“You’d be okay if I went a little lower?” Striker whispered
“Sure,” Erin replied. Yes. Anything. Just don’t stop.
He eased the straps of her dress down over her shoulders. “Stay on your stomach.”
She nodded.
As he inched her dress lower, the neckline rasped over her nipples and she sucked in a quick breath.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” she replied.
Her skin had turned supersensitive, and she had a crystal-clear vision of Striker’s rough hands on her breasts.
He went back to the sore spot between her shoulder blades, then gradually worked his way down her spine. His fingertips were strong and sure. Her muscles couldn’t decide whether to relax in ecstasy or tighten in arousal.
Erin didn’t know what heaven felt like, but she was sure it had to be close to this.
Dear Reader,
I’m thrilled to be publishing the second book in the Reeves-DuCarter brothers’ series. This time it’s pilot Striker Reeves-DuCarter the maverick of the family, who meets his match in a jewelry buyer from New York City.
Over the past few years I’ve been fascinated by the discovery, development and marketing of diamonds in Canada’s far north. When emeralds were discovered as well, I knew I had to use the northern gemstone industry in a story.
I hope you enjoy another glimpse of Tyler and Jenna Reeves-DuCarter, from my earlier Harlequin Temptation novel Next to Nothing! And I hope you enjoy reading Striker and Erin’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’d love to hear from you at www.barbaradunlop.com.
Best wishes,
Barbara Dunlop
Books by Barbara Dunlop
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
848—FOREVER JAKE
901—NEXT TO NOTHING!
940—TOO CLOSE TO CALL
HARLEQUIN FLIPSIDE
22—OUT OF ORDER
HARLEQUIN DUETS
54—THE MOUNTIE STEALS A WIFE
90—A GROOM IN HER STOCKING
98—THE WISH-LIST WIFE
Flying High
Barbara Dunlop
To Mom with love.
You make so many things possible for so many people.
Contents
1
IF STRIKER REEVES had the slightest interest in a lecture and a stern reprimand, he would have said yes to the gorgeous black-haired, leather-skirted fireball who’d approached his table last night at Carnaby’s on Leicester Square.
But he didn’t.
And he hadn’t.
And he was getting way too old for this.
His father, Jackson Reeves-DuCarter, leaned forward, voice tight as he placed his broad hands on the back of the tufted leather chair. “And then I hear that five, five of my top executives were forced to twiddle their thumbs in Paris because of you.”
Striker felt a muscle tick in his left cheek. It was only his mother’s presence in the dining room next door that kept him from walking out of his father’s office, quitting his job as a jet pilot with Reeves-DuCarter International on the spot and leaving his parents’ house.
Instead, he counted to three, forcing himself to keep his voice low. “If you’ll recall, I was the one who stuck to the schedule.”
Jackson’s dark eyes glittered. “The schedule is subject to change. That’s why we have our own jet. That’s why we don’t fly commercial carriers.”
“Then maybe you should hire a whole team of pilots, so one of us can be suited up, at the ready twenty-four-seven.”
Jackson shifted in front of the expansive bookcase, where his deep-seated opinions were reinforced by business administration textbooks penned in the fifties. “Not much point in having a pilot suited up when you take off with the jet.”
Striker counted to three again. His father might be willing to devote every waking second to the betterment of the family corporation, but Striker wasn’t a corporate robot. He was a flesh and blood man.
“I’m entitled to a life,” he said.
Jackson scoffed. “Is that what you call it? A life? I call it a joyride. And I’m getting sick and tired of you using my airplane to pick up women.”
Striker bristled. “It was a date, not a pickup, and the jet belongs to the corporation, not to you.”
