Hold on to Paradise

LOUISE ARMSTRONG PUBLISHING

Hold on to Paradise

Sweet Romance

Louise Armstrong

Previously published in the UK by The People's Friend and Linford Romance Library

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Louise Armstrong 2012

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CHAPTER 1

'You can't bump me off the flight. I have written confirmation of my booking,' Sandra Dale cried, trying not to panic as she unfolded her e-ticket with shaking hands and passed it to the Indonesian official. 'Here it is! Bali to Jakarta.'

He glanced at it, then looked at her sadly.

'I'm sorry, ma'am. This is from website only. It is nothing to do with our office here in Bali. We are not receiving your flight confirmation, and we are already full with very important VIP customers. You can be taking the next plane.'

Sandra ignored the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach and caught the scrunchie that was slipping out of her thick tail of curly blonde hair. She knotted it back firmly, and took a calming breath.

'I need to catch this plane. It's the only one that connects with my onward flight to Manchester.'

The official lifted his shoulders in a laid-back Eastern shrug.

My boss will kill me if I'm not back on time, Sandra thought, wishing she'd played it safe and caught the flight before, but then she'd have had to spend a night in Jakarta, and this morning flight had seemed safe enough. It was due to arrive eight hours before her onward flight. She'd wondered how she'd fill in the time! She couldn't be stuck in Bali, she couldn't be. The airport was hot and busy. Her brain felt as if it was turning to jelly and leaking away. She looked pleadingly at the waiting airline official.

'Is there any other way I can get to Jakarta in time?' she begged. 'Another route? On a cargo plane? I don't mind how I travel.'

Her knees trembled beneath her, and she felt very alone.

'Possibly,' he mused, 'but it would be difficult, and you still might be missing your connection. Why not stay in lay-over hotel and we can be flying you out via London tomorrow?'

A smart driver wearing a gold-braided uniform jacket over his Indonesian batik sarong walked up and saluted.

'Mini-bus to hotel, sir,' he reported.

The other passengers who had been bumped off the Jakarta flight surged forward, looking pleased at the idea of a night in a luxury hotel at the airline's expense, but Sandra stubbornly refused to join them.

'I might lose my job if I'm late home,' she explained. 'There must be some way you can get me to Jakarta in time.'

The official softened as he looked into her worried face.

'I will see what I can be doing. Please wait while I am seeing to papers for other passengers.'

Sandra felt hotter than ever as she waited. She hadn't been able to resist the sales patter of a tailor near her hotel. The cream silk designer suit had looked beautiful on the hanger when it arrived late the previous evening, but since she had slipped it on this morning, she had begun to realise that the tailor had skimped on material.

The raw silk skirt felt far too short, although her legs were at least lightly tanned after her holiday, and, despite the heat, she didn't dare unbutton the jacket because the pleated camisole top was cut revealingly low. She tugged down the hem of her skirt and watched out for the airline official. When he returned, he was smiling.

'I have a seat for you on another plane,' he announced, beaming. 'A private plane that will take you to Jakarta in good time for your connection.'

'Thank you! Oh, thank you so much.'

He waved aside her attempts to take the handle of her luggage trolley.

'I am pushing it for you,' he insisted.

Sandra let him. It was impossible to steer and the wheels squeaked horribly. They were delayed at customs because the officials wanted to look through every one of Sandra's matching waterproof oyster-coloured cases. As he searched through the artist's portfolio, one officer said suspiciously, 'This is very expensive luggage.'

'No, it isn't. I had a coupon from my catalogue,' Sandra said. 'It was a bargain, honestly!'

Finally they decided that she wasn't a jewel thief or international spy and waved her through.

It was even hotter out on the Tarmac. The smell of aviation fluid hung in the shimmering heat ripples that rose off the runways. They seemed to walk a long way across the field, but Sandra didn't mind. She was just so glad that the airline had found her a plane - a private plane. That sounded nice. She imagined a handsome pilot in a crisp white shirt tenderly ushering her into an elegant, needle-nosed jet.

Then they turned on to a side strip. Weeds grew here and there, as if this particular area was hardly ever used. The cracked surface of the runway ran up to the chain-link fencing that bounded the airport. Palm trees waved along the perimeter. The sea shone blue behind the fence. Right at the end of the strip stood a plane. Sandra blinked hard and her stomach knotted with tension. She looked around for another machine, but there was only the one plane. She looked up at the official.

'Not that one!' she pleaded.

He shrugged.

'Every plane is passing its airworthiness checks before it can fly. That is the law. It's very safe, OK.'

It didn't look OK. It had the worn-out, beaten-up look of a boxer after six lost matches! As they walked towards it, Sandra saw that one door was a different colour. It had clearly been found in a scrap-yard.

'String!' she groaned. 'You want me to fly in an aeroplane with string on the door handle?'

A tall, male figure appeared around the dusty nose of the plane and sauntered jauntily across the shimmering Tarmac towards them, wiping his hands on an old rag. He took off his aviator sunglasses and nodded to the official. Then he stared boldly at Sandra through almond-shaped brown eyes with slanting lids. She turned her head away from his wicked grin. He was sexy in an unnerving kind of way, but she had no time for that now.

'Excuse me,' she said, ignoring the lazy appreciation in the mechanic's warm brown eyes, 'but do you think I could have a word with the pilot? I'd like to make sure he can meet my onward connection.'

'Ask away, lady,' he drawled in a strong American accent.

'You're the pilot?'

'You're the lady in distress?'

'I wish I wasn't,' she said faintly, her visions of a handsome, uniformed escort sliding away.

He had the mouth-wateringly athletic figure of an all-American football star, but he was wearing a yellow striped scarf tied around his head that made him look like a pirate. Apart from battered cowboy boots, faded denim jeans and a brown suede sleeveless waistcoat, he was wearing nothing else, unless you counted a layer of sun-tanned skin.

She wanted no part of this one. Sandra opened her mouth and was about to apologise for troubling him when he spoke.

'I'm afraid I can't offer to shake hands. Had a little trouble with an oil filter, but that was lucky for you. I should have left an hour ago, but now I can take you on to Jakarta. I'm always there well before the Manchester plane arrives, and it takes a couple of hours to turn it around, so there's plenty of time.'

Sandra stifled her cowardly impulse to flee.

'Can you really get me there on time?'

One eyebrow lifted in the swarthy face.

'You doubt me?'

'Oh, no! Not at all! No, of course not. It's just that...'

Sandra's gaze slid away from his eyes and rested on his body. He must work out. He had incredible muscles. Sunlight played on the diamonds of sweat that glittered on his skin. Sandra hastily lifted her eyes, and this time she noticed a plaited leather thong around his brown neck. A metal tag rested in the hollow just at the base of his tanned throat.

'Have you been in the forces?' she demanded.

A dimple showed briefly in the designer-length stubble that obscured the classically strong chin.

'Ex-Lieutenant Jackson Steele at your service.'

She would feel safer if he were an experienced pilot.

'How much military training have you had?'

'Is this a job interview?' His tone was cool. 'Ma'am, sometime I'd be happy to give you my life history, but right now, I suggest you shift that pretty little body of yours on to my plane. I got four passengers and a goat just longing to get out of here.'

A surge of furious words tangled themselves on Sandra's lips. There were so many things she wanted to tell him that she ended up spluttering like a cappuccino machine and saying none of them. To add to her fury, he was laughing softly, in a way that suggested that he knew how much he was winding her up! But he didn't wait for any kind of response from her.

'OK, let's go, baby,' he announced, striding off towards his plane.

'Let's go,' the airline official agreed, happy that things between his western friends had been settled.

'Wait!' Sandra called.

The official carried on trundling the luggage trolley towards the plane, but Jackson heard her and turned back.

'Problem?'

The blazing heat of the sun was making Sandra feel sticky and confused. Should she trust her life to a pirate and a heap of scrap metal? This situation was wholly beyond her capacity to judge. The pilot strode back towards her. For such a big man, his voice was gentle when he spoke.

'You nervous about flying, lady? Hey, you got no call to worry. Small planes are safer than big ones. Did no-one ever tell you that?'

'How safe are the pilots of small planes?' Sandra muttered in response.

His eyes met hers in bafflement as he said, 'Why should you doubt me?'

'Have you taken a look in