"You let her leave alone?" I bellow, not even caring as the sound of my voice reverberates through the plane.

He puts both of his hands up in the air. "Hey, man. She didn't leave me much choice. It was either that or chase after her. She'll be fine. We can check in on her once we get out of here."

"She better get there in one piece," I mutter as I do one last visual check and slip my discarded uniform jacket back on before walking out to the cabin and then off the plane.

Grayson follows me out. "You wanna grab a beer back at the hotel? Especially since we're going to be here for a while."

I spin around to face him. "What do you mean? We're only here for the night. Last time I checked, the weather was going to hold up long enough for us to fly home."

"Oh shit," he says, grabbing the back of his neck with one hand, his trademark tell that something is wrong. "That huge snow storm heading our way from the north is hitting us sooner than expected. At best it'll hit us tomorrow lunchtime. At worst, tonight. Heather is not pleased, to say the least." Heather is his wife of five years, and is usually one of the most tolerant people I know. Except at Christmas. Christmas is her Achilles' heel. The one time of the year when she does not appreciate having a pilot husband.

"So our chances of getting off the ground tomorrow?"

"Somewhere between zero and non-existent. Looks like we're staring down the barrel of Christmas in Chicago, my friend."

"It could be worse, I suppose. I could be stuck sharing a room with you for the holidays."

"Fuck you."

"I don't think Heather would appreciate that. Although, if she was into swinging . . ."

"Shut the hell up. If you weren't my friend, I'd punch you for even thinking about my wife like that."

I chuckle as we step out onto the stairs leading off the plane and close the door behind us.

"Seriously, Porter. When are you going to give up the pretense that you can stay away from her?"

"Who?" I feign ignorance, delaying the inevitable.

"You fucking know who."

"I think I gave it away when I held my arm on the rock star's neck for manhandling her on my fucking plane."

"Are you willing to risk your job for her?"

I pause as his words sink in. Words I've considered time and time again during the past six months as I struggled to keep my distance. But after today's eventful flight, the answer is clearer than ever before. "I'd risk anything and everything for her."

"Now that's what I wanted to hear. So what's your plan then?"

"Fuck knows."

He cracks up laughing as we make our way through the private airport terminal and out to a waiting shuttle bus. "For someone with a reputation like yours, you know so very little about women."

I scoff and bump him with my shoulder as I step past him and onto the bus. "And for a man whose balls are back in Seattle in his wife's purse, you're very jealous."

But his words stay with me on the drive to our hotel. I need to show Harlow that I want her for more than she expects.

I need to show her that I don't just want her for Christmas-I want her for New Year's, Fourth of July, and Thanksgiving.

And every other holiday after that.

But how the hell do I do that?

Chapter 4.

Harlow By the time I've arrived at the hotel and checked in, I'm beat. I even gave up my argument with the front desk when I thought they'd put in the wrong type of room.

I reach my room, tip the porter, and make it as far as the bed before I collapse onto it out of sheer exhaustion. I check my phone and see it's almost 11 p.m. and realize I've been on the go since seven that morning. I stretch out on the mattress, uniform and all, sans shoes, of course, because every woman knows that gorgeous shoes are designed to look pretty, and the really pretty ones are never comfortable. Closing my eyes for a brief second, I'm startled when I wake up forty minutes later with the lights on. There goes my intention of ordering room service and having a long soak in a hot bath.

Rolling over, I stand up and pad into the huge bathroom, gasping at the sight of a deep spa bath that's calling my name. Within seconds, the bath is running and I'm staring in the mirror at my reflection as I rehash the events of the flight.

Did I do something to encourage Nixon's advances? Was it something I said? Did? Wore?

Shaking my head, I realize that it'll do me no good to overanalyze something I can't change. I've always been like that, trying to work out what I could've done differently. Ever since I was a child I've been fascinated with how things work and how to make them better. Of course this has also transferred over into my professional and personal life, especially relationships.

When Johnny Newcomb broke up with me the day before Homecoming because he decided he wanted to take Amber Barrett instead, I was heartbroken. I'd spent the night of the dance at home, sulking in my room, piecing together every single conversation, every look, and every little thing I might have missed that could've helped me avoid the horrible dejection I was feeling. I never did quite work that one out. Well, apart from the obvious reason-that all teenage boys are ruled by their dicks. But we all work that out, one way or another.

Then there was that moment with Porter in the galley.

Ugh! I went from hating men in one moment when Nixon felt me up, to silently begging Porter to kiss me, all puffy eyed and trembling. Classy, Harlow. Real classy.

This is why I'm single. This is why I enjoy my nights at home by myself with nothing but my yoga pants and my television.

Well, that's not entirely true-they are also filled with fantasies about Porter and the things I want to do to that man, some of which are so dirty they should have their own X-rated website.

Shit! The bath! I quickly shut off the water and strip off my clothes before stepping into the bath and lowering my body beneath the steaming hot water. I drop my head back against the edge of the tub and within minutes my muscles loosen and I feel myself finally relax.

I hear my phone vibrate on the floor and reach over the side to grab it when I see who it is.

"Dad, what did you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm talking about the fact that I'm currently lying in a luxurious bath tub in a superior suite when normally the staff stay in standard rooms."

He chuckles and I can't help but smile. My dad is a big softie where I'm concerned. There isn't anybody else in the world I love more. I know he would move heaven and earth for me, for example, like upgrading my hotel room when I step in to save his ass.

"Thank you. You didn't have to and I certainly didn't expect it, but I appreciate it all the same."

"Call it an early Christmas present, Har. I really appreciate you helping. Was it a good flight?"

Well, it seems Porter didn't call my dad to report on the events of our trip so far. Unfortunately, I know Dad will find out eventually because Porter will have to file a report, which has to cross my father's desk.

"The rock star got a bit out of hand. Nothing I couldn't handle."

"He put his hands on you?" Dad spits out, his voice full of anger.

"It wasn't for long. Porter stepped in before anything got out of hand."

"Oh, thank God. I knew he would look out for you."

I pause, shocked but not surprised that Dad isn't worried about the incident. My eyes start to fill with tears yet again. "Yeah. I . . . I was really glad he was there."

"Har . . ." Dad's voice is soft and soothing. "Princess, are you sure you are okay? Are Porter and Grayson there?"

"They'll be somewhere. Grayson wanted me to wait for them, but I just wanted to get back to the hotel so he put me in a cab. I'll catch up with them in the morning when we fly back."

"Shit. You haven't been told then?"

"Told what?"

"All planes are grounded tomorrow due to the snow storm coming in from up north. Worst case scenario, you'll be in Chicago for Christmas. It's one of the reasons why I upgraded your room. I wanted you to be as comfortable as possible if you were stuck." Dammit. Christmas in Chicago; away from home; away from Dad.

"But, Christmas . . ."

"I know, Har. I'll talk to Porter, and maybe the three of you can treat yourself somewhere if it comes to that. You've got your company credit card with you. Use it for anything you need. Clothes, toiletries . . . anything, Harlow. I expect you to make a dent in that thing, okay?"

I acquiesce, knowing full well that I have absolutely no control over the situation. It's all in the hands of the weather gods.

But Christmas, alone, in a strange city? No tree, no decorations, no opening that one special present on Christmas Eve with Dad like we do every year?

"I'll let you go, but I'll call again once we know what's going on. It'll be Christmas Eve. Go shopping. Treat yourself. I love you, Har."

"Love you too, Dad." I end the call, looking at the screen and seeing a new text message that must've come through while I was on the phone.

PorterYou still awake? I know it's late, but can I please just check on you? I need to make sure you're okay.

Shit! I'm naked in a bath and the one guy I want, the one who doesn't want me, wants to come to my hotel room at midnight. No big deal, right?

Jumping out of the bath, I dry myself off and wrap myself in the warm fluffy hotel robe before returning to the bedroom and lying on my stomach across the bed, phone in hand.

HarlowI'm awake. We can catch up tomorrow.

I wait for his reply, but it doesn't come.

Instead, I'm jolted by a loud knock at the door ten minutes later.

Chapter 5.

Porter Sitting at a table in the hotel restaurant after a well-earned steak dinner and a few drinks, I can't stop my eyes from drifting toward the door, waiting and wishing that Harlow would walk in with that gorgeous smile on her face.

"You're so hooked, man," Grayson says, causing my eyes to snap back to meet his.

"Whatever," I mumble against the glass as I take yet another sip of my Scotch whisky.

"Have you even texted her to make sure she's okay?"

"Of course I did," I snap. He quirks a brow at me and I frown back at him. "Well actually, I haven't yet. I want to, but it's late and she's probably asleep."

"You want that on your mind tonight? Wondering if she's okay? 'Cause I sure as fuck don't. Wilson will have our balls if anything happens to his daughter." He pauses for a moment as his words sink in, having the desired effect, no doubt. "Actually, for peace of mind, I think I'll just go check in on her."

"The fuck you will," I bite back and he bursts out laughing, his eyes full of amusement. "Asshole."

"You know my heart's in the right place. You need to man up and tell her that you care about her. Especially now. She's away from home, she's rattled after today's flight, and by now, she's probably wondering how the hell she's going to enjoy her favorite holiday of the year when she's away from home and stuck here." Fuck, I hate it when he's right. But the good thing is, at least he never fails to put me in my place. Even if I am his chief.

"You two have been dancing around each other for months now. It's about time you made your move or let it go." I open my mouth, but he continues before I can even utter a word in my defense. "I get that your friendship is at risk, but on the flip side, what if that connection you have turns into something real? Something worth risking everything for?"

"I'm not like you, Gray. I can't do the picket fence and three bedroom house with a nursery."

"I don't have a nursery, fucker. But you can do it. I know you haven't been looking at anyone else except Harlow. God knows, you used to-"

"I've been focusing on my job. Wilson took a huge chance on me, making me chief at twenty-nine. It's a big deal, and I don't want to let him down," I butt in.

"And dating his daughter?" he questions, looking at me expectantly.

"He said to watch out for her. Just this afternoon, in fact."

"And that wasn't code for 'get her naked and make her happy'?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, which makes me snort with laughter.

"Somehow I doubt it."

"Is she worth it?"

"You fucking know she is," I growl.

"There's your answer. My job is done." He smiles an annoying, shit-eating grin. Trust my best friend to state the obvious and make me see what's been right in front of me the whole fucking time. I want Harlow, more than my job, more than anything.

I stand up and pull my phone from my pocket, typing out a quick text to Harlow before dropping a few bills on the table and nodding at Grayson. He smiles at me and nods back.

"You learn well, young grasshopper," he adds before I turn away.

A well-aimed middle finger has him laughing behind my back as I walk out of the restaurant and toward the front desk.

"Hi. How can I help you?" the night manager asks me when I reach him.

"Hi. I need to get in touch with my colleague to tell her about the latest weather update, but she checked in before us. Can you tell me which room she's in?"