fact that she and Jet had nothing in common but this mission. She would take him to the island, drop him off and then fly out of his life and probably never see him again.
Her salvation lay in that, she realised. Or was it a bad idea to break the silence that had filled in such a good chunk of time now? She could be professional but distant. Discussing the mission might be vastly preferable to sitting in a verbal desert for hours and fighting the pull into the past.
‘How much do you know about Tokolamu island?’ The question came out abruptly, almost an accusation of ignorance. No wonder Jet’s eyebrow rose.
‘As much as I need to know.’ The tone was laid back enough to be a drawl. ‘It’s the tip of a volcano that could erupt at any time. There are people on top of it who need to get off.’
His voice was right in her ears. As dark and deep as everything else about this man. That mix of being offhand and supremely confident was him all over, too. A lot of people would find that insufferable rather than attractive.
Maybe she was one of them.
‘Some of those people are hurt,’ Jet continued. ‘It’s my job to look after them. Your job is to get me there.’
Yep. She was one of them. Arrogance, that’s what it boiled down to.
‘Tokolamu’s more than just the tip of a volcano,’ she informed him. ‘It’s a significant nature reserve. It’s got about seventy species of birds on or around it and that includes a successful breeding programme for endangered kiwi.’
The grunting sound indicated minimal interest but the conversation was working for Becca. Impersonal. Safe.
‘There’s weka there, too. And even kakapo. Did you know they’re the world’s heaviest parrot?’
‘Can’t say I did.’
‘They’re also the only flightless and nocturnal parrot in existence.’
‘Flightless, huh?’
‘Yep.’
‘They’d be mates with the kiwis, then?’
It was Becca’s turn to make a vaguely disparaging sound. Was he putting her down again?
‘Well, I reckon the other sixty-eight or so species of bird must think they’re a bit inferior.’ There was something more alive in Jet’s tone now. ‘When did you decide you wanted to fly, Becca?’
Becca. Nobody called her that these days. She was Rebecca to people who didn’t know her well and Bec to her closer associates. A short, firm kind of name. No frills. Just the way she liked it.
So why did he make it sound like that was her real name? As though everyone else, including herself, had been using the wrong one all these years? She shook the disturbing notion away and latched on to his query with relief.
‘Ages ago. When I left nursing I went into the ambulance service. They needed an extra crew member on a chopper one night and I got picked. I’d only been up in the air for ten minutes when I realised I didn’t want to be sitting in the back. I wanted the driver’s seat.’
Oh … help. This was exactly what she hadn’t wanted to be doing. Raking over the past. Divulging far more about herself than she’d intended to. Opening doors that had to remain shut or they would both be sucked into the worst space of all.
Jet’s chuckle was so unexpected, her head swung to face him. The sound was more than one of amusement. It signalled sympathy. It said he understood. That he would have felt exactly the same way.
And that was when Becca remembered how he’d got his nickname. Not because his hair was jet black but because he’d had a passion for fast things. Motorbikes and cars. Aircraft. Even his women had to be sleek and ready to speed into his bed.
Hadn’t part of his attraction been that he’d had the aura of the kind of things associated with flying? Things like turbulence and danger. The thrill of feeling weightless and able to move with a freedom that could be pure bliss. Maybe the rush she got from flying was the best substitute she had ever been able to discover for how she’d once felt being close to Jet. Being the focus of his attention. Being close enough to accidentally touch.
Not that such a ridiculous notion had ever occurred to her during the process of falling in love with flying and chasing the dream of becoming a pilot. Why would it? She’d never seen Jet again. She’d never been reminded of what it felt like to be this close.
Her sigh was an admission of defeat. She couldn’t fight this. She might have lasted amazingly so far, given the distance they had already covered, but she couldn’t continue to keep this time together totally impersonal and safe. She had no choice but to face up to whatever emotional fallout eventuated. She had to deal with it and survive. She could do that. She’d done it before, hadn’t she?
‘So, when did you get your pilot’s licence, Jet?’
It was the first time she’d used his name. It curled off her tongue and hung between them like a white flag of surrender.
‘I didn’t.’
‘I thought you said you could handle a BK.’
‘I can. Through osmosis, to start with. Then I got to be mates with some army pilots. They were happy to bend the rules sometimes. And I learn fast.’
That was true enough. Of all the ‘bad boys.’ Jet had undoubtedly been the smartest. That was why he’d won the scholarship to attend an elite, private school in the first place.
‘The formal endorsement of the ability was a bit out of my price range,’ Jet added dryly.
Yeah … not only the smartest. Despite all those boys being sent to boarding school for reasons they’d had every right to resent, Jet had had the biggest chip on his shoulder about his background. The others, including Matt, had been there because they had parents who could afford to offload the responsibility of children they weren’t particularly interested in. It had been years before Becca had learned of Jet’s multiple foster-family background. That he’d thought of himself as a charity case. She’d never heard more than hints, however. It wasn’t a topic ever up for discussion, any more than the blatant disparity in financial advantages.
Was that why he’d thrown it at her now? As some kind of barrier?
It was ancient history, surely. He’d proved how well he could do relying entirely on his own resources. Becca had a lack of patience for people who blamed life’s disappointments on their backgrounds. If you let either the pain of the past or fear of the future dictate your life, you were just shooting yourself in the foot as far as ever being happy. When it came down to it, everybody had to be able to draw on personal strength, no matter what their childhood had been like. Maybe Jet needed to get over himself.
‘Med school’s not cheap,’ she fired back. ‘You managed that, no problem.’
‘Unless you count the past ten years I’ve spent paying the loan off.’ Jet was scowling but then he shrugged. His next words were barely more than a mutter, as though he was talking to himself rather than Becca. ‘Maybe I will get my licence now. It’s not as if I want to save up for a house or anything.’
‘Gypsy
