His eyes went suspiciously bright and he brought her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm. “You humble me right to the core. You know that? And the truth is, kids might be a part of this adventure I shouldn’t miss.”

Her heart was going to burst right out of her chest. “Joe.”

Leaning in, he nipped at her jaw, her ear. “In fact…” he murmured.

Her pulse raced, her eyes drifted closed. “Let’s begin practicing?”

“I thought you’d never ask…”

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis has written over four dozen romance novels, including her acclaimed sexy contemporary series set in Lucky Harbor. The RITA Award–winner and 3-time National Readers Choice Award–winner makes her home in a small town in the Sierras. You can find Jill’s award-winning books wherever romances are sold and visit her website for a complete book list and daily blog detailing her city-girl-living-in-the-mountains adventures.

You can learn more at:

JillShalvis.com

Twitter @jillshalvis

Facebook.com/jillshalvis

Raised as an army brat, bush pilot Lyndie Anderson has always been independent—and alone. Yet when her cargo is a drop-dead gorgeous fireman, Lyndie suddenly feels a burning desire—one that may ground her for the first time in her life.

Please see the next page for an excerpt from White Heat.

Chapter 1

To Lyndie Anderson, nothing beat being in the cockpit. With the wind beneath her wings and her Cessna’s tank full to the brim, the rest of the world fell away and ceased to exist.

Not that the world noticed. She could fall off the planet itself and not a ripple would be felt.

She liked it that way.

No ties, her grandfather had always told her. Ties held one down. Ties hampered a person’s freedom.

Lyndie wouldn’t know if that was true or not, as the last of her own personal ties—her grandfather, a staunch lifer in the military—was gone now.

Kick ass.

That had been his motto, his mantra. He’d taught it to her on her first day of kindergarten, when she’d stood before her military elementary school, quaking in her boots.

He’d loved nothing more than to have her repeat it back to him. At five years old, she’d stared out of the corner of her eye at the school, where she could see other little girls dressed in their pretty dresses and shiny shoes and ribbons. They all danced their way through the front door with nary a look back at their misty-gazed mothers, while the camouflage-clad Lyndie had suddenly wanted to cling to the man no one else had ever dared to cling to.

“Kick ass,” she’d repeated to him softly.

“What?” Her grandfather had curved a hand around his ear and frowned. “Can’t hear that pansy whisper. Speak up, girl.”