Tandem

TANDEM

Copyright © 2018 Jennifer Ryder

Published by Jennifer Ryder

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please write to the author, addressed Request: Copyright Approval, at [email protected].

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Jennifer Ryder is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs or musicians or artists mentioned in this book.

Cover design: © 2018 Louisa Maggio

Editing by Lauren Clark Editing

Kyle Kingston-Moore has a reputation.

Adrenaline seeker. Commitment-phobe. Gigolo of the skies.

He’s worked tirelessly to make a success out of Sensational Skydives, on occasion providing extra services to deliver the ultimate jump experience. The adrenaline helps him forget the loneliness and the gaping hole left in his heart. When the rush wears off, he’s on the hunt again—a vicious circle of avoidance.

Kalani Hart knows all about avoidance.

Wide-open spaces. Social situations. Uncontrolled environments.

For years, fear has crippled Kalani’s attempts to lead a normal life after a random attack that tore her family apart. Finally, Kalani is on her way to recovery. She knows she needs to face her nightmares, but taking the plunge is easier said than done. When her therapist challenges her to take on skydiving, item number one on her bucket list, Kalani has to decide if she’s truly ready to take charge of her life.

Will one tandem jump with Kyle be the key to Kalani getting her life back, or will they both find themselves stranded in a place where their hearts decide what happens next?

When the adrenaline is this high, anything can happen.

DEDICATION

For those who fight a daily battle inside their own head.

Chapter One

Kyle

THEN

Your shout, Kyle, Scotty calls out from across the small table, his voice competing with the cricket game on the big screen.

I know for a fact it’s not. It’s his. Yeah, wouldn’t want you to open your wallet, Scotty. We’d have to take cover from the swarm of moths, I scoff, and knock back the last few mouthfuls of my schooner.

I’m not tight, he grumbles and runs his fingers through his brown hair.

I shake my head and laugh. You keep telling yourself that, mate. Meanwhile, us boys are gonna have a hard time jamming all that cash of yours in the casket with you. You’re either gonna have to start spending some of it or lose some weight, big boy.

He smirks and rubs his rounded beer belly. But the women go wild for this.

A chuckle rumbles up my throat. Yeah, keep telling yourself that too.

I’ll have a bourbon, Adam says, bumping his fist against my shoulder.

You want another? I ask Isaac. He nods.

Gotta love a boy’s night out. Three out of the four of us have been friends since we were in diapers. Without a shadow of a doubt, the four of us are going home wrecked. One of us will probably piss ourselves. Some things never change.

Mr and Mrs Kingston-Moore would be most unimpressed.

As if I give a fuck right now. I just wish they’d let me get on with my life. They should give up on trying to get me to fit into the mould of the prodigal son.

I walk through the crowded TAB area, dodging the scrunched betting slips littered across the maroon and blue swirled carpet.

A path opens up to the bar, and a pair of worn black cowboy boots. I zero in on a pair of toned, golden–brown legs, then a beautifully rounded arse framed by denim shorts. A black and white checked shirt hugs her small waist. Long caramel locks flow like a waterfall down her back.

Well, hello.

Zombie-like, I walk the path towards her and lean against the bar, brushing her elbow with mine.

Her head swings in my direction. Glistening green eyes regard me, framed with long lashes. A smattering of freckles are dotted across her nose and beneath her eyes.

This girl isn’t from around here.

Sorry, I apologise, opening up the conversation and moving out of her personal space.

A small smile curls at her lips. You sure about that?

I hold up my hand as if taking an oath. Absolutely. Unfortunately, after a few drinks on a Friday, I have difficulty judging personal space.

That so?

I move in that touch closer. Yup.

Cam steps in front of me, eyes wide. I jerk my chin towards him. He nods and sets about fixing the regular round for me and the boys. We’re here practically every Friday. He really should just keep ‘em coming.

You here alone, Freckles?

Yup.

She didn’t even flinch at the nickname I imposed for her. Interesting. And why is that?

Her jaw ticks. My stupid horse ran off.

I scan the pub for someone in fancy dress. Your horse?

My horse of a boyfriend. She takes several long sips on the straw sticking out of the tall glass in front of her which is filled with dark liquid and slices of lemon. She shudders. They do make a strong Long Island Iced Tea here. Correction. Ex-boyfriend.

Uh-huh. I nod. Wanna talk about it?

Nope, she says, toying with her straw. Must be a fresh breakup. Tonight, perhaps? Too early to sweet talk her?

Nah. It’s been a few months. Time to get back in the game.

Okay then. It’s settled.

She plants a hand on her hip and swivels her body to face me. What on earth is settled?

"We don’t talk about him. If I’m honest, I didn’t really wanna talk about him anyway. So instead, we’re talking about you. What’s your name, Freckles?"

Her glossy lips pull to the side. Again, with the Freckles, she says with a challenging raise of her brows.

I lean in close. Well, what is it?

Actually, it’s Maggie. Maggie Tucker. But I like Freckles.

I extend my hand. I’m Kyle. Maggie was my second guess, anyway. Kinda psychic like that.

She laughs, and it’s soft and melodic. Sure it was. Anyway, you look too normal to be a psychic. She casts a curious gaze over my grey T-shirt, takes my hand and runs her finger over my palm. You’re not a tradesman because you don’t have callouses, but you don’t look like you push paper in an office all day, so what do you do for a crust, handsome?

They always wanna know. An occupation is the mark of a man. Something my parents love to harp on about. I’m getting pretty tired of carrying around the weight of their expectations of me.

Pilot, I blurt out, then silently curse myself. I should be honest. Worst-case scenario, she walks away. Pilot-in-training, that is.

A wide smile stretches across her face and a sparkle twinkles in her eyes. You’ve gotta start somewhere. My dad flies an R44 on our property out west. So, what flying school are you going to? What kind of planes are you learning to fly?

I thought we were talking about you, Freckles.

Come on, Kyle! Scotty calls out. Naturally, it’s the thriftiest man in the room that’s impatient.

I wave him over. He can come and get the drinks, because I refuse to move from this very spot. I just know that things are about to get interesting.

Scotty collects the drinks, and Freckles and I retreat to an empty table in the corner of the room, surrounded by the humdrum of patrons passionately cheering on the Australian cricket team. For the first time in my life I don’t care about the score.

No less than thirty minutes later, after listening to her talk about her large extended family and her passion for food, and basking in her smile, I’m certain of one thing.

I’m gonna marry this girl.

And, as an added bonus, Mr and Mrs Kingston-Moore would be most unimpressed with the fact she has no connection to the well-to-doers in Sydney or any strong political party affiliations.

She’s perfect.

***

I can’t believe that only three months after meeting her, I’m doing this.

Lying together in a sweaty heap, I haul Freckles into my arms. This is it. She’s it.

I love her and adore everything about her. And I’ve turned into a romantic sap.

She places a swift kiss to my lips and turns away. I’m just gonna freshen up, she says, her voice husky.

I watch on in admiration as Maggie walks naked to my bathroom and closes the door behind her.

When the coast is clear, I roll over to my side of the bed and open the top drawer. I retrieve the small black box which houses my late grandmother’s diamond ring.

I should be kneeling for this.

I peel the sheets from my body and sit on the edge of the bed. I’m really doing this.

The bathroom door swings open.

With the box in my hand, I panic and drop to one knee in front of her. Pretty sure I’ve just given myself a nice patch of carpet burn.

Kyle? She tilts her head to the side.

Marry me, I blurt out.

What? she gasps and clutches at her naked chest, her perky boobs momentarily stealing my attention. Eye contact, Kyle. Kind of important when proposing to one’s girlfriend.

Listen, I know it’s only been a few months. I shake my head from side to side. I know, it’s crazy, but you’re the one I want.

She grips her bare hip with one hand. Her delay has me squirming. Let me get this straight. You’re naked and asking me to marry you? She cocks her eyebrows, all attitude.

I’d say that’s an accurate assessment. Let’s just say I couldn’t wait another second.

She takes a step closer, her perfect pussy now at eye level. I glance up to meet her teary gaze as her fingers tease my hair. Yes, Kyle. I’ll marry you.

My hand shakes as I slip the ring onto her outstretched finger.

It’s stunning, she chokes out as she stares at the antique ring.

I tug her arm to bring her to kneel with me. Smashing my mouth to hers, I kiss her like I’ve never kissed anyone.

She said yes.

This is happening.

My parents are going to string me up alive, but I’ve never been happier. This is a decision for my future, not for their political careers or for them.

It’s for me.

For love.

How shall we celebrate? I ask.

A quirky smile tickles at her plump lips. We call my father, she says, mischief dancing in her eyes.

My jaw drops. Not quite how I imagined this playing out.

Relax, I’m joking, she teases. Maggie presses her breasts against my labouring chest. Do you have any ideas? She bats her dark lashes.

I grip the hair at her nape and graze my teeth against the flesh beneath her ear. Yeah. You need some more practice screaming out ‘Kingston-Moore’. If you’re gonna be one of us, the name’s gotta fall from your mouth like it’s second nature.

I take my wife-to-be in my arms and make her body tremble. We both climb to the highest of highs and crash together in ecstasy. She screams out my name. I grunt out hers.

Sex has never meant so much to me. I sound like a pussy admitting that, but I’ve never had such a connection during sex. No other woman has given me that.

And I know, I just know that the one woman who does will be with me forever.

***

Kyle

NOW

I sign the daily inspection on the maintenance release for the new Cessna, then head back into the hangar. I make a mental note to remember to do the fifty-hourly oil and filter change. That’s come up way too quick, but given the amount of flight time lately, I guess it’s no surprise.

Not more than ten minutes later, our first booking of the day shows up.

Her spray tan is about a billion shades more orange than it should be. Her white–blonde hair extensions look frail enough to snap off with an incoming breeze. Someone should’ve been a good friend to her and told her that when it comes to makeup, less is more. It looks as if she used a palette knife to apply her foundation, and I’m guessing that maybe she’d had too much coffee when she’d drawn her brows on. She’s a walking Gold Coast Picasso, if ever I’ve seen one.

Oh, hey, Kyle, she says as she fronts up to the reception desk. It’s me, Shae.

This bird has called the office at least three times in the last fortnight to confirm. She’s probably been stalking me on Facebook and any other social media platform she can think of.

If she did, all she would’ve found would be information about my business. Nothing personal. I erased everything years ago. Everything before that day.

The past will never leave me, but I don’t need it on public record. The photos, the messages of sympathy—erasing it was the only way I could move forward.

Taylor slides a waiver form over the reception counter to Goldie, giving her instructions on filling it out.

I head back out to the tarmac.

Special customer, I’m guessing? Dan’s eyes widen.

Another day, another dollar, I reply with a shrug. I’m just giving the customers what they want, even though sometimes I’d be happy to watch another one of my instructors go up, and fly the plane myself. But I started this. And none of my boys finish quite like I do, either.

Dan tugs down his baseball cap by the brim. Tufts of his wiry brown and grey hair stick out above his ears. A lot of greedy customers lately.

We ready to roll? I ask, avoiding his insinuation.

I know there’s been a bit of traffic lately. I’m hyper-fucking-aware of how many customers have got the full bells and whistles treatment. It’s spring. With the warmer weather, it’s like women are coming on heat. And it’s hard to say no. You just never know when you’re about to hit a lull in business. It always quietens down in the cooler months, but expenses are constant.

Apparently, the fantasy of having a daredevil has them weak at the knees and spreading their legs at a moment’s notice. They can’t hand over the cash fast enough. And since Mr and Mrs Kingston-Moore don’t donate to fund my ‘hobby’, as they put it, I need all the cash I can get to pay the bills.

After take-off, it’s time for small talk. Sometimes it feels forced, but it’s a part of the service. It makes the flight up to altitude quicker anyhow, and most of the time I’m actively listening, which apparently is a huge turn-on.

Where are you from? Local? I ask as I check that the carabiners connecting us together are secure.

Oh, I just moved to Sydney from the Gold Coast.

Born in the Goldie? I ask.

I’ve lived there since I was eight, but I’m a country girl at heart. Born in Broken Hill.

I stare at the side of her made-up face and wonder how much peroxide has leaked into her brain over the years. This girl might’ve been born out west, but there isn’t a scrap of country left in her.

She harps on about trying to get into fashion design and that she’s in the process of designing a line of diamanté collars and harnesses for small dogs. She just needs help with a website thingy and cash, and to find where she can get them made because she doesn’t want to ruin her nails with glue. She also needs a business partner who can handle the books because she’s not good with numbers.

Do you know anyone who could help me? she asks, just as we’re getting up to altitude.

You’re beyond help, sweetheart.

Not really in the know when it comes to pet accessories. Skydiving is my thing. So is delivering the ultimate orgasm as you’ll soon find out.

Sounds like she needs to find herself a sugar daddy who can help her bring that fucked up dream into a reality because after her spiel, I can’t imagine any self-respecting business partner would sign up.

Yeah, of course, she says.

Right, time to jump. I move my lips close to the shell of her ear. You ready?

Oh, yeah, she says and hums. I can’t wait to be on the ground already.

Shae squeals as I count down to jump time, and then falls silent as we freefall.

Freedom envelopes me once more as everything is blocked out. Adrenaline spikes through my veins like a fire burning through a detonating cord. I pull the chute. My heart bucks in my chest as we’re thrust back up into the air. I move us gently from side to side as we glide closer to the ground.

I feel like my face was just slapped with a wet fish over and over, she finally says and laughs.

Random, but yeah. I guess you could say that.

She pats the sides of her face and grumbles.

You feel okay? I ask.

Yeah, just wondering if my makeup still looks okay.

Fuck me. She’s this high up, with one of the most spectacular views and that’s what she’s worried about? I’ll never understand some women.

Another reason why I don’t do relationships.

***

After a smooth landing in the DZ we walk over to where Derek is waiting with the van to drive us back to Bankstown Airport. Shae curls her hand around my elbow as we climb into the back, music blaring from the speakers.

Once upon a time, my skin would crawl entertaining the idea of morally bankrupting myself by sleeping with a complete stranger for money. Prostituting myself. I’m under no illusion that that’s what I am.

A cock for hire.

But there are worse jobs out there, and if I hadn’t have listened to Sam, I’d probably be out of business by now.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. That was sooooo amazing. Like, incredible. I can’t wait to get naked though. I feel like my skin is on fire.

I glance up at the rear-vision mirror, hoping Derek didn’t hear that. He’s humming along to the radio, focused on the traffic, so I guess not.

Shae is more than handsy in the car on the way back. I ward off her cock grazes and tell her to be patient. It has her squirming in her seat. I like it.

Before too long, we’re back at the airport. I turn to face her as we walk in the direction of my hangar. My cock hardens, and I know we’re moments away from the finale. So where do you want it? In one of the planes out back or in my office?

I know I probably sound like a bastard, but this isn’t a ‘shower her in roses and take her for a candlelit meal’ kind of deal. She knows exactly what she’s signed up for. I can only hope I can get it up, because sometimes, my head messes with me.

You’re straight into business, aren’t you? she says with a hell annoying giggle followed by a snort.

I wink. "You’re paying me for a service, honey. Not for romance."

Yes, you’re right, I am, she agrees.

Within minutes, the bleached blonde is on all fours on the couch in my office, and I’m driving into her from behind.

Every thrust of my hips is robotic. A means to an end.

I close my eyes and focus on beat of Imma Be by the Black Eyed Peas blaring from my Bluetooth speaker rather than her grunts and mewls.

She pushes her hips back against me, clawing at the sofa cushions with her painted pink talons. Fake. Everything about her is fake.

Harder, big boy. I can take it.

I close my eyes and drive into her, relentless in my quest to get off, to get the job done. She screams. Her legs shake.

Moments later I come hard inside her, gripping her rounded hips tight. I ride out my orgasm. She collapses farther into the couch.

When my raging heartbeat slows, I stand, dispose of the condom, zip up my pants, and sit behind my desk. I crack my knuckles, and then open up my emails.

From the corner of my eye I watch her, dishevelled, gathering her clothes. She takes her time dressing, unbalanced, as if she’s drunk.

Thanks, she says and swallows down. A dark pink hue rushes to her cheeks. That was crazy good.

No problem. Hope you enjoyed yourself, I say. My tone is cold, but I remind myself that this girl is a means to an end. Business.

That’s not entirely true. She’s also a distraction from the life I used to know. From the life that ripped my heart out.

There’s no connection, no deep settling feeling within my soul like I used to experience. Those sensations are long gone. So is the Kyle I used to be.

Now, I’m all about business.

The business of forgetting.

Chapter Two

Kalani

THEN

That spin class was killer, I pant to my bestie as we exit the room filled with high-priced bikes and sweaty bodies.

I’m gonna have a sore saddle for days. Weeks even, Bianca says, walking as if she just de-mounted a horse after riding across the Nullarbor.

I was prepared and bought the best bike shorts money can buy. Bianca didn’t want to spend the cash until she’d done a few sessions because she wanted to see if she liked it first. Tomorrow, I bet she’ll be wishing she’d made the same investment I did.

I dab at the sweat on my brow with my towel. I told you to buy the shorts, B.

Yeah, yeah. She yanks the hairband from her long, sleek burgundy hair and re-does her ponytail. I should’ve listened.

A muscular frame steps into our pathway. Bianca sucks in her cheeks, which brings out her already high cheekbones.

You ladies look like you put in the hard yards today, Frankie, personal trainer and resident pest, says as we walk towards the exit.

Why else would we be here? I say with a shrug of one shoulder.

Frankie’s heated gaze burns into me. When are you gonna come out with me? he asks, falling in step beside us.

Frankie, I growl.

I love it when you say that, Heavens. God, I wish I didn’t tell him the meaning of my name.

I told you. I have a boyfriend.

And I told you that you’re not off the market until he puts a ring on it.

I clench my left hand into a fist, noting the absence of a precious metal band. The engagement is coming. We’ve been together almost three years.

I haven’t missed the hints and secrecy over our anniversary getaway to the Hunter Valley in two weeks. And I know for a fact that Miles has been speaking to Dad. Not that that’s anything out of the ordinary, it’s just that Dad was really weird the other day when I caught him on the phone. It was as if he was sprung chatting to a secret mistress or something, the way a pale wash took over his face.

You have too much Beyoncé on your playlist, I say.

Frankie leans in and moves his mouth close to my ear. I’d die for a little taste of heaven.

What a tool.

Aren’t there some weights in there that need lifting or something? I thumb behind me.

He chuckles. Touché, babe. Touché.

Bianca and I laugh as we walk out into the warm afternoon breeze. We head up through Pitt Street where the walkways are thick with shoppers and commuters, and buskers doing their thing, praying for some spare change to be thrown their way.

He’s such a douche, Bianca says after a few minutes. He’s still on her mind? You should tell him to fuck off.

As much as I’d like to, that’s not how I was raised. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s hot for him. I’m just waiting for her to admit it. I see the way they look at each other.

"I’m pretty sure