“Oh,” she breathed, frantically grabbing at her things. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone was sitting here.”
“The airline upgraded me.” That smile. Wow. “Perks of the uniform,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, and then winked at her. She glanced at the Chief Warrant Officer insignia on his chest as she took her original seat and smoothed her sundress across her lap.
Young. He was definitely young. Probably cocky, too. Just what she needed for the next thirteen hours. Like she hadn’t had enough of that shit for the last eight years. It didn’t matter if he was absurdly good looking. Her ex was pretty easy on the eyes, too. That didn’t make him any less of a high-ranking douchebag.
Trying to ignore him, Mara fumbled through her purse, grabbing one of the three books she’d stashed away for the flight. She needed a distraction. Now that she had someone right beside her, she would have to successfully hide her freak-out when the plane took off. Great.
“So where’re you from?” he asked her, leaning on the partition separating their seats. She smelled his cologne then—Armani, she was pretty sure—and it somehow made him even sexier. Annoyingly so.
Clenching her jaw and cursing the gods for this cruel joke, she gave him her best fake smile. “San Diego.”
“Ah,” he grinned. “California.”
She had to close her eyes to keep from rolling them. “Yep, that’s the geography.”
As the plane rounded the bend on the tarmac, she pivoted her body away from him, and opened her book to a random middle page. She stared at the text for the next few minutes, not reading it, just battling the tremors already rocking her hands.
“I’m from Tennessee, but I’ve been stationed at Ramstein for about six months. Had to go to Edwards for training, so now I’m headed back after some much needed leave.” He stretched his back before buckling himself in.
Why was he telling her his life story? If he planned to do this the whole flight, maybe she’d volunteer to take his coach seat. Flirting with her would get him nowhere. She’d been down the military road with one man. She was damn sure not going there again. Rather than encouraging him, she just stared at the book in her lap and chewed on her bottom lip. She flipped the pages when it seemed like enough time had passed.
“We’re clear for takeoff,” the pilot announced over the intercom. Seatbelts clicked all around, flight attendants took their seats, and Mara’s slamming heart leapt into her throat.
“What are you reading?” He leaned over and tilted his head to see the front of her book. She snapped it shut just in time to realize she’d pulled the paranormal erotica out of her purse. Awesome. She shoved it in her bag as quickly as she could manage, hoping he didn’t see the title.
“Listen Mr.”—she read his lapel—“Taylor. I have major flight anxiety and—”
The plane’s force made her lurch back against her seat. The inception of the dizzying speed stopped her mid-sentence. Sweat bubbled on her forehead.
“Just try to relax,” he said. She could barely hear him over the roar of the engines. “I fly Blackhawks for a living. This is nothing. It’s much safer than you think. Everything’s okay.”
If she could form words, she’d tell him to shut the fuck up. Why didn’t she have one of her colleagues write her a script for some anxiety medication before this trip? The longest flight she’d been on was from San Diego to New York. And that was only four hours. A queasy weightlessness surrounded her as the plane left the ground. If she’d bothered to have dinner, she’d be wearing it now.
“Are you headed to Germany on vacation?” He raised his voice over the noise to ask her. Was he really still talking? There was so much noise she couldn’t think.
“No,” she choked out. “For work.” She squeezed her lashes together, nerves playing pinball inside her chest.
“Open your eyes,” he said. “Keep talking. Tell me about your work.”
She didn’t want to tell him about her work. She wanted to freak out in solitude.
“I can’t,” she growled through clenched teeth.
“Sure you can. Open them. Closing your eyes heightens fear. You’re always better off to face things head on.” His voice was strangely soothing. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
There it was. The ma’am bomb. He looked 24, maybe 25—at least nine years her junior. Who was she kidding? He wasn’t flirting with her. He was just being a Boy Scout, helping the frightened old lady.
“My name’s Mara,” she said, peeking from under her lids. Everything on the plane was tilted sideways as they ascended. He stuck out his hand before she could shut her eyes again.
“Grant Taylor,” he grinned, dimples flashing. He stretched his handshake offer further into her personal space.
How was she supposed to shake his hand? Both of hers were white-knuckle-molded to the armrests. When he didn’t give up, she pulled one sweaty palm from its position and took his hand. The warmth in his callused fingers diffused through her body like a lit fuse. Chills sprang to the surface of her skin.
“What kind of work takes you to Germany?” He pried further, still holding her hand. She pulled it away from him.
Maybe it was the anxiety of the flight making her so antisocial, but she wasn’t in the mood to tell him she worked for MEDCOM. It would just give him ammunition for more questions. She needed to focus on one uncomfortable thing at a time, and trying to answer his interrogation was a little too overwhelming.
“I’m a travel writer,” she lied, closing her eyes again. She could be anyone she wanted to be for the next thirteen hours. She didn’t owe him the truth. He was just a stranger.
****
A travel writer? Guess she didn’t realize he could see her MEDCOM badge clipped to the side of her carry-on bag. A smile pulled at his mouth. He’d let it go for now. It would’ve been a great excuse to chat her up, but he’d just have to be creative. He really lucked out getting upgraded on this long-ass flight. And sitting beside a hot redhead for thirteen hours? Double jackpot.
Her eyes stayed clamped shut like she was on a rollercoaster she didn’t really want to ride in the first place. He hoped she wouldn’t be wigging out the entire time. He’d never understood why people didn’t like to fly. It was a liberating sensation for him. Proof of man’s ingenuity.
As the plane steadied out, the seatbelt light went off and the pilot announced their cruising altitude. While others retrieved their electronic devices and powered them on, Mara stayed glued to her seat, hiding behind obnoxiously long eyelashes.
Grant grabbed a drink menu and scanned the list, then motioned the flight attendant over. “Can I get an ice water, please?”
The flight attendant nodded and then leaned over to speak to Mara. “Anything for you, miss?”
Mara’s bright green eyes opened. She brushed a dark auburn curl off her face and sighed. Grant couldn’t help it. He looked right at the swell of her full breasts as she took a deep breath. Round and full, they were practically begging to be ogled. He wondered if they were real.
He had to turn his head to keep from staring as he imagined what kind of bra she wore under that strappy green sundress. Maybe she wasn’t wearing one at all.
“What’s the strongest thing on your drink menu?” Mara asked.
The flight attendant rattled off a list of liquors and wines, and then said, “We also carry absinthe now. One of my favorite cocktails is called the Hot French Kiss. It’s absinthe with green mint tea. Potent, but mellow.”
“Sounds perfect,” Mara said. “I’ll have that.”
Whoa. So she was planning to get shitfaced. The only experience he’d ever had with absinthe was in Amsterdam. Things had gotten a little wild, to put it lightly.
“Absinthe, huh? Bringing out the big guns.” He chuckled. She cut him a look and then fidgeted with the hem of her dress. His eyes followed her fingers and locked down on the honey colored skin of her sun-kissed thighs. His pants tightened all at once.
It’d been a while. Hi
s busy schedule and broken engagement had left him with only the company of Rosy Red Palm. Just as well, though. Women complicated everything in his life. He swore he’d never let another one screw him over the way the last one had.
Mara’s legs, though. He fantasized about walking his fingertips across them and sliding under the edge of her dress. He’d love to have the real thing again.
“I hate flying, in case you missed that,” Mara said, whiplashing him out of his daze. “I hope to be pleasantly sedated soon.”
His mouth itched to grin. She was a snarky little thing.
“Kind of a necessity to fly for your job though, right? Does it bother you like this every time?”
Her brows creased just the slightest bit before she smoothed them straight again, probably remembering the lie she’d told him. “Oh. That. Um, yes. Usually. But I don’t want to talk about my job.”
Obviously.
She turned in her seat and pulled hand lotion from her bag. Her perfectly manicured fingers trembled as she rubbed the moisturizer over her palms. A fresh, feminine smell bombarded his nose. When she finished, she opened a tube of crimson lip gloss and painted it over her perfectly puckered lips. Grant squirmed in his seat. She had to be doing it on purpose.
“One water and one Hot French Kiss,” the flight attendant announced upon her return. Mara took her glass and drank half of it in one gulp. Hot damn.
“Easy, killer,” Grant warned. “Absinthe will knock you on your ass.”
Mara narrowed her eyes and frowned at him. He’d never seen a scowl so sexy in his life. She had the faintest lines around her eyes, and it made him wonder her age. Being a doctor, she was probably a little older than he was, but he couldn’t tell by how much. Not that it mattered. He was almost alarmed by how attracted he was to her. And she was attracted to him, too. He could tell by the way she made so much effort to seem like she wasn’t.
She took a few more sips, followed by a string of deep breaths. Grant watched her as discreetly as he could without going full-on creepy stare.
Setting her glass in the cup holder, she reached into her purse and pulled out a different book from the one she had the first time. Bummer, it might have been fun to watch her read smut.
“Decide against the vampire sex story?” he asked with a snicker before he could stop himself.
She jerked her head toward him, and her glossed lips fell open with a little pop. “What?”
“I’m sorry.” Grant laughed, riding the charged feeling in the air between them. “I shouldn’t make fun. I watch plenty of porn myself.” He bit his lip as soon as he said it. Maybe that admission took it a step too far.
Mara cleared her throat and stowed her book beside her. She lifted her drink and hovered over the swirly emerald opaqueness.
“Erotica isn’t the same thing as porn,” she said evenly, twirling the potent liquid between her hands. Her eyes seemed to reflect it. They were the same color as the drink. She looked like the green fairy herself.
Intrigued, Grant took the bait. “Oh no? How is it different?”
“There’s a story. Character development and emotions. More than just brainless fucking.” With that, she took another sip of her absinthe.
Hearing her sweet little voice say “fuck” made his dick twitch in his pants. God, what he wouldn’t give to pull her dress off right now. She was a dirty girl, he’d almost bet his life on it. He couldn’t think of anything to say for once.
“Men seem to have a problem with that,” she said, lounging back with her drink and looking at him from the corner of her eyes. “Too much focus on the physical. It’s all about getting off instead of the emotions of the act. If erotica were porn, men would read it instead of watching three-minute internet videos. You don’t have to think to watch a video.”
She was visibly more comfortable than she’d been just a few minutes earlier—legs crossed languidly in front of her, foot drawing circles in the air. She didn’t even seem aware of how much her body had relaxed.
That’s the thing with absinthe, it sneaks up on you.
“Is that right?” Grant asked, voice a little raspier than he intended. “Well pardon me, ma’am, but I do believe you’re stereotyping.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m basing my opinions on personal experience.” She was all luxurious curves under her dress. Grant cleared his throat. He would definitely spend more than three minutes exploring that body if he had the chance.
“Some men are quite capable of emotions and concentrating on something besides the physical.” Although admittedly, Mara’s physical attributes were all he could focus on at the moment.
“Not my ex-husband,” she scoffed, taking another swig. Mara gestured to the flight attendant with her empty glass. “Another Hot French Kiss, please?”
“Make that two,” Grant added. He was going to need something to take the edge off before he embarrassed himself and outright invited her to sit on his lap.
****
Mara never intended to get so swimmy-headed drunk and confess all the details of her failed marriage to the hot young warrant officer. But by the time she had finished her third absinthe cocktail, she had done just that.
She’d also learned that Grant had a cheating ex-fiancée. They had more in common than she originally thought. Except the age thing, of course. She didn’t know why that bothered her so much. It wasn’t like this guy was anything more than someone sitting next to her on a plane.
“So she cheated. Did you ever cheat on her?” Mara asked him, assuming it was payback. Why else would anyone cheat on this gorgeous, charming guy?
He gasped, grabbing his chest in mock horror. “Are you about to excuse her behavior because she’s a woman?”
“Of course not,” she wiggled the fingers on her free hand in the air. “But it does matter if it you cheated on her first.” She sipped her drink gingerly, vowing to slow down. The lights were starting to make her dizzy. Little tingles danced through her nerve endings, but she didn’t know if it was the drink or the soldier causing them.
Grant creased his brows. “Never. I was always faithful to her. She cheated on me with my best friend. While I was deployed.”
Ouch. Maybe she’d been wrong. “What a bitch,” she muttered.
Grant’s sudden laugh startled her, and then she joined him. Laughing felt good. She hadn’t done much of that lately.
At 10 P.M. the cabin lights dimmed to sleep mode. It disappointed her because she’d been enjoying their conversation. The flight attendant passed out navy blue blankets. “Can I get you anything else right now?” she asked them.
Mara sipped the last of her drink and handed her the empty glass. “No, I’m okay for now. Thank you.” Grant shook his head at the flight attendant, and then turned to Mara after she walked away.
“You mean you don’t want another Hot French Kiss?” His dimples flickered as he licked his lips. She read the message in his eyes loud and clear, even through the hazy light.
He wanted her.
She didn’t miss the way he’d been glancing at her breasts and legs ever so often. He thought he was being really slick about it, but she saw him every time. She just pretended she didn’t notice so he wouldn’t stop.
“No,” she giggled. I am awfully giggly. “I’ve had three too many already.”
“Bummer,” he winked, unbuttoning his uniform jacket and hanging it on the hook in front of him. The muscles in his chest practically screamed against his t-shirt. He covered up with his blanket and reclined his seat.
God, she needed five minutes of not having to look at this sexy bad decision waiting to happen, to wash her face and regroup.
“Wait,” she said to him. “Before you recline all the way, I need to go to the bathroom.”
He put his seat back down and nodded, making room for her pass.
Standing, it took a few extra moments for the fluid motion to catch up with her head. Dizziness and uncertainty settled in next to the raw lust mounting in the pit of her stom
ach. She couldn’t decide whether to put a little extra sway in her hips, or to ignore him entirely as she walked by. But she took too much time mulling it over, not paying attention to what she was doing, and her foot got caught in her purse strap. She stumbled and fell.
Right into his lap.
The moment was quiet chaos. The shock kept her from savoring the moment the way she’d wished she had in hindsight. But after his big hands had set her back on her feet, she bumbled a string of apologies and scurried away. She tried to ignore the stares she got from other passengers on her walk to the bathroom.
He’d left a hot spot in every place his body came into contact with hers. She might have been imagining it, but she could’ve sworn he had a hard-on under the blanket, too. Maybe it was a belt. Or a weapon. But he couldn’t carry a gun on the plane, could he?
As she tripped into the first class bathroom, she realized she was a little drunk. She locked herself in the roomy—for an airplane—space. After splashing some water on her neck, trying to ward off the prickly wooziness, she stared into the mirror. Not bad, she thought. Her makeup was still in place, and her curls were still bouncy. She flipped them around the front of her shoulders and fussed over her outfit. Her summer tan made her look banging in that dress. There’s no way he knew she was 34.
She wondered if there was a way to have a one-night-stand on a red-eye flight to Germany, without the rest of the plane knowing.
Chapter Two
It wasn’t his place to worry about her. He didn’t even know her. But she’d been in the bathroom for fifteen minutes. After three absinthe drinks, it’d be really shitty if he didn’t at least check on her. Nobody else was checking on her. What if she’d passed out on the floor in there? What if she was sick?
A devious thought entered his mind.
Or maybe she was in there rubbing one out.
God, please let it be the last one, he thought as he gently knocked.
“Mara? Are you okay?” He spoke quietly, resting his forehead on the cool gray steel.
Uniform Fetish Page 26
