It was supposed to be a quick trip—my very first flight as the private, personal pilot for tech billionaire Linus Magnus Thorvaldsen. Who is not, incidentally, anywhere near as much of a douchebag as I’d anticipated. I was supposed to be career Navy, third generation. As an elite pilot, I’ve been through a lot of crazy experiences, more than a few of them traumatic. One in particular, which left me so messed up mentally, emotionally, and physically that I left the Navy and went private, which is a mortal sin in my family.
I was supposed to fly my new boss’s newest hire—an ambitious young man with the ridiculously sexy name Jax Badd—from his home in Ketchikan to Thorvaldsen’s mysterious research facility up in Nome, a journey of over a thousand miles. It should have been simple: a couple days’ flight up north, drop my charge at his new digs for a six-month contract, and then back to Ketchikan. Easy!
Two problems.
One, Jax Badd is sinfully, distractingly hot and problematically wonderful, which seriously messes with my emotional detachment and objectivity. He’s kind and understanding, and he seems to see through my carefully built and impenetrable emotional armor. He’s a lot of good things, and good to look at, and I don’t know how long I can resist that.
Two, an accident leaves us stranded in the cold, wild, rugged, and unforgiving wilderness of the Alaskan bush, hundreds of miles from anyone or anything, with very little by way of supplies and only each other and ourselves to rely on for survival and warmth.
Also, bears.
It turns out survival is just the beginning of this adventure with Jax.
