The Stopover (The Miles High Club #1) - T L Swan Page 0,5
sarcastic snark.”
“What’s the problem with that?” I stammer in outrage.
“Well, I’m bossy and sarcastic.” He shrugs.
“And?”
“And I don’t want to date myself. I like sweet, demure girls, the ones who do what I say.”
“Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “The ones who clean the house and have sex on Saturdays.”
“Precisely.”
I laugh and hold my glass up to clink with his. “You’re not bad for a boring old guy with weird shoes.”
He laughs. “And you’re not bad for a young, hot smart-ass.”
“Do you want to watch Magic Mike XXL with me?” I ask.
“I suppose, although I should let you know . . . I am an ex-stripper myself, so this is nothing new for me.”
“Really?” I try to hide my smile. “You’re good on a pole?”
His eyes hold mine. “My pole work is the best in the country.”
The air crackles between us, and I have to concentrate on stopping my inebriated mouth from saying something slutty.
He pushes the screen and taps through to Magic Mike XXL . . . and I smile broadly. This man is so unexpected.
First class is definitely the way to fly.
Six hours later
“Okay, next question. The weirdest place you’ve ever had sex?” he whispers.
I smirk. “You can’t ask me that.”
“Yes, I can. I just did.”
“It’s rude.”
“Says who?” He looks around. “It’s just a question, and nobody is listening.”
Jim and I have talked and whispered and laughed our way through the entire flight. “Hmm.” I think out loud. “That’s a tough one.”
“Why?”
“I’m on a bit of a drought at the moment. I can hardly remember any sex.”
“How long?” He frowns.
“Oh.” I look to the ceiling as I think. “I haven’t had sex in like . . . eighteen months.”
His face falls in horror. “What?”
“It’s lame, isn’t it?” I wince.
“Very. You need to up your game. They’re very bad statistics, indeed.”
“I know.” I giggle. Boy . . . we’re so tipsy. “Why am I telling you all this stuff?” I whisper. “You’re just some random guy I met on a plane.”
“Who happens to be very interested in the subject.”
“Why is that?”
He leans in and whispers to me so that the flight attendants can’t hear us. “I don’t understand how someone as hot as you doesn’t get fucked three times a day.”
I stare at him as I feel a tingle all the way to my toes. Stop it. This guy is too old for me and so not my type.
His eyes drop to my lips, and the air between us zaps with electricity.
“How long are you in New York?” he asks.
I watch his tongue dart out and lick his bottom lip in slow motion. I can almost feel it between my . . . “Just the afternoon. I have my interview at six tonight, and then I catch the last flight out,” I whisper.
“Can you change your flight?”
Why? “No.”
He smirks as he watches me, and it’s obvious he’s imagining something.
“What?” I smile.
“I wish we were on a private jet.”
“Why is that?”
His eyes drop to my lips once more. “Because I’d break that drought of yours and initiate you into the Miles-High Club.”
I get a visual of climbing on top of him, right here, right now. “It’s Mile-High Club . . . not Miles,” I whisper.
“No . . . it’s Miles.” He smirks as his eyes darken. “Trust me—it’s Miles.”
Something inside me snaps, and suddenly I want to say something crazy and out of the ordinary. I lean forward and whisper in his ear, “You know, I’ve never fucked a stranger before.”
He inhales sharply as his eyes hold mine. “Do you want to fuck a stranger?” he murmurs as arousal thrums between us.
I stare at him. This is so out of character for me.
This man makes me . . .
“Don’t be shy,” he whispers. “Tell me, if we were alone right now . . .” He pauses as he chooses his words. “What would you give me, Emily?”
My eyes search his, and maybe it’s the alcohol or the lack of sex or the fact that I know I’ll never see him again . . . or perhaps I’m just a total ho. “Me,” I breathe. “I would give you me.”
Our eyes lock, and as if forgetting where we are, he leans forward and cups my face in his hand. His eyes are so blue, and a wave of arousal sweeps through me at his touch.