She couldn't have slowed the Spitfire down even if she'd wanted to. In mere moments, she was back over land, hurtling toward the airfield. The other plane was just a yellow dot in the distance. Even Chase had fallen away behind her. The crowds below were just a blur of color as she shot over their heads.
Across the finish line.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“We won,” Connie said yet again, gazing in disbelief at the Rydon Cup. She hadn't put the massive silver trophy down once since Sammy had been forced to grudgingly present it to her. “We won.”
“You won,” Chase corrected, as he rummaged around in her fridge. He couldn't stop grinning. “You're the one who did the hard work. We just made sure the wyvern didn't get in the way. Right, Killian?”
“Hm?” Killian glanced up from his phone. He'd been rather distracted all the way through the awards ceremony. “Oh. Yes. Definitely.”
“Come on, put that thing away. You can't have accumulated that many pressing business emails in a single afternoon.” Chase pulled out a magnum of champagne, brandishing it at them both. “We have some serious celebrating to do!”
Connie blinked at the enormous bottle. “When did you sneak that in here? Come to that, how did you even fit it into my fridge?”
“If there's one thing I'm good at,” Chase said as he unpeeled the foil, “it's getting oversized things into tight places. As you know.”
He was rewarded by the faint flush that crept up Connie's cheeks. “No, if there's one thing you're good at it's jumping the gun. What would you have done with that thing if we hadn't won?”
Chase hefted the magnum, swinging it experimentally. “Well, I suppose I could have clubbed Sammy to death with the empty bottle, after we'd drowned our sorrows. I hadn't really thought about it. I knew you'd win.”
Connie rolled her eyes at him, though a smile pulled at her full lips. “You are impossible. Don't shake it up like that, you idiot, or you won't be able to pour it.”
“Oh, this one's not for pouring,” Chase said cheerfully.
Aiming the bottle at her, he popped the cork. Connie shrieked, holding the Rydon Cup up in defense as he gleefully sprayed her with champagne. For good measure, he blasted Killian too. His cousin swore, hastily shielding his cellphone.
“Chase!” Laughing, Connie flicked her dripping hair out of her face. Her eyes sparkled, finally free of all worry and fear. Privately, Chase vowed to shower her in champagne every day, if it made her smile like that. “What a waste of good booze.”
Holding the still-foaming bottle out to one side, Chase slipped his other arm around her. “I didn't say I was going to let it go to waste.”
Regardless of the Rydon Cup digging into his abdomen, he drew her close. He dropped his head to delicately lick a drop of champagne from her neck. Connie's breath hitched as he followed the crisp, fragrant trail up her neck.
The silver trophy trapped between the two of them warmed, absorbing the heat of their bodies. He flicked his tongue teasingly against her soft lips. They parted willingly for him, allowing him to explore her warm mouth. The sweetness of her kiss was more intoxicating than the champagne.
Killian cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Did you say there was another bottle of that?”
Chase could have happily murdered his cousin as Connie jerked away from him, blushing. “Uh, sorry. Um. Yes, we should all celebrate. Together.” She looked down at her wet flight suit, which was clinging to her erect nipples, and her blush deepened. “I'm just going to go shower and put on some dry things.”
*Don't you have some spreadsheets to fill in or something?* Chase telepathically snapped at his cousin, as Connie disappeared into the bedroom.
Killian spread his hands apologetically. *Sorry, but I don't think it's a good idea to leave you alone right now. Sammy is probably in a blood-frenzy of rage tonight, and the wyvern is still out there. I want to watch your back until we know everything's blown over.*
Chase knew his cousin was only acting out of concern for his safety. His pegasus still itched to kick Killian over the horizon. *Killian, in the nicest possible way… fuck off. I'll be fine, trust—*
A loud ringing sound made them both jump. Killian stared in confusion at his silent phone for a moment, then shrugged. “Not mine. You?”
Chase had forgotten he was carrying his work cellphone. He was so accustomed to having to be on call, he'd absent-mindedly picked it up that morning even though he'd resigned from being a firefighter. Now he rummaged in his pocket, pulling it out. “Griff? What's up?”
“We're at an incident up in Falmer.” Griff's thickened Scottish burr betrayed his concern. “An abandoned apartment block, right at the edge of the city. We think squatters must have accidentally set fire to the place. The caller said she was trapped inside, but Ash and Dai have been in there for ten minutes now and they still haven't found her. It's a real mess in there.”
“Shit.” In the background, Chase could hear the familiar sing-song shriek of the fire engine. “Hang on, what are you doing on site instead of in the control room?”
“Pretending to be you,” Griff said, a touch acidly. “I know you said you were quitting, but Commander Ash hasn't put the paperwork in yet, hoping that you'll change your mind. I volunteered to cover your shift.”
“You're on active duty again?” Chase had missed Griff's solid, reliable presence on the team. It had never been quite the same without him.
“Not officially. It's just one of my better days. I can drive a truck, at least. But I can't find people, not like you can. Chase, we really need you.”