.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes. It’s how I live my life…always looking for the next thrill, never in one place.” After a moment of silence, he squinted his eyes with an examining look. “You don’t know where you’re going.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “When I first walked up behind you, you were talking to yourself, wondering where you should go. Remember?”

  “Oh. That’s right. Yes. I’m taking myself on a trip…Trip.”

  “What are you leaning toward?”

  “I still have no idea.”

  He startled me when he put his hand on my shoulder. “What are you running away from, Kendall?”

  My heart beat faster. I moved backwards, away from him a bit.

  “How did you know my name?”

  He reached into his back pocket and waved a passport. “You really need to be more careful traveling alone. You walk away for one second, someone could slip something in your drink or take your belongings.”

  “That’s mine? How did you get that?”

  “When you walked away to look for a napkin, it fell out of your purse. I picked it up, took a peek at your name. Kendall Sparks. I like it. You’re lucky you can trust me.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I huffed, snatching the passport.

  We stood there for a bit just staring at each other. His mouth curved into a smile, and for the first time I noticed the dimple on his chin.

  “I saw her standing there,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The Beatles song. I Saw Her Standing There.”

  “What about it?” I asked.

  “I have this theory. If you think about almost any given moment in life, there’s a Beatles song that can describe it.”

  “So, that’s the song of the hour?”

  “Exactly. I saw you standing there. I walked over, and apparently I disrupted your decision-making. So, let me buy you another drink. We can figure out together where you’re gonna go. We can work it out.”

  When he laughed, I repeated his last words in my head.

  We can work it out.

  God, he’s a little nutty.

  I shook my head in disbelief. “We Can Work It Out. Another Beatles song.”

  “Very good. You’re too young to know The Beatles so well.”

  “My mother listened to them. What’s your excuse?”

  “I just appreciate good music, even if it was before my time.” He looked down at his watch. “Speaking of time, I don’t have all that much of it. How about that drink?”

  When he smiled again, I couldn’t help feeling like my resolve was melting. There wasn’t any harm in one more drink, especially since I hadn’t decided where I was going yet.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Carter led me to one of the tables then left to put in an order at the bar.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I ordered a few appetizers for us.”

  “Thanks. That’s fine.”

  “So, what’s the nature of this voyage, Kendall?”

  “I have some important things to think about. I need to get away from real life for a while to do that.”

  “Hopefully, it’s all good stuff? You seem really on edge. That’s why I assumed you were running away from something.”

  “Just an important decision that I have to make.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  Not unless you want to impregnate me.

  If he only knew.

  “No. It’s a problem I have to figure out on my own.”

  “Seriously, though, how bad can it be? You’re healthy, vibrant…beautiful, and you seem to have money. I’m sure it will all work out for you.”

  “You think you have me all figured out, huh?”

  “You’re young. Whatever it is…you have plenty of time to solve the issue.”


  Don’t I wish that were the truth.

  “How young do you think I am?”

  He scratched his chin. “Twenty-two?”

  “I’m about to turn twenty-five.”

  That’s the exact problem. Twenty-fucking-five.

  “Okay. Well, you look a little younger.”

  “And how old are you? Given your musical taste, I’d guess around fifty-three…but from your looks, I’d put you at twenty-eight.”

  “Close enough. Twenty-nine.”

  A waiter brought our appetizers over to the table. Carter had ordered a medley of fried mozzarella sticks, Buffalo wings, and egg rolls.

  My stomach growled. “It’s a good thing I’m not on a diet.”

  “Yeah. They don’t really have much else that’s any good here. Everything fried tastes good.”

  I noticed that he hadn’t ordered a beverage. “You’re not drinking?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “If you tell me what your dilemma is, I’ll tell you why I can’t drink.”

  Grabbing a fried cheese stick, I changed the subject. “There’s no time to get into it. Right now, I really just need to make a decision about where I’m going. What about you? Where are you headed?”

  “Hang on.” He ignored my question, instead pulling out his phone and began to scroll.

  “What are you doing?”

  “This is a full list of international flights that are departing in the next three hours.” He pointed the screen in my direction.

  I took the phone. “Okay…Madrid. Iberia Airlines, 8:55.”

  “You don’t want to go to Spain.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s July. Super hot there. You’ll sweat your ass off. And you can’t take off your shirt, because you’re not wearing a bra.”

  Feeling flush, I looked back down at the list. “Okay…um…what about Mexico? American Airlines, 10:20.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “The new norovirus that’s going around.”

  “The what?”

  “Jesus, woman. Don’t you watch the news?”

  “No. It’s too depressing.”

  “Just trust me. You want to avoid the food there right now.”

  “Alright. What about Amsterdam? KLM, 9:45.”