He offered to take her bag; she was barely buckled into the backseat before the skids left the cement. They gained speed and distance quickly, the rotors chopping and heaving through the air; the ride smoothed out only slightly as they cleared the storm’s leading edge. When they landed, another man in mirrored shades and a black suit drove her from the landing pad to a house on the beach. Tall grass bent to the east under the oncoming storm’s power. Simone claimed her bag from the trunk and climbed the stairs to the front door. Lily hauled open the door, dressed in a Pucci sheath, her heels dangling from her fingers. Her hair was tousled, sexy, as if Ryan had just had his hands in it, or she’d spent an hour styling it to look like Ryan had just had his hands in it. Shock, then disbelief, then a righteous anger flooded her face. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The first fat raindrops splatted against the weathered deck. “May I come in?”
