by Zara Cox
“Bye.”
Slowly she hung up and breathed deep. Her mind slid toward what she’d labeled The Next Step but she pulled herself back. There would be more than enough time to think about it...later.
The buzzer sounded again. Smoothing her hand over her black leather pants, she went over and answered it.
“Miss Michaels, the pilot has just announced that we’re at cruising altitude. Would you care to be escorted to the Ozone Bar for cocktails?” Bjorn, her personal valet asked.
“Umm, sure. But I can find my own way there, thanks.”
A small silence greeted her answer and Leia bit her lip. “Are you sure? It’s really no bother,” he insisted.
You need to let go a little. Face your fears.
“On second thought, I’d love be escorted, Bjorn. Thank you.”
“Great, I’ll be right outside when you’re ready.”
Since she’d dressed before unpacking, there was nothing left to do but to slip her feet into the black Louboutins heels she’d splashed out on a week ago in anticipation of her trip, open the door and step into the corridor.
“Hi again, Miss Michaels.” Bjorn, blond, buff with a smile that lit up the whole plane, stepped forward and shut the door for her.
“Hi,” she replied.
Leia waited for the flash of warning, of danger and breathed a sigh of relief when her senses remained calm.
She walked alongside him, unable to stop her gaze from lingering on his well-toned biceps.
The inch-thick guide that had come with her ticket had mentioned the exclusive use of valets in every way.
The sex part of the guide had made her stomach dive and quiver anxiously despite her determination to go ahead with the trip. But the clamoring had finally grown too loud to suppress. The need had overtaken the fear.
Take control. Keep control.
She realized she was still staring at Bjorn when his smile slowly turned curious...then carnal. He moved closer and she caught a whiff of expensive aftershave.
“Where’s the Ozone Bar?” she asked to divert his attention. Whether or not she chose to take advantage of what he was offering, it was unbecoming to gawp like a bitch in heat. Even if that was exactly what she seemed to have become lately.
“It’s on the lowest deck, two floors below. We can take the elevator or we can take the scenic route.” He paused beside a sleek glass elevator, one golden eyebrow raised.
The thought of being confined with him in the small space washed away a layer of the excitement that had suffused her moments ago.
“I prefer the stairs.”
His eyes widened slightly at her abrupt tone and Leia curbed the urge to apologize.
“I always like to get my bearings as quickly as possible when I visit someplace new.” Always have an escape route in mind. Mentally and physically.
She pushed Warren’s voice aside and tried another smile.
Bjorn returned one of his own. “Of course. Great idea. The design of the plane is such that you can avoid certain lounges if you prefer. I’ll show you the whole layout before we go the Ozone Bar if you like?”
She shook her head. She’d already memorized the layout of the various lounges. “That’s fine. I don’t need a full tour just yet. Just take me to the bar, please.”
“Sure.” He gestured her ahead of him at the top of the wide, low-lit indigo-colored set of stairs that led down. Her heel caught in the carpet as she took the first step.
Bjorn caught her around the waist. “Easy, Miss Michaels.”
She tried not to panic at his touch, but her senses flared with enough adrenaline to make her jump.
Again his eyes widened before a small frown creased his brow. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, thanks. That could’ve been embarrassing,” she said quickly.
“Good thing I was around, huh?” His white grin flashed.
She smiled back and gripped the railing. “Yeah.”
“Come on. I think you need a drink.” As if he sensed her skittishness, he didn’t make another attempt to touch her, for which she was grateful.
They descended the rest of the stairs in silence and walked into what she recalled was named The Silk Lounge. Swathes of indigo and cream silk lined the ceiling and fell into privacy-providing curtains behind which several loungers had been arranged.
Besides a couple stretched out on twin leather studded lounges behind the second curtain there were only a handful of staff and two bartenders. The female bartender caught Bjorn’s eye and he winked at her.
Her dimpled smile betrayed a carnal familiarity even before she gave him a cute three-fingered wave.
Tucking that knowledge away—for God knew what—Leia followed him down a short hallway into another large space. The doors on either side of the hallway were shut but she heard low voices and laughter through the doors.
“We’ve had a few people choose their initial events so we’re busy setting up,” Bjorn said. “Have you chosen yours yet?”
A wave of scorching heat drenched her belly as she recalled the activities in store for the guests. “Not yet,” she replied.
He smiled and led her down another set of stairs into a darker, indigo-lit lounge. “You want to take your time. That’s fine. But don’t wait too long. You don’t want any experience to pass you by.”
Before she could answer, he held open the door to the Ozone Bar.
The scene that met her stole her breath away.
There was no ceiling to the room, only white fluffy clouds. Although she knew it was an illusion no doubt created with special smoke, Leia was mesmerized all the same. As she walked further into the room, holographs of naked winged cherubs floated past, darting in and out of the clouds. She was so engrossed she stumbled into Bjorn. This time when he caught her, she didn’t pull away. Her senses assured her he was harmless.
“Shit. I’m sorry, you must think I’m the clumsiest woman on earth. And you would probably be right.”
He laughed. “I was blown away too the first time I stepped aboard my first IL plane.”
She sent him a smile for going out of his way to set her at ease. “How long have you worked here?”
“Just over a year. But it’s been a hell of a ride so far.” They reached the circular bar in the middle of the room and he nodded to the bartender. “What would you like to drink, Miss Michaels?”
“Please, call me—” The remaining words melted in her brain. At first she wondered whether the effects of the room were messing with her brain activity. Then she realized her mind had reacted that strongly to him.
The man whose laser sharp were eyes fixed on her, trapping her in place from ten feet away. He leaned against the bar, a beer in one hand.
The low lights ringing the edge of the bar lit his face, emphasizing the severe cut of his jaw and the rugged, edgy beauty of his face. His strong throat moved as he swallowed a mouthful of beer. Slowly, he straightened, turned fully toward her.
He was tall and lean. Well muscled. Black fitted shirt hid a wide chest and washboard stomach and his expensive dinner jacket hid the rest.
But his body didn’t interest her. Just yet. It was his face Leia couldn’t look away from. His face that enthralled her to the point of speechlessness.
“Miss Michaels?”
She tried to shake her head. She may have succeeded. She wasn’t sure. Voices buzzed around her. Bjorn may have exchanged puzzled looks with the bartender.
She wasn’t sure.
What she was sure of was that she couldn’t stop staring at him.
And his blatant stare told her he didn’t intend to do the polite thing and break their connection either. Her mouth dried and each breath felt like a huge chore to just make her lungs work.
God.
A glass appeared in front of her and she took it. The chill registered against her fingers.
Touch sensation. Present.
Heartbeat. Racing but present.
Zombie status. Reaching critical point
.
He moved. She followed him with her eyes. Electric heat lanced her belly and spiraled outward, spreading like cracking lightning before zeroing in hard between her legs.
She desperately sifted through her vocabulary to find the words.
Hungry.
Predatory.
Carnal pleasure beyond reason.
He wanted it all from her.
And Leia was pretty damned sure she wanted to give them all to him.
Right here, right now.
Chapter Three
Noah wasn’t sure which part of the woman standing across the bar captured his attention the most.
All he knew was that he was staring, a stunned shudder charging through his body at the spectacular vision before him. Jesus, whoever had put the combination together, had done one helluva job. Because he’d seen a lot of beautiful women in his time. But this one was in a sphere of her own.
Dark reddish blond hair had been pulled over to one side of her face in a careless tumbling heap that reached the middle of her back. From this distance he couldn’t see the exact color of her eyes but with her makeup they appeared smoky and hypnotic, with long lashes that quivered slightly with the need to blink. She denied that need and maintained eye contact with him.
There was something in the way she stared at him that made his cock harden. Or hell, it may have been because she had one of the most sinful mouths he’d ever seen. Plump, wide and painted suck-me red, it was so damned potently sexy, he forgot his own name for several seconds.
He’d spotted her the moment she walked in behind the blond guy who looked like he wanted to devour her whole.
With her attention caught by the spectacular ceiling display of the Ozone Bar, Noah had a moment to study her, his beer bottle frozen halfway to his mouth.
Her side crop, shaved in a swathe above her left ear, exposing the delicate shell of her ear had surprised him. There was something bold about it but also sexy in a way that made Noah who’d had never given much thought to things like that stop to appreciate the sexiness of it.
He’d watch her stumble. Watched the valet catch her and crack a joke. Her smile had made liquid go down the wrong way. Noah had barely stopped himself from coughing up his lungs and wheezing like a frickin’ hormonal teenager.
He continued to stare at her, a part of him silently incredulous that he was actually seeing the woman in front of him.
To think he’d almost given up finding someone who could take the edge off his hunger. He’d intended to finish his beer and return to his suite. Alone. Because of the six single female guests he’d met in the bar so far, none even came close to tweaking his interest. And the thought of settling on a willing female just to get himself off had made bile rise in his gut.
But now...
Jesus, when was the last time he’d felt this excited just looking at a woman?
A woman who returned his stare boldly without turning away, almost as if she was as mesmerized with him as he was with her. A look that portrayed nothing but naked interest.
He discarded the beer and took a step toward her.
She raised her glass of champagne a fraction, as if to take a sip. Or it may have been a tiny toast to what was happening between them. It paused just below her lips, drawing his attention again to the fullness of her glossy mouth. The ends tilted upward in a saucy curve that just begged to be tasted and his breath fractured as he imagined doing just that. And a whole lot more.
Need pounded through him as he rounded the bar. Vaguely he saw her valet’s gaze swing his way and back to her.
A dark emotion fizzed through his veins at the thought of the other man laying any sort of claim on her. “Excuse us,” he said without taking his eyes from hers.
The blond guy cleared his throat. “Umm, sure. Have a good evening, Miss Michaels.”
Irrationally, the thought that this guy knew her name and Noah didn’t irritated the hell out of him. Noah compelled her not to look at the other guy. Not to look at anyone but him.
Her lips parted but no words emerged. His irritation abated a little when the valet took the hint and walked away. Her scent drifted into Noah, a mixture of crushed lilies and designer perfume. He breathed in deep and felt his pulse thunder.
He closed the gap between them until he could see the color of her eyes.
Grey, with a touch of blue. So wide. So alluring. He’d always thought that only soppy morons confessed to wanting to get lost in woman’s eyes.
But hell, he wanted to die in her eyes.
The DJ upped the tempo of the music. She jerked and swallowed, awareness of her surroundings suddenly swimming into her eyes, threatening to break the moment. Her lids started to lower.
The sense of impending loss hit him hard.
“Don’t look away.”
She blinked and shook her head. Swathes of hair fell over her shoulder, caressing her bare skin. “I’m sorry. It’s not polite of me to stare like this.”
Her voice was low, husky with the emotions slamming around inside her. The same emotions that were roaring through his bloodstream. He didn’t need to close his eyes to hear that voice, that mouth hovering over his skin, kissing him in places that made his cock jerk to vivid life in his pants. His brain was firing up scenarios just from the sound of her voice alone. Scenarios that pleased and frightened him at the same time.
“Why not? Stare all you want because I sure as hell am not about to apologize for staring at you.”
Her cute nose twitched and he could’ve sworn she leaned in a tiny bit closer. Hell, he may have been deluding himself but he liked to think that she did.
“Perhaps I possess better manners than you,” she said without looking away.
“I wouldn’t wholly disagree with you on that. But as much as it would shame my mother to know I was being rude to a lady, I can’t seem to help myself.”
Heat rushed into her cheeks and Noah barely stopped himself from groaning. He watched her long, dark painted fingers clutch her glass firmer and his gaze flicked back to her face. He didn’t want to dwell on what damage those nails could do to his back. His butt. He didn’t want to think about them leaving marks all over his body. Not just yet.
She was still watching him with that mixture of intrigue and hunger that made his pulse race. God, did she even know what she was doing? How she was stoking fires he was almost too afraid to let roar into life?
“Well, I guess, since there’s nothing wrong with just looking...” she murmured.
“And we have each other’s permission?” he pressed. Not that he intended to let the lack of it stop him. His senses were intent on visually devouring this woman. The actual devouring would come later.
Her eyes widened a fraction. “Yes, I guess...”
“Well, okay then.” His gaze dropped to linger on her mouth, biding his time. He wanted to savor the journey, imprint each of her features on his excited senses so he could visualize them later. When several images of what he could do to her mouth flashed through his brain in quick succession, Noah deemed it wise to move on.
His gaze slid down to her throat. Her skin glowed like warm silk–like most native Miamians she probably spent time in the sun. Would she have tan lines or did she indulge in the ultimate sun worship?
Move on before you made an idiot of yourself, King.
Her sleeveless white lace top was tight and stretched across her breasts, emphasizing the small mounds.
Small pert breasts.
He filed that observation away and travelled lower. He froze.
Dear God, she was wearing leather. Skintight leather that lovingly molded her slim hips and lean, muscular thighs and calves.
His gaze reached her heeled feet and traced a path back up her body. The second run was even better than the first.
Small breasts and leather. Two of his major weaknesses.
The throbbing that had started in this groin the moment he laid eyes on her roared into a bona fide pounding.
Through t
he loud speaker the pop version of John Legend’s All Of Me filled the room.
Noah looked back up in time to see her conducting a blatant survey or her own. Her eyes went from his face, to his chest, his abs all the way to his feet. Then back up.
Her eyes stopped and lingered on his crotch. Her cheeks reddened a little more at the blatant evidence of his arousal, but she didn’t move her gaze. That little nose twitched again and puff of breath left her lips.
This time he couldn’t stop the rough sound that burst through his throat.
Reaching out, he plucked the glass from her fingers and set it on the counter. His fingers brushed hers in the process and she jerked.
“You’re being rude again.”
Noah shrugged. “You didn’t seem all that interested in the drink. Besides, it’s more warm than chilled right now and champagne should be drank immediately or the joy goes out of it.”
Jesus, was he really standing here discussing the perfect drinking temperature of champagne like some snooty blue-blood? His ex had been the one who’d concerned herself with social etiquette bullshit like that—not that he couldn’t hold his own when it mattered. But beer was his preferred drink of choice. Or ultra expensive single malt whiskey when the occasion called for it.
“I’m sure I had another five minutes before it went flat.” She looked at the glass but made no move to pick it back up.
Legend crooned about curves and edges. Noah struggled not to check out her curves just one more time.
“Dance with me,” he said abruptly.
What the hell? He hated dancing. Hadn’t come remotely close to a dance floor since senior prom. And that had been because he’d wanted to soften Emily Bianchini up a little before he taught that cock-teasing princess a hard fucking - pun intended - lesson at the back of his hired limo.
But short of grabbing her delicate wrist and dragging her off to a dark corner to explore those incredible curves, this was his best solution. He couldn’t stand this close and not touch. Dancing gave him an excuse to touch. Because he had to put his hands on her...make sure that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him.
