stood with the sun backlighting him, casting his face in mysterious shadows.
Alexa stepped in front of the babies instinctively, protectively. “Good afternoon. What can I do for you?”
Silently he stepped deeper into the craft until overhead lights splashed over his face and she recognized him from her internet searches. Seth Jansen, founder and CEO of Jansen Jets.
Relief made her knees wobbly. She’d been saved from a tough decision by Jansen’s early arrival. And, wow, did the guy ever know how to make an entrance.
From press shots she’d seen he was good-looking, with a kind of matured Abercrombie & Fitch beach hunk appeal. But no amount of Google Images could capture the impact of this tremendously attractive self-made billionaire in person.
Six foot three or four, he filled the charter jet with raw muscled man. He wasn’t some pale pencil pusher. He was more the size of a keen-eyed lumberjack, in a suit. An expensive, tailored suit.
The previously spacious cabin now felt tight. Intimate.
His sandy-colored hair—thick without being shaggy—sported sun-kissed streaks of lighter blond, the kind that came naturally from being outside rather than sitting in a salon chair. His tan and toned body gave further testimony to that. No raccoon rings around the eyes from tanning bed glasses. The scent of crisp air clung to him, so different from the boardroom aftershaves of her father and her ex. She scrunched her nose at even the memory of cloying cologne and cigars.
Even his eyes spoke of the outdoors. They were the same vibrant green she’d once seen in the waters off the Caribbean coast of St. Maarten, the sort of sparkling green that made you want to dive right into their cool depths. She turned shivery all over just thinking about taking a swim in those pristine waters.
She seriously needed to lighten up on the cleaning supply fumes. How unprofessional to stand here and gawk like a sex-starved divorcée—which she was.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Jansen. I’m Alexa Randall with A-1 Aircraft Cleaning Services.”
He shrugged out of his suit jacket, gray pinstripe and almost certainly an Ermenegildo Zegna, a brand known for its no-nonsense look. Expensive. Not surprising.
His open shirt collar, with his burgundy tie loosened did surprise her, however. Overall, she got the impression of an Olympic swimmer confined in an Italian suit.
“Right.” He checked his watch—the only non-GQ item on him. He wore what appeared to be a top-of-the-line diver’s timepiece. “I’m early, I know, but I need to leave right away so if you could speed this up, I would appreciate it.”
Jansen charged by, not even hesitating as he passed the two tykes. His tykes.
She cleared her throat. “You have a welcoming crew waiting for you.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken.” He stowed his briefcase, his words clipped. “I’m flying solo today.”
She held up Pippa’s letter. “It appears, Mr. Jansen, your flight plans have changed.”
* * *
Seth Jansen stopped dead in his tracks. He looked back over his shoulder at Alexa Randall, the owner of a new, small company that had been trying to get his attention for at least a month. Yeah, he knew who the drop-dead gorgeous blonde was. But he didn’t have time to listen to her make a pitch he already knew would be rejected.
While he appreciated persistence as a business professional himself, he did not like gimmicks. “Let’s move along to the point, please.”
He had less than twenty minutes to get his Gulfstream III into the air and on its way from Charleston, South Carolina, to St. Augustine, Florida. He had a business meeting he’d been working his ass off to land for six months—dinner with the head of security for the Medinas, a deposed royal family that lived in exile in the United States.
Big-time account.
Once in a lifetime opportunity.
And the freedom to devote more of his energies to the philanthropic branch of this company. Freedom. It had a different meaning these days than when he’d flown crop dusters to make his rent back, in North Dakota.
“This—” she waved a piece of floral paper in front of him “—is the point.”
As she passed over the slip of paper, she stepped aside and revealed—holy crap—his kids. He looked down at the letter fast.
Two lines into the note, his temple throbbed. What the hell was Pippa thinking, leaving the twins this way? How long had they been in here? And why had she left him a damn note, for Pete’s sake?
He pulled out his cell phone to call his ex. Her voice mail picked up immediately. She was avoiding him, no doubt.
A text from Pippa popped up in his in-box. He opened the message and it simply read, Want 2 make sure you know. Twins r waiting for you at plane. Sorry 4 short notice. XOXO.
“What the h—?” He stopped himself short before he cursed in front of his toddlers who were just beginning to form words. He tucked his phone away and faced Alexa Randall. “I’m sorry my ex added babysitter duties to your job today. Of course I’ll pay you extra. Did you happen to notice which way Pippa headed out?”
Because he had some choice words for her when he found her.
“Your ex-wife wasn’t here when I arrived.” Alexa held up her own cell phone, her thumb swiping away a print. “I tried to contact your office, but your assistant wouldn’t let me get a word out before shifting me over to Muzak. It’s looped twice while I waited. Much longer and I would have had to call security, which would have brought in child services—”
He held up a hand, sick to his gut already. “Thanks. I get the picture. I owe you for cleaning up after my ex-wife’s recklessness as well.”
His blood pressure spiked higher until he saw red. Pippa had left the children unattended in an airplane at his privately owned airport? What had his security people been thinking, letting Pippa just wander around the aircraft that way? These were supposed to be the days of increased precautions and safety measures, and yet they must have assumed because she was his ex-wife that garnered her a free pass around the facility. Not so.
Heads were going to roll hard and fast over this. No one put the safety of his children at risk.
No one.
He crumpled the note in his fist and pitched it aside. Forcing his face to smooth so he wouldn’t scare the babies, he unstrapped the buckle on his daughter’s car seat.
“Hey there, princess.” He held Olivia up high and thought about how she’d squealed with delight over the baby swing on the sprawling oak in his backyard. “Did you have fruit for lunch?”
She grinned, and he saw a new front tooth had come in on top. She smelled like peaches and baby shampoo and there weren’t enough hours in the day to take in all the changes happening too quickly.
He loved his kids more than anything, had since the second he’d seen their fists waving in an ultrasound. He’d been damn lucky Pippa let him be there when
