He rushes toward me, circling the desk before wrapping his arms around my shoulders. "You never let me down, Har. Whatever you want, you've got it. Anything at all. Love you to bits, Princess."

My eyes sting as I let his words wrap around me. They always say that your dad should be the best man you'll ever know, and I definitely did well in that department. Harry Wilson is the most loving and giving father I could ever have asked for. He's been my mom and dad for fifteen years now and I never would've gotten through Mom's aneurysm or my moody and rebellious teenage years without him around. "I know, Dad. Love you too," I whisper back, meaning every single word.

He steps back and braces his hands on my shoulders, giving me a gentle squeeze and a smile before letting go and walking toward the door. I quickly wipe underneath my eyes, hoping I don't look like a smudged raccoon. "So, who's flying tonight then?"

"Grayson and Porter." And suddenly my stomach does a double somersault, the good and bad kind.

Porter Daniels. Dad's chief pilot. The one man that got stuck under my skin without even trying. Seriously, that guy just had to walk into my office and I was a wet puddle of goo on the floor.

On his first day, he'd confidently strode in without a care in the world and introduced himself as the new chief pilot. My first impression was of yet another arrogant airman who thought he was God's gift to women, who would no doubt offer to show me how to reach heaven in his cockpit, and my gut reaction would've been to test the theory.

And don't get me wrong-Porter is exactly that kind of man to everyone else. But with me, he's also respectful, honest, and protective. He's interested in what I do outside of work, where I go on the weekends, how my date(s) went and showing a genuine concern for my wellbeing.

Unfortunately, I'm still stuck on the sexy, dirty-mouthed, smug bastard who he is with everyone else but me. It's that Porter Daniels that I fantasize about.

It's like I've been sister-zoned. There was no denying the instant connection I felt when we met. The pull between us was strong. Hell, it felt like the air conditioning had suddenly stalled and the heat was stuck on high. There was a spark in his jade-colored eyes that I wanted to see again and again. I wanted to be the reason his eyes darkened, preferably while naked and wearing nothing but a smile.

Hey, a girl can dream can't she?

That was six months ago and by all accounts, Porter shares the love around most of Seattle's female population. Except for me, and believe me, I've tried. I tried the innocent flirting, a little sexy banter between friends, and nada. Nothing works. So a month ago, I gave up. I decided that I'd rather be a friend to him than nothing at all, resigning myself to the fact that he just wasn't that into me, like, at all.

Of course that doesn't mean that I want to spend four hours and an overnight layover in close quarters with the guy.

It's the holidays. All I want to do is get drunk, watch junk television, lament on how sucky my love life is and sulk about how I'll be thirty years old on New Year's Day and I have no man, no love life to speak of, and the closest I've come to getting laid in the past six months has been with my battery-operated friend, albeit on a regular, on-demand basis.

Knowing I don't have time to spare, I grab a hostess blazer I have in my office for such emergencies, and dash into my father's private bathroom. Not even waiting for the shower to run hot, I strip off and jump in, washing myself quickly before shutting the water off.

Once I'm dressed again, my tailored white shirt and black pencil skirt playing double duty as hostess uniform for the flight, I reapply my makeup before taking one last look in the mirror and returning to my office to grab my satchel. With a quick glance at my phone, I realize that I'm running out of time if I want to make it to the plane before the passengers arrive so I madly dash to my car to grab my emergency duffle from the trunk before making my way through the departure lounge of Wilson Air.

I board the plane with the thought that my warm hotel bed in Chicago is just a four-hour flight away. With any luck, I might still manage to consume at least one drink of the alcoholic variety and order some room service.

Chapter 2.

Harlow I can't help the loud groan from escaping my mouth when I check the passenger manifest and see who our 'rock star' is. Nixon Hart, the arrogant, self-centered, hot-and-he-knows-it guitarist from Jagged Edge who's known as much for his music as he is for his off-stage exploits, and I now have a four-hour flight to Chicago to look forward to with him. Fantastic.

I see a flash of dirty blond hair in my peripheral vision and turn to see Porter's beaming whiter-than-white smile shining down on me. "Har, you've just made my already fantastic day even better."

"Sweet talker," I say jokingly, grinning up at him. "I'm the last minute ring-in by the man who must be obeyed." Shrugging, I look back down at my paperwork and feel the couch I'm sitting on shift as Porter takes a seat beside me. "Can you believe this? Last flight before the holidays and we have the biggest douche man-whore on the West Coast as our passenger."

"And here was I thinking that's what you thought about me," he whispers in my ear, so close I can feel his warm breath fan across my skin, leaving ripples of goose bumps in its wake.

I gasp before turning to face the former-okay maybe still current-object of my desire. My eyes go wide at the abrupt change in his behavior toward me. Porter has always been a joker, but he's never been as overt as he's being right now. "What? You? No . . . Say what now?"

He starts laughing, standing up and giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Just playing around, Harlow." I see his face suddenly look serious, his brows narrowing as if he's consumed with thought. "I hope you don't believe everything you hear, though. Just saying." Then I'm left with the sight of his retreating back as I take the opportunity to enjoy his tight slacks-covered ass.

I don't have time to dwell on the strange turn in the conversation as it's then I hear footsteps clambering up the plane's stairs. Standing up, I quickly stash my paperwork in the galley before smoothing my skirt and plastering my most welcoming smile on my face.

"Welcome to Wilson Air, Mr. Hart. I'm Harlow, and I'll be your hostess for this flight." Holding my arm out, I try to mask the disdain I feel the moment Nixon Hart places his hand in mine.

"The pleasure is all mine, Harlow. A gorgeous name for a gorgeous woman." He winks at me and I suddenly feel dirty. The smell of liquor on his breath is overwhelming, filling the air around us, making it hard to breathe. With a curt nod, I pull my hand back to my side and look past his shoulder to spot two equally intoxicated, bottle-blond women coming up behind him, their slurred laughter a dead giveaway that this isn't going to be the easy flight my father told me about.

I sweep my arm out, silently directing the three passengers toward the plane's cabin. Never one to skimp on anything, my father made sure the interior of the plane was lavish, exuding luxury and comfort. There are eight beige leather seats set up in two groups of four in a booth-style arrangement with light brown oak tables separating the rear and forward-facing seats.

"Nice spread" His gaze rakes me up and down before smirking at me. "Bet you do too. Hope I'm right." Nixon slaps my ass as he walks by, his two drunk groupies following like obedient puppies.

I gasp in shock at his inappropriate comment. Thankfully I manage to school my features and slip back into professional mode, secretly counting down the four hours until we land in Chicago and douchebag Hart can be off on his merry way again.

Three and a half hours later, my professional mask has well and truly left the building-or the plane. Two hours of the flight involved delivering non-stop drinks to my three passengers, each time being met with more inappropriate and lewd comments from Nixon Hart.

So when the call button rings again in the galley where I'm ensconced, I groan before putting my kindle back in my bag and standing up from my seat to enter the cabin.

"Mr. Hart." I murmur, reaching out to put the call button off on the cabin wall beside the group.

"If it isn't the woman of my dreams again."

"Bitch is more like it," a hushed snide voice beside him says. I choose to ignore it, having become accustomed to the looks of disdain from members of Hart's blond posse. Every time I've come near them, one in particular has made a melodramatic and totally unnecessary show of draping herself all over the man. I'd take a guess that it was her making the spiteful comment this time.

"I'll have a Jack and Coke and your phone number, sexy. Make it a double." I shudder from head to toe. Considering the amount of liquor my celebrity guest has downed since take off, let alone however many he'd had before he boarded, you'd think he would be comatose by now, but everything is pointing to Nixon Hart having the constitution of an ox and the intelligence of a man not used to being turned down by a woman, repeatedly.

"I'll be back with your drink shortly, Mr. Hart." I spin on my black high heels and return to the galley, quickly pouring out a particularly short double shot of Jack Daniels and mixing it with a lot of mixer in a tall glass of ice.

Sparing a glance at the cockpit door, I see it open and a more delicious tall drink of a man filling the space within it. Porter's eyes dance with amusement when he catches me watching him. My cheeks flush the moment I realize he's totally caught me out.

"Looking for me, sweetheart?" he asks, stepping toward me and leaning up against the wall by his forearm. I can't help but lose my focus when the material of his short-sleeved shirt pulls up, tightening around a golden-colored bicep that I'd love to grab hold of.

"In your dreams." I can't help but smile at his knowing smirk. Feeling the need to defend myself, I continue, "For the record, I heard the door open, obviously. Our friend and his groupies back there have been keeping me busy enough." His eyes darken as he looks over my shoulder and observes the in-flight party.

"You okay out here by yourself?" He levels me with a concerned look. "You know I can send Grayson back here for a spell if you need help with them." He lifts his chin toward the cabin.

I can't help but inwardly swoon at his protectiveness. I tilt my head as I study him with soft eyes. "I'm a big girl, Porter. I can handle a sleazy rock star."

His body goes rigid as he tries to move around me. I put my palm on his chest and am shocked at the feeling of the racing beat of his heart beneath my skin. "I'll be okay," I whisper, my eyes silently pleading with him to restrain himself. "Please, Porter. We've only got thirty minutes left before we arrive in Chicago. You need to stay up front and land this plane so you can buy me a drink at the hotel bar." His muscles loosen under my touch and I still when he places a soft hand on my hip.

"You knock on the door if you need me. I mean it, Har. Your dad asked me to watch out for you, and that's what I'm trying to do. I don't care if he's king of the fucking world, nobody touches you without your permission or makes you feel uncomfortable on your own God damn plane."

"Okay. I promise." With a curt nod, he turns toward the bathroom and slides the door closed. When I hear the latch click, I take a deep calming breath and move toward the cabin, noticing with discomfort the very unsettling stare I receive from Nixon.

Thirty minutes to go. Just this drink service and I'm home free.

Bending at the waist, I place the drink on the table in front of him before trying to stand up again as quick as I can. Not quick enough, evidently, as I'm suddenly grabbed around the waist and pulled into his lap, his hard groin prodding my ass as I try to wrestle myself free from his hold.

"Mr. Hart. Let me go!" I grind out as I continue to fight him. The two women with him just laugh drunkenly and when I feel one of his hands roughly grab my breast through my shirt my stomach churns, causing bile to rise up my throat. "Let me up, asshole," I yell, and moments later I'm suddenly wrenched from his arms and swung sideways. I put my arms out to stop myself from hitting the cabin wall and turn to see Porter going toe to toe with Nixon.

"Keep your hands to yourself, motherfucker, or else you'll never fly commercially in this country again. Got it?" Porter yells, his forearm digging into Nixon's chest as he spits his venomous warning into the drunken man's face. "And if you don't believe me, just one call to the tower at O'Hare and I'll have Chicago PD waiting at the door for you and your floozies the minute we hit the tarmac. Just fucking try me."

Suddenly, the blond woman at Nixon's side starts shrieking. "You can't do that to him. He's a celebrity."

Porter releases him and stands up straight, his six-foot frame foreboding as he towers over the group. "I don't give a rat's ass, lady. My plane; my rules. You will all sit down, put your seat belts on and stay where you are for the remainder of the flight, or else I'll make the call."

The enormity of what just happened hits me and my eyes well with tears as my body shakes uncontrollably. I run to the galley and sit down in the jump seat, wrapping my arms around my chest and leaning forward. I try to focus on the golden flecks in the navy carpet lining the floor-anything to take my mind off the events in the cabin.

Within moments, Porter's frame fills my vision as he bends down and puts a finger under my chin to lift my eyes to his. "You okay, sweetheart?"

As my throat closes up, I simply shake my head as a stray tear falls down my cheek. His arms are around me and I'm enveloped in his warmth, his smell, everything Porter overwhelming me in my fragile state. I bury my face in his shoulder and let go, my body continuing to shake for at least a few minutes before I will myself to calm down. His cheek rests against my hair and I suddenly feel exposed, even more so than when I was being manhandled just moments earlier.

Pulling back, I look up at Porter and notice his eyes are filled with something I can't quite put my finger on, but it's definitely there. Maybe it's the thing I've been aching to see for the past six months but recently gave up hope of ever being reciprocated.

His gaze drops to my lips and I instinctively lick them, frozen in time as I watch his face dip toward mine. My breathing quickens and I close my eyes, every part of my being poised for the moment when Porter Daniels finally kisses me.

But it never comes. His warm breath fans over my face before he curses under his breath and pauses his advance, rubbing his hands up and down my arms to comfort me instead.

With a start, I reopen my eyes to find Porter standing back up and shaking his head from side to side quickly. "Wha-"

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have done that. You've just been attacked. It won't happen again."

His rejection feels worse than when that creep held me down. Because the man I want to touch me, to kiss me, apparently can't bear to do either.

I can't bear to look at him. I don't want to see his pity stare. I steady myself and clear my throat. "No worries. I'll just stay back here and count down the minutes until we disembark."

"Harlow, I-"

With a resilience I didn't think I could muster, I meet his eyes once more. "We're good, Porter. Go check that Grayson can actually fly this bird. I'd like to at least get to Chicago in one piece."

He raises his eyebrows and stares at me a moment too long before disappearing out of sight, presumably back through the cockpit door.

My shoulders slump and I rake my face with my hands. Totally humiliated, I make a note to myself to tell my father that my days of playing fill-in hostess are well and truly over now.

There is a bright side. At least I've only got a one-night layover to get through before a quick flight home tomorrow, and then I'm on vacation for two weeks.

Whatever I do, I need distance from that man.

No work, no planes.

No Porter.

Chapter 3.

Porter I've never been happier to land a plane. Ever since I had to step in and help Harlow, I've been antsy and distracted. I kept waiting for that knock on the cockpit door, signaling that the cocky asshole hasn't listened to my warning. But it never came.

As soon as we'd taxied the plane to where the tower directed us, I asked Grayson to supervise the passengers and make sure they were escorted off the plane without further trouble. The knowing look he gave me just served to piss me off further but I didn't call him out on it because trying to defend myself would've only confirmed everything he was insinuating. I didn't need any more proof than my almost kiss with Harlow to assure me that I was way past gone for the woman.

And now as I do my final checks, completing my paperwork and filing the flight plan for tomorrow, I can't seem to keep my mind on the job.

The look in her eyes when I'd pulled away from her had cut me deep. It was a look of dejection and humiliation. A woman like her should never be made to feel like that by a man. Especially not by me.

Ever since I met the woman, she's been under my skin. I had to force myself to keep my distance, making sure that our friendship stayed within the confines of work only. And if rumors of my supposed reputation reached her ears, so be it. But fuck, if she hasn't made it difficult to keep things platonic. With her flirty glances and sexy banter, the number of cold showers I've been forced to have is embarrassing. The amount of times I've fantasized about her while taking myself in hand is even worse, or better, depending on the way you look at things.

When I walked into her office on my first day, full of hot air and cocky attitude, the heat that sizzled between us was palpable. Then I saw her last name and I forced the shutters down on anything that could've been started.

Don't get me wrong, I've played the playboy and definitely spent most of my adult life spreading my wild oats. As a pilot I've travelled a lot, both around the country and the world, and with no significant other waiting for me back home, I definitely took advantage of my situation as a young single man.

Meeting Harlow made me reevaluate things. Even knowing I couldn't contemplate pursuing her, she was the boss's fucking daughter, for fuck's sake. I wanted everything she represented. Warm, funny, sexy as hell-she was everything I would dream of if I could have my ideal woman standing in front of me.

Instead of making her mine as I desperately wanted to, I settled for friendship.

There was just something about seeing her fighting off the asshole rock star that had me seeing red, acting first and thinking later. Every protective instinct inside me drove my body toward the cabin, wrenching her free from his slimy hands and getting up in his face, making it very clear exactly what I was capable of doing to him should he choose to put his hands on my Harlow again. Shit, NOT mine.

Putting my paperwork aside, I run my hands through my hair, contemplating how on earth I'm going to fix this between us.

When I saw her hunched over in her seat, her face wet with tears, my heart had constricted. All I wanted to do was pull her into my arms and make everything wrong in her world go away. Before I could control it, my arms were wrapped around her, my cheek resting on her soft brown hair, and everything Harlow was surrounded me. Her soft skin, the sweet strawberry scent of her shampoo, and the subtle fragrance of her perfume consumed me, making it very hard to pull away.

Then I saw that look in her eye, a look full of desire and longing, and all I wanted to do was crush my lips to hers and finally give in to this heat raging between us. It wasn't until I was an inch away from her mouth that my brain kicked back into gear and I realized that she'd just been manhandled by an asshole, and the last thing she needed was another one pushing himself on her.

So I forced myself back, making lame excuses and checking that she was in fact okay before disappearing back into the safety of the cockpit.

Grayson snaps me back into reality when he strolls back into the cockpit wearing an uncharacteristic frown. I stand up, immediately thinking the worst.

"What's wrong?" My blood pressure rises as the anger toward Nixon Hart returns. I'll make that asshole's life a living hell if he touched Harlow again.

"That dude has an ego bigger than this damn plane. Holy shit, man." He leans against the doorway before continuing. "He was acting like he owned the place, and don't get me started on the looks he was shooting Harlow."

I growl under my breath, not realizing what I've done until Grayson smirks at me. "Fucking knew it."

"What?" My eyes go wide as it hits me that he's totally played me.

"Fucking grow a pair and make your move, Daniels. A woman like that, with hair and hips and that ass, let alone her awesome personality? She will get snapped up. Hell, if I wasn't married, I would've joined you in following her around like a lost puppy."

I glare at him as he quirks his brow, a silent challenge to finally man up and do something about my attraction to the one woman I shouldn't want but can't move past.

I want to be the only man she ever wants I want to be the only man she'll ever need, and the one she never wants to be without.

"Where is she now? You didn't . . ."

"Of course not, give me an ounce of credit. I escorted her to a cab because she said she was tired and needed an early night. She looked wiped."