Some Kind of Wonderful Read online

  On the ground his life was a dead end with no way out, but in the air he saw more than sunshine and fluffy clouds beyond the horizon. He saw a world without limits, full of possibilities.

  He saw hope.

  With the aircraft he achieved a depth of understanding he’d never reached with another human being.

  A social worker had once told him the only thing he was good at was screwing up. Given that she’d caught him breaking into her office to make his own additions to the case file she had on him, he hadn’t disagreed. He would even have considered it a fair summary of his talents. Until he’d put his hands on the controls of a plane. Then he’d known immediately there was something else he was good at.

  From that moment on, flying was the only thing that mattered.

  Flying satisfied his need for adventure and excitement and it leveled the field. Up in the air, he was equal to anyone. Not just equal, superior. Most times passengers didn’t speak to the pilot so he did what he loved and some stupid fucker with more money than sense paid him to do it.

  For the first time in his life, he’d pushed himself. Challenged himself.

  He’d dragged all the information he could from Philip and thirsted for more. Even when Philip had taken him in and given him a home, he’d still thirsted. After spending his formative years trapped and helpless, something in him needed to be free. Why stay in Maine when there was a whole world out there waiting to be discovered?

  He’d flown in places most pilots chose to avoid, places with more land than people, including remote parts of Alaska with no runway and enough ice to freeze a plane out of the sky, until finally he’d returned to the island that on a good day he almost regarded as home.

  His reputation as a pilot was such that he’d immediately been offered a job by Maine Island Air, the company that flew freight and passengers around the islands.

  Zach didn’t want that life.

  To him, flying was freedom. He didn’t want his days dictated by someone else’s schedule and demands and anyway, thanks to a stroke of luck and his instinct to live life closer to the edge than most people, he now owned his own plane.

  So instead of taking the job, he’d used that sharp brain Philip had identified and noticed the number of super-wealthy individuals who owned property around Penobscot Bay. Those people flew into Boston on their Citation or Gulfstream and then needed something private and personal to transport them onward to their beach house or yacht. They needed a pilot skilled enough to land anywhere, on land or sea.

  For a fee that made him laugh out loud, Zach offered that service.

  Personal?

  Yeah, he made it personal. Hell, he offered bottles of chilled champagne and caviar on silver platters if that’s what they wanted, although he didn’t recommend it because with the crosswinds across the bay the one thing he couldn’t guarantee was a bump-free ride.

  It never ceased to amaze him how much people were willing to pay for the privilege of picking the time, the place and, most importantly of all, exclusivity. For one flight ferrying a rich banker and his family from their private jet to their private island, he made enough to ensure he didn’t have to work for the next month.

  It was robbery, but for once he was on the right side of the law.

  He picked and chose the jobs he took and had sufficient funds to play with projects that interested him.

  If all the people who had written him off could see him now, they’d choke on their good intentions.

  Looking back, he always divided his life into two parts. Before flying and after flying. Before flying was a time he chose to forget, a time when his world had been small and terrifying with no escape. After flying—after flying was the world he chose to live in now, and it was a world he loved.

  Zach smiled as he completed his preflight check.

  It was a bright sunny summer morning in Maine and today the man bankrolling his lifestyle was Nik Zervakis, a Greek-American billionaire who was landing in Logan and wanted one of his female guests flown direct to Puffin Island. Which meant that in exchange for flying one rich pampered princess across the bay, Zach was going to make an obscene amount of money.

  The businessman in him was satisfied.

  The badass was laughing his head off.

  “I WANT TO fly this way for the rest of my life.” Cocooned by the feather-soft leather seat of the Gulfstream, Brittany closed her eyes. “No more tedious queues, no more screaming toddlers wriggling in the seat next to me, no more lost baggage and no more trying not to breathe while strangers cough all over you. Push Lily out of the window, Nik, and marry me instead. We can make it work, I know we can. You own four properties—we don’t even need to see each other. You can live in San Francisco. I can live in New York.”

  Bronzed, handsome and filthy rich, Nik Zervakis was scrolling through his emails with one hand while with the other he kept a possessive hold on Lily.

  It made Brittany smile to see them together.

  She was sharp enough to know that her own laughably brief experience of marriage colored her judgment and careful enough not to apply that judgment to others. Even she had to admit she’d never met two people more perfect for each other than Nik and Lily. And if a small part of her felt wistful, she chose to ignore it.

  Lily almost hummed with contentment. “You love your independence.”

  “You’re right, I do. And even a Greek-American billionaire with a private jet isn’t going to persuade me to give it up. All the same—” She glanced around at luxury living and shook her head in disbelief. “You’ve won the lottery, Lil.”

  “I know.” Her friend smiled up at the man who had swept her off her feet and he lowered his head and delivered a lingering kiss to her mouth.

  Brittany was fascinated by the sight of the notoriously ruthless business tycoon softened to the consistency of butter by her sweet-natured friend. There was no doubt in her mind that they shared something deep and special.

  “Hey, you need to watch out—you’ve turned into a pushover, Zervakis. If your competitors find out, your shares will plummet. Economies will shatter.”

  Without shifting his attention from Lily’s mouth, Nik made a rude gesture in her direction and Brittany grinned.

  “Don’t mind me. You guys go ahead and make a baby right here and now. I’ll look the other way.”

  Lily pulled away with a murmur of embarrassment. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. It was decent of you to give me a lift. The good news is I’m getting off at this stop and the two of you can rip each other’s clothes off all the way to New York.”

  “We’re spending a few days in Boston first. Nik’s meeting isn’t until Tuesday, so if you need anything, call. Then we’ll be in New York for a few days and I’ve arranged to meet up with Skylar.” Lily touched her fingers to the necklace at her throat and her gaze slid briefly to Nik’s. “We’re going to her exhibition in London in December. Will you be there?”

  Brittany knew that the necklace, one of Skylar’s exclusive pieces, retailed for more than she’d earn in a year as an archaeologist.

  She opened her mouth to remind her friend that not everyone had access to a private jet and a bottomless bank account, but then remembered that such a response was likely to illicit all sorts of generous offers from Lily and Nik, and they’d already done more than enough for her. “Not sure. I have some big decisions to make. Life plans.” Which was a more impressive way of saying she didn’t have a clue what she was going to do next. “But I’ll be in touch. That’s if you can stop kissing for long enough to pick up a text.”

  As the plane taxied to a stop, Lily eased herself out of Nik’s possessive grasp and gathered together Brittany’s belongings. “No, don’t move. It’s important that you don’t use your hand. You have to rest that wrist. Doctor’s orders.”

  “I’m not good with orders.”

  “We’ve been roommates all summer. I know exactly how bad you are with orders, but, Brittany, it was a nasty break. You fe
ll awkwardly.”

  “Yeah, I know. So embarrassing. I’d kick myself, except with my current luck I’d probably break an ankle doing it.”

  Lily gave her a hug. “You’re injured. You have to look after yourself.”

  “I can look after myself.” Not for a moment did she reveal how much it cost her simply to drag her purse from under the seat and slide it over her shoulder. Her left shoulder. The movement felt awkward and unnatural. It wasn’t until she’d lost the use of her right hand that she’d realized how much she depended on it. Apparently she didn’t do much with the left side of her body.

  Why hadn’t she looked where she was going? She’d been on archaeological digs all over the world and never gotten so much as a scratch and now she had a broken wrist, and all because she’d been laughing so hard she’d fallen into the trench she’d been excavating moments earlier.

  Living that one down was going to take her through to the next ice age.

  Rolling her eyes, she reached for her backpack only to find Nik had already placed it on the seat.

  “My staff will unload your case. Your onward flight is all arranged. If you encounter any problems, call my cell. I’ll have my people sort it out.”

  My people.

  She smiled at him, this man who ran a small empire and was responsible for the employment of so many. He was sophisticated and intelligent. She’d enjoyed spending time with him. If he hadn’t fallen in love with her friend, she might have been tempted to sample more than the delights of his conversation. She was sure the hard, honed physique beneath the expensive clothes would be well worth exploring. But unlike Lily, she would have handed him back at the end of the encounter.

  She wasn’t interested in permanence, either in her relationships or where she lived. Better to move on, as humans had done for centuries.

  She took the card he handed her. “Are you sure this flight to Puffin Island is all arranged? I can easily get a cab and take the ferry. It’s what I usually do. Cram in with the rest of humanity.”

  “With a broken wrist? No.” Nik was polite but firm. “A friend of mine owns a place in Bar Harbor and he has a pilot he uses for transfers to his yacht.”

  “Of course he does. Because how else would you get from your beach home to your yacht? It’s a problem I’ve often pondered.” She made a joke of it, and wondered if he even realized how different his world was from most people’s. “Just as long as your pilot isn’t expecting to drop me at my yacht. I do own a kayak, but I’m guessing that doesn’t count.”

  Lily handed her the hat she’d tucked under the seat. “You have a beach house. Castaway Cottage. After everything you’ve told me about it, I’m determined that Nik and I are going to visit one day.”

  “I hope you do.” Brittany wondered what Nik, who owned homes in San Francisco, New York, London and Greece, would make of her simple beach house and then shrugged away the thought. It was home and she loved it. And simple or not, it was worth a lot of money. She’d had numerous offers from people willing to pay for the privilege of living in the relative seclusion of Shell Bay on the much-sought-after Puffin Island.

  But Brittany had never considered selling.

  Castaway Cottage was special to her.

  True, there had been times growing up when the community on Puffin Island had felt suffocating, but whenever she returned home after long absences she discovered how much she missed it. After the relentless summer heat of Greece it would be bliss to feel the cool breeze on her face and fall asleep listening to the crash of the surf. She wanted to taste lobster and pick blueberries. Most of all she wanted to see her two closest friends.

  Emily was now living on the island and Skylar was only a short flight away in Manhattan.

  “How will you manage?” Lily was still fussing. “How are you going to cook and care for yourself? You struggled when you tried to change midflight.”

  Halfway across the Atlantic Brittany had roused herself enough to use the sleek bathroom in the Gulfstream and change into clean shorts and a simple strap top. Lily, ever sensitive, had appeared and offered to brush and braid her hair. It drove Brittany crazy that she couldn’t do it herself and she was forced to admit that Lily had a point.

  How was she going to manage with just one hand? Cook? Shower?

  For someone as independent as her, the next few weeks were going to be frustrating.

  “I’ll be fine. I can eat cereal from the packet with my left hand.”

  “Do you need me to come and stay for a while?” Lily’s warmth and generosity was one of the many reasons Brittany loved her. They’d been working together on the same project for several months in Greece, sharing a small airless bedroom. Brittany knew that, living in such close quarters, it was Lily’s patience that had prevented irritation arising. And it was that sweet nature that had snared the notoriously tough Nik Zervakis, who had the sense to know when he’d struck gold and put an enormous diamond on Lily’s finger before anyone else could.

  “You need to start your new life. And if there’s one thing there’s plenty of on Puffin Island, it’s help. My friend Emily is living in the cottage right now so I’ll be fine. Go and have fun. But invite me to the wedding.”

  Lily’s face lit up like a lightbulb. “Of course. We were thinking we might get married next summer in Greece. I want Nik’s family to be there. I don’t have family of my own so I’ve adopted his.”

  Brittany smiled. Of all the benefits that came from marrying a shockingly wealthy man, the thing her friend coveted most was not the size of his wallet or his powerful connections but his family.

  “I might be there next summer,” she said. “I haven’t decided. My research post has finished so I need to think about next steps. And whatever step I take, I need to do it without breaking my wrist again. Stay in touch.” She moved to the front of the plane. A small part of her envied her friend. Not the wealth, although money was always useful of course. No, what she envied was the connection Lily had with Nik. The closeness. Their relationship had been a whirlwind, but no one who saw them could possibly believe what they shared was anything other than deep, genuine and long lasting. Already their depth of understanding and mutual appreciation was rooted deep.

  She’d never had that.

  Even in her short, ill-fated marriage, she’d never had emotional intimacy.

  Giving her friends a final farewell hug, she left the luxury of the plane and made her way to the Cessna seaplane that would take her direct to Puffin Island.

  She was relieved to have been spared the ferry. At this time of year it would be crowded with day-trippers and summer visitors keen to enjoy all that Puffin Island had to offer. In recent years the island had attracted a colorful crowd—artists, musicians, wealthy folk looking for an exclusive retreat that still offered the trappings of civilization.

  Brittany was happy to use Wi-Fi when it was available, but equally happy when it wasn’t. To her, luxury was a word that could as easily be applied to a night sleeping in the desert under a canopy of stars as it could to a night in a five-star hotel sleeping in silk sheets. Luxury was the freedom to explore and indulge her adventurous spirit.

  In pursuit of that adventure, she’d traveled the world. After leaving the United States, she’d moved to the UK and done her masters and then her doctorate. During her time she’d followed in the footsteps of Hiram Bingham and trekked the Inca trail to the lost city of Machu Picchu, joined excavations in Egypt and virtually adopted Greece as her second home. But Maine—Maine was her first home and always would be.

  Her heart was here. Her roots. Her history.

  As an archaeologist, she was someone who knew the importance of roots and history.

  With a smile of anticipation, she pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Emily, who had been using Castaway Cottage over the summer.

  I’m at Logan. Can’t wait to catch up.

  It was ironic that she’d offered Emily the sanctuary of the cottage when Emily was in trouble, and now Brittan
y was in trouble herself.

  That turn of events had been unexpected.

  Brittany slid her phone back into her pocket and glanced at her wrist. The plaster felt hot and heavy against her skin. The restriction of movement frustrated her. Still, it could be worse. It was nothing a few weeks of rest wouldn’t heal, and it would give her time to work out what she wanted to do next. Should she apply for a tenure-track faculty job in the United States? Or maybe return to Cambridge where she’d spent so many happy years, or even Greece? She loved everything about the island of Crete. The history, the climate, the food, the people.

  She’d spent the early part of the summer flirting with Spyros, a local archaeologist who had been part of the team from Athens. He’d made it clear he was up for more than flirtation, but at the time she’d chosen to keep their relationship platonic. Now she was wondering if that had been a mistake. She’d enjoyed their friendship. He was attractive and charming.

  Maybe she should invite him over for a few weeks. Maybe she’d take their relationship a step beyond flirtation. No further, of course. She never went further.

  She was pondering her options as she walked to the Cessna that was to be her transport to the island.

  Usually when she returned home she took the Captain Hook, the ferry that did the trip between Puffin Island and the mainland three times a day. She’d grown up listening to the boom of the horn and the clatter of cars as they drove off the ramp onto the road that led from the harbor. Once or twice over the years she’d used the services of Maine Island Air, the company that flew cargo, locals and tourists between the islands of Penobscot Bay. On those occasions she often found herself wedged between the mail and several grocery orders.

  This experience was going to be different.

  For once, she was arriving in style.

  Imagining what the residents of Puffin Island would say when word got around that she’d arrived on a private plane, Brittany smiled to herself. Dan, who worked up at the airstrip, would tell his wife, Angie, who would mention it in Harbor Stores or the Ocean Club, the favorite watering hole of the locals. From there it would travel across the island faster than the wind blew. It was a joke on Puffin Island that gossip traveled faster than the internet. It was certainly more reliable. There were times when the lack of privacy drove her insane but other times when it had proved useful, like recently when the islanders had closed ranks to protect Emily from trouble.