{"product_id":"love-in-plane-sight-isbn-9780593815687","title":"Love in Plane Sight","description":"\u003cb\u003eWith her brother’s grumpy best friend—and her longtime nemesis—as Beth’s flight instructor, her pilot lessons could be a \u003ci\u003eplane\u003c\/i\u003e disaster or their first-class ticket to forever.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eMayday. Mayday. Engine failure.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen flying with George Bunsen, the last thing Beth Lundberg wants is to be horny in the cockpit. But when her first ride-along dives toward disaster, the perpetually stoic George is forced to execute a skillful emergency landing, and Beth is horrified to find herself with an adrenaline-fueled crush on the pilot. She’s even more shocked when her brother’s best friend offers her discounted flight lessons—possibly out of guilt for almost killing them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd despite George’s annoying habit of departing any room the moment Beth enters, she really wants to accept. No matter that it’s an egregiously expensive hobby, or that her waitressing wages go right toward her mother’s medical bills, or that she’s already in debt up to her eyebrows. Flying is Beth’s dream, and she could use her private license to earn \u003ci\u003ereal\u003c\/i\u003e money.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe more time they spend navigating the sky, the more the turbulence between George and Beth dissipates. But Beth has seen the burning wreckage that comes from mixing business with pleasure—plus, she’s been keeping a secret that, once revealed, will send all her relationships into a tailspin. Can she really take a risk on romance when her pilot career isn’t even off the ground?\u003cb\u003ePraise for Lauren Connolly\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eLove in Plane Sight\u003c\/i\u003e is a hilarious, charming love story with so much heart. Lauren Connolly's writing soars above the clouds by making me laugh out loud on one page, swoon on the next, then make my heart hurt on the one after that. Nobody writes heartfelt romcoms like Lauren.\"—Julie Olivia, \u003ci\u003eUSA Today \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eIf It Makes You Happy\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Lauren's writing is spellbinding and her books are unputdownable! I always fall in love with her characters.\"—\u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author Penny Reid\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“P.S: I Hate You \u003c\/i\u003emade me laugh, cry, smile, and everything in between. Through gut-wrenching loss, Lauren Connolly crafted a heartwarming story of healing and finding love when you least expect it—but when you need it most. This book had me hooked from page one, and now I’ll be hooked on Lauren’s books for life!”—Jo Segura,\u003ci\u003e USA Today \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eTemple of Swoon\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A poignant exploration of the ways love and loss intertwine, \u003ci\u003ePS: I Hate You\u003c\/i\u003e has everything I look for in a great read. It's as emotional as it is laugh-out-loud funny, with a sizzling second chance romance at the heart of the story. I devoured this in one sitting, totally wrapped up in Maddie and Dom's shared history and their winding path back to one another.\" —Bridget Morrissey, author of \u003ci\u003eThat Summer Feeling\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Seamlessly blending witty one-liners with heartstring-tugging prose, Connolly delivers not just a story, but a profound emotional experience.\"—Livy Hart, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Great Dating Fake Off \u003c\/i\u003eon \u003ci\u003ePS: I Hate You\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"[An] enjoyable high-flying romance.\"—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“As Maddie learns the importance of letting grief out and letting love in, moments of sadness, humor, and slow-burning sexual tension make \u003ci\u003ePS: I Hate You\u003c\/i\u003e a heartbreaking and heartwarming enemies-to-lovers romance.”—\u003ci\u003eShelf Awareness\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This touching and humorous enemies-to-lovers contemporary from Connolly argues for the power of love to comfort and heal even in life’s bleakest moments....The balance of irreverent humor and heartfelt slow-burn chemistry make this a sweet and memorable story of found family. Readers are sure to be moved.\"—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly \u003c\/i\u003eon\u003ci\u003e PS: I Hate You\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Lauren] Connolly doesn’t shy away from the real-life concerns that affect her characters, including physical and mental illness and estranged family. This slow-burn romance delivers, and the chemistry between two supporting characters will have readers wanting a sequel.\"—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eLauren Connolly \u003c\/b\u003eis an award-winning author of contemporary and magical romance stories. She’s lived among mountains, next to lakes, and in imaginary worlds. Lauren can never seem to stay in one place for too long, but trust that wherever she’s residing there is a dog who thinks he’s a troll, twin cats hiding in the couch, and bookshelves bursting with stories written by the authors she loves.Chapter\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis is my first time in a single-engine airplane, but I'm almost certain the propeller isn't supposed to stop moving in the middle of the flight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd the pilot isn't supposed to mutter, \"Fucking hell.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Is something wrong?\" My voice sounds far away, fed back to me through the borrowed headset I fit over my ears before we took off.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe pilot's hands are busy on the controls, and he ignores my question.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat's George Bunsen's normal approach to interacting with me, but I would hope an emergency might warrant a brief break from his cold shoulder. And he can't claim not to have heard me. Not only does my microphone transmit my words directly to him, but with the propeller gone still, the world around us is suddenly, jarringly quiet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This is a joke, right? You're messing with me.\" Which, coincidentally, is exactly what I said to my half-brother when he informed me about this outing. Shawn discovered my pilot's license study materials a few weeks ago and took it upon himself to arrange this one-on-one flight. As an early birthday gift, he insisted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd this would have been a perfectly thoughtful present if the pilot and I didn't hate each other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOkay . . . \"hate\" might be a strong word. \"Intensely dislike for reasons we have never voiced because his are ridiculous and mine are valid\" sounds more accurate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI wonder what Shawn threatened George with to make him agree to this? I guess a lifetime of friendship gives a man a lot of dirt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut back to the plane I'm in that is no longer working.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor a brief, blissful moment in time, I convince myself that I was right and the aloof George Bunsen has a secret, dark sense of humor. He'll switch the propeller back on, laugh at the gullible flying-newbie, and go back to pretending I'm as bothersome as a stain on the upholstery.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We're good, right?\" I gasp, still waiting on an answer from the aggravating man. \"This is normal?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAgain, George doesn't respond to me as one of his hands tightly grips the yoke and the other moves with determination on the knobs of a radio that looks completely foreign to me. I thought I had a firm grasp of what a Cessna 172 instrument panel would look like. I know enough to see the oil pressure gauge is on zero, as is the engine RPM. But my petrified brain cannot figure out what those readings mean.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen George speaks, it's to the local airport tower, the words tinny but clear in my headset.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Mayday. Mayday. Engine failure.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's failing?\" Blood roars in my ears, drowning out the conversation happening between George and people outside this plane. People safe on solid ground where they don't need an engine to work to keep them alive.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy mouth opens again, ready to babble out a string of panicked questions, but I snap my jaw shut when I realize George is still talking, giving them all of our information combined with jargon I half understand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDon't distract him! He needs to concentrate!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe guy in charge of our safety can't comfort me, so I try to soothe myself, double-checking the clasp of my seat belt is latched before wrapping my arms tight around my body , my normally pale knuckles turning bone white with my grip. I breathe deep and think calming thoughts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou're not going to die today. You will land safely. You will not spend the last moments of your life with a man who wishes you never existed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGeorge Bunsen has never been subtle about his disdain toward me. He has a habit of leaving rooms I enter and avoiding my gaze when we're forced to interact, which is why I was shocked he agreed to take me up in his plane at all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut there's no saying no to Shawn Newton.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShawn and George have been friends since childhood, their fathers two heads of a luxury transportation company. They formed a bond before I even knew I had a brother. I've always lived with my mother instead of the father Shawn and I share.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe few interactions I've had with George before today gave me the undeniable knowledge that the man finds me to be a waste of space. An annoying gnat that occasionally hovers around his best friend.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot someone he'd want to spend a couple hours with in the compact quarters of a cockpit. Especially not when he's lost control of said cockpit and everything attached to it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe lack of plane sounds is eerie. The rumbling roar of the engine quieted at the same time the propeller slowed. The cacophonous noise and vibrations are simply gone. There's a stillness, as if we're suspended, and I mainly know we're moving-that we're descending-from the weightless lift in my stomach.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShouldn't there be alarms blaring? Lights flashing? Some mechanical indication that this is a big freaking emergency?!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNeeding something to distract myself, I watch George work.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe man is tense beside me, but he's not frozen in panic. He holds the controls in a firm grip as he steers what is now basically a glider. His voice is urgent but steady as he continues to communicate with people on the ground. Every muscle in his body appears strung tight and ready for action, his thighs two taut cannons of muscle that I could almost believe capable of launching us to safety.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf I wasn't struggling against sheer panic, I might admire this version of my brother's friend.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThough, probably not. Because I still intensely dislike him and do not want his irritatingly handsome, Jason Statham-looking face to be the last thing I see before I plummet to my death.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We're too far from the airport,\" he says. \"We're going to land on the highway.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What?\" I yelp, then clap my hand over my mouth as the tower responds.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhy did I ever want to fly an airplane? The silently screamed question forms from my terror and not the logical part of my brain that knows emergencies like this are rare. Moments before everything went wrong, I'd been euphoric. Even with a pilot grumpier than a trucker without coffee, I couldn't stop smiling. This flight teased me with a dream I'd harbored since I was seventeen years old.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow everything is a nightmare.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI know it's a bad idea, but I glance out the window anyway. I mean the glass is right there. It's kind of hard not to peek at my impending doom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBefore the engine cut off, the cars beneath us were smaller than ants, barely discernible on the tangle of roads. Now they're the size of raisins, slowly approaching almonds. Soon I'm going to run out of trail mix large enough to compare them to. I can make out colors but not the horrified faces of drivers who soon are going to have to share a lane with an airplane.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLanding on a road is good, I try to convince myself. Better than water. We'd have to fight our way out of a sinking plane. I can't swim in jeans!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Beth.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt the sound of my name, I tear my mind away from thoughts of fighting for my life in wet denim. I meet George's stare, his gray eyes holding mine, unrelenting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'm sorry,\" he says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat the hell?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow I'm not only panicked, I'm pissed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Don't apologize,\" I snap through the headset. \"If you kill me, Shawn will kill you.\" The logic doesn't add up too well because there's not exactly a scenario in which I perish but George walks away from this. But I keep going. \"You know how to fly a plane. So fly it. Land us on the highway. Sooner rather than later, please.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecause I'm about to pee my pants in fear, and I really don't want to end my life covered in urine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGeorge gives me a short nod, refocusing on the space in front of us. The next five minutes are not the worst of my life, but they're definitely the most intense. I sit helpless in the copilot seat of a plane I wish I knew how to fly while relying on a man who doesn't like me to save my life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd the ground keeps getting closer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Here we go,\" George grits through his teeth. I try not to whimper, but the cars and trucks are unnervingly close.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDo we have to? I have the sudden urge to ask him. Can't we just glide for a little longer?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut without a working engine, the only way is down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI want to close my eyes, but I keep them open. If this is the end of my life, I should see the finale, right?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOncoming traffic finally realizes we're not just a low flier, and they veer off to the shoulder. Who knows what's happening with traffic flowing the same direction we are?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIs there a car underneath us?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHopefully they have a sunroof.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe wings wobble on a stray air current, and I yelp.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePlease don't let me die today. I want more time. I haven't done anything yet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Come on,\" George grunts. The aircraft trembles, then straightens. \"Hold right there. That's a good girl.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy mind stutters as his words feed to me through the headset.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIs this man talking dirty to his plane?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOr am I getting horny on the verge of death?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhatever. I don't care if George gets kinky with his aircraft as long as he can land it without smashing us to pieces. My fingers press into my sides, my nails digging through my shirt into my skin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd just when I think I might tear my own flesh off to relieve the tension of the moment, there's a squeak of wheels on pavement and the plane gives a dramatic bounce.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOnce more.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAgain.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen the ride smooths out, and we're rolling down a highway, cars pulled off to the side of the road, drivers gaping at us as we pass.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe . . . landed?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs my brain tries to reorient to the fact that today is not the last day of my life, George manages to use the final bit of momentum to steer us toward the shoulder, where we eventually rumble to a stop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEverything goes still. All I can hear is the thrumming pulse in my ears and the panting breath dragging in and out of my lungs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA set of large hands carefully removes my headset, and I feel like I've been underwater for a while and my head just breached the surface. Callused palms cup my cheeks, turning my face until all I can see is George. George with his five-o'clock shadow and closely shaved head. George with his silver eyes that currently have pupils so wide I'm tempted to ask if he's on something. And if he's willing to share because, holy hell, I need a medical-grade substance to ease my lingering panic.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You're on the ground,\" he says, his voice solid enough to hold onto. \"It's over.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We're alive?\" I have to be, right? The afterlife wouldn't force me into an enclosed space with an arrogant d-bag unless I'd been a terrible person, and I'm pretty sure I've been a semi-decent person for most of my life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGeorge nods, using his thumbs to push back the sweaty hair sticking to the sides of my face. The crimson strands are so damp they've darkened to a deep burgundy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We're alive,\" he confirms. \"And we need to get out of the plane. Now.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Is it going to explode?\" I rasp the question, my throat raw as if I've been screaming.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere's a flicker in his expression, but I'm too off-balance  to try to decipher it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Unlikely. But if traffic picks up again, they might hit the plane.\" George drops his touch from my face, one palm landing on my jean-covered thigh, the other going to the buckle of my seat belt. Once the click sounds, he leans over my lap, reaches across me to unlatch the door, and pushes it open.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs George bends in front of me, something shifts in my body. My heart continues to pound, and my nerves all remain on edge, but other parts react in totally inappropriate ways.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy nipples tighten.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA tingle races up and down my spine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA pleasurable clench squeezes my lower belly . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Holy hell,\" I whisper, horrified when I realize what's happening. That the dampness in my underwear is not because I pissed myself, which I'm kind of wishing was the case now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGeorge straightens in his seat and nods toward the exit. \"Let's go.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYes, let's, my body purrs, pulsing with want. With need. All for the man next to me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHorrified by my reaction, I slap away his hands that still linger by my waist and scramble out of the cockpit. When my sneakers touch the blacktop, my knees buckle and I would've face-planted on asphalt if I didn't grab hold of the door handle. Sucking in a few steadying breaths, I lock my knees and will strength into my legs until I feel steadier on my feet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen I run.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot far, just to the edge of the road and then a short distance into the litter-strewn grass on the side of the highway. There's a stand of trees in front of me, and I wonder if I could disappear into them. Keep on going. Outrun the weird, uncomfortable reactions my body is having to what just happened. Sprint all the way home and forget this disastrous day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Beth!\" George's deep shout sends my shoulders to my ears. \"Don't go far. Emergency responders are on their way.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eReluctantly, I turn back toward the plane. But as odd as the sight of a Cessna 172 parked on the shoulder of the highway is, my eyes immediately seek out the man who just managed an amazing feat of flying.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGeorge stands off to the side enough that he's not in danger of oncoming vehicles. His forehead is wrinkled above a set of aviator sunglasses he slipped on, and he has his phone pressed to his ear, exchanging tense words with whoever is on the other end of the line.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll this he does while facing me. Despite the shades, I can tell his eyes are on me. Paying me more attention than he ever has before this day. Probably working out how the engine failure was my fault.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe's not that much of an asshole.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut even if he is, my libido doesn't care. The endorphins-drenched part of my brain is already crafting scenarios of George storming up to me, growling my name, then taking me in a passionate embrace and kissing me senseless.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat in the ever-loving hell is wrong with me?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI just survived a near-death experience, and I'm thinking about making out? With George Bunsen?!","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233350856933,"sku":"NP9780593815687","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593815687.jpg?v=1767731877","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/love-in-plane-sight-isbn-9780593815687","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}