Our gazes whipped to the front door and the man walking into the store in a delivery uniform, holding a stunning bouquet in a vase. My heart clenched, unable to look away. I didn’t need to read the card to know who they were from.
Definite Chupacabra.
The deliveryman stopped in front of us. “Is there a Jordan Callahan here?”
I could feel my cheeks flaming, my stomach fluttering like a flock of geese had permanently taken up residence in my gut.
“I’m Jordan,” I squeaked, Sophia’s stare burning a hole through me.
I took the flowers and set them on the counter next to the register, my fingers itching to open the little white card in between all that pink and green.
“Good, huh?” Sophia’s brow rose. “I think you left a few things out.”
“Maybe a few.”
I couldn’t wait any longer; impulse control had never been one of my strengths. I snatched the card out of the bouquet, tearing open the little white envelope with the impatience of a child opening gifts on Christmas morning. I stared down at the writing, my heartbeat kicking up another notch.
I miss you.
It wasn’t poetry. It wasn’t even the most romantic thing a guy had ever said to me. And still, somehow, those three words did feel like the most romantic thing ever. Maybe it wasn’t about the words; maybe all that mattered was who gave them to you.
I turned toward Sophia, a smile on my face. “Can you cover for me this weekend?”
NOAH
She’d only spent one night in my hotel room at Nellis and yet she’d left her mark. When I walked in the door, I felt a pang of disappointment to not see Jordan sitting on the bed smiling at me. Housekeeping hadn’t changed the sheets since she left and I could still smell her shampoo on the pillow, her perfume surrounding me. Maybe it was those taunting scents that had made me send her that card with the flowers.
I’d debated whether it was too much to tell her I missed her this soon; it had only been a day, after all. But I did miss her. And while I’d spent plenty of years keeping my distance in relationships, not wanting to lead a girl on or create the impression that I was ready to give more than I could, it felt different with Jordan. Maybe it was getting older and being a little tired of dating, but I didn’t want to play games anymore. I wanted her, wanted to see where this was going, and I didn’t want to fuck around.
I sat on the edge of the bed, unlacing my boots, pulling them off, another wave of exhaustion hitting me. My socks came next, and then I unzipped my flight suit to the waist, shrugging out of the top half, the familiar pull of the zipper conjuring images of Jordan kneeling in front of me in bed, the curve of her ass barely visible beneath the hem of my shirt.
I figured it would be a while before I could put on or take off my flight suit without thinking of fucking her in it. I might have been tired, but other parts of my body decidedly were not.
I pulled my cell out of my flight suit pocket. It was late in Florida, but I’d promised to call Jordan when I got back from my sortie. I pulled her number up in my contacts and hit Call, hoping it wasn’t too late.
She answered right away.
“Hi.”
My chest tightened a bit at the sound of her voice—sleepy and adorable. We’d only spent two nights together, but I could still imagine her curled up in bed, her hair fanned out over her pillow.
I leaned back against the headboard, settling in to the image of Jordan doing the same.
“Hi, babe. Did I wake you?”
“No. I was just lying here waiting for you to call.”
It felt good. Really good. Most of the time I came home from work to an empty house; occasionally, I found Easy in front of the TV. It felt good to have someone to talk to, even if there was a country between us. Even when I would have preferred her next to me, tucked against my side, her tits and ass cuddled into me.
My balls tightened.
“How was your day?” I asked.
“Good. Someone sent me the most beautiful flowers.”
I grinned. “I’m glad you liked them.”
“I loved them. You were the talk of the town this afternoon. Word spread like wildfire and people kept coming into the shop to ask me about the man who sent me roses.”
I laughed.
“I’m not kidding. I sold like two dresses and three bathing suits off of flower foot traffic alone. I probably owe you a commission.”
“I could think of a few things I’d rather have instead.”
Her laughter filled the line, throaty and sexy, and I came to terms with the fact that while I might have been exhausted, my dick was wide-fucking-awake and ready to play.
“Really?” she teased.
The word escaped with a purr.
Jesus.
Part of me didn’t want to get my hopes up and assume phone sex was on the menu, but I was starting to think phone sex was on the menu.
“You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you right now,” I half whispered, half groaned.
Her breath hitched on the other end of the line. “Tell me. How do you want to fuck me?”
Dead. This girl slayed me.
“Spread your legs.”
I shifted onto my side, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear, my hand slipping beneath my boxers, fisting my cock.
“What are you wearing?”
“A lace camisole and a thong.”
Instant visual. I could practically see her tits straining against the fabric, the outline of her nipples so tight, could imagine taking one into my mouth and sucking hard, watching it flush with color as I teased her, could see the outline of it, shiny with my saliva. Marked.
I stroked up and down, my cock jerking against my palm.
“I want your hand between your legs.”
She gave a breathy sigh.
“Stroke yourself over your thong. Finger your clit.”
I closed my eyes, imagining her lying there, her legs spread open as though she were waiting to be fucked, playing with herself.
“I want to watch you like that one time. Just want to sit in a chair and watch you get yourself off. There’s nothing like you coming. Most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
“God, Noah.”
“Play with your nipples with your free hand.”
I heard Jordan adjusting in the bed, imagined her in a similar position to me. I’d learned enough about her body in the short time we’d been together to visualize her back arching as she played with her tits, could imagine her writhing as she fingered herself. The visual was . . . fuck me. My hand pumped harder, my teeth sinking down on my lower lip with a sharp bite.
“Are you wet?”
She gave another breathy sigh that I felt in my dick.
“Yes.”
“Slide your hand under your thong. I want to hear you fucking yourself with your fingers. Want to imagine you lying there, playing with your clit, all that heat.”
I remembered the feel of her perfectly—slippery and wet, so fucking warm.
“If I were there right now, I’d have my mouth between your legs.”
Jordan groaned.
“Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be content to just sit there and watch. I’d have to taste you. I’d bury my face in your pussy, licking every drop. You’d be amazing. So fucking sweet. I’d want to savor your orgasm on my tongue, watch you shatter against my mouth.”
She groaned again and I increased my pace, images of fucking Jordan flashing through my mind, the memory of squeezing her ass in my hands, of her sinking down on my cock, riding me, her body milking mine as she took what she wanted, bringing me closer and closer to my own release.
“I’m so close,” she whispered.
“Are you going to come for me?”
I needed to hear it, needed to give her
that. Needed to know she’d fall into sleep sated from the orgasm I’d wrung from her.
“Y-yes.”
“Good.”
We stopped talking, the only sound between us the quickening breaths and muffled beats of us chasing our orgasms. And then she moaned, and I listened as she found what she was searching for. I came a minute later, imagining it was her body surrounding me, her hands, her mouth giving me the release I craved.
I fell asleep drowning in her and woke up the next morning with a smile on my face.
TEN
JORDAN
Get up. Get up.
I stared at the woman sitting next to me, willing her to rise from her seat. She ignored me.
Ahead of us, rows and rows of people began deplaning; behind us, another line waited with no gap in sight. If she didn’t claim her place in the aisle to exit the plane, we’d be relegated to the very last ones off, which normally I wouldn’t care about, but considering who I had waiting for me . . .
I cared a lot.
I waited, waited . . . fuck. We were going to be the last ones off.
It was literally a difference of a few more minutes, but even with the phone sex—which seemed to get better each night—this week had already felt like an eternity. I wanted to see Noah, and considering patience was not a virtue I possessed, I wanted to see him now.
She turned to face me with a conspiratorial smile.
Yes, get off the plane.
“People these days. Everyone’s in a hurry. I’d rather wait until the plane is totally empty. No need to rush and push.”
No. No. No.
I’d had a lifetime of Southern gentility drilled into me, and while a lot of it didn’t take, some of it was inescapable. Like always being polite to strangers.
I flashed her a smile, despite the voice screaming in my head.
Let me off this plane.
I sat patiently, or as patiently as anyone could with their foot tapping a mile a minute, until finally it was our turn, and we were indeed the last ones off the plane.
And then impatience gave way to nerves. Lots and lots of nerves.
What if my memory was better than the reality? What if this was a mistake? What if we didn’t have chemistry this time? What if he wasn’t attracted to me? Did my outfit look okay? Should I have worn my hair up? Did I have too much makeup on? Did I have too little makeup on?
Commence freak-out.
Everything about this was making me a little nuts all of a sudden. I’d flown across the country to see a guy I’d known for, like, three days. And by “known,” really I was talking biblically. I didn’t even know him all that well. And given my track record, the odds of me fucking this up were not small.
What was I thinking?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I cursed in time with my steps, profanity flitting through my mind each time my sole touched the floor until it became a catchy little tune in my head.
The arrival area loomed closer and closer, and I searched the crowd for Noah, remembering that he’d said he might have to pick me up straight from work, wondering if he was running late . . .
And then I saw him.
Flight suit. Big fucking smile. Roses. Nerves gone.
I launched myself at him, my purse flailing inelegantly behind me. He didn’t shy away, didn’t act like he was embarrassed to be seen with the girl who had no concern for appropriate behavior. Instead, he caught me mid-laugh, my arms wrapped around his neck as he gripped my waist, hauling me toward him. His mouth came down on mine and my lips parted instantly and then his tongue was inside me and it took every inch of willpower I possessed to keep from hopping up and climbing him like a vine on a wall.
I settled for a kiss.
I had not been wrong. This kiss lived up to every memory of us I had. This kiss was unreal.
We broke apart what felt like minutes later, Noah’s lips swollen, his mouth curved in a satisfied grin. His hand settled just above my ass, possessive, teasing, hot as hell.
He stared down at me, his eyes dancing. “Hey.”
Maybe it was the phone sex, but his voice triggered some feelings in my lady parts.
“Hi.”
We both stood there like idiots, grinning at each other, and then he took my hand and propelled me toward the baggage claim.
“In a hurry?” I called after him, his long strides eating up the carpet.
He flashed me a grin. “You have no idea.”
* * *
I followed Noah over the threshold, my gaze taking in all the little details, all of the pieces that made up his life.
He lived in a one-story house in a quiet subdivision with brick homes and decent-sized lots. It had a family-friendly vibe to it, which wasn’t what I would have predicted for a single fighter pilot, but it definitely impressed me. I’d seen my share of gross boy apartments, and while his artwork tended to have a single-focus—pretty kick-ass framed photos of planes at various stages of flight—there were no dirty clothes on the floor, no empty beer bottles on end tables.
“Hey, Jordan.”
I spotted Easy sitting on a leather sectional in the family room, watching a movie on a ginormous TV. Noah had mentioned that he owned the house and Easy lived with him.
“Hey.”
Easy rose as I walked toward him, enfolding me in a quick hug. He gestured to a spot on the sectional.
“Sit.”
I kind of wanted to go bone Noah in his bedroom, but Southern manners and all . . .
I sat down, Noah not bothering to cover up the groan that escaped his lips as he sat down next to me, placing my suitcase on the floor.
Easy looked down at my luggage and shot me a teasing grin. “Planning on staying awhile?”
My cheeks flamed. Yes, maybe I had overpacked. It hadn’t been easy deciding what to bring. I had a mixture of sexy dresses that were basically a nuclear arsenal in and of themselves, casual jeans and sweaters that were designed to convey the image that I wasn’t trying too hard or anything, and a fortune in lingerie that was definitely trying too hard, but I was pretty sure Noah would appreciate a hell of a lot . . . if Easy ever let us go.
Noah shot him a look. “Like you don’t spend a fucking hour getting ready in the morning.”
Easy winked at me. “He’s jealous. He wishes he could be this pretty.”
I snorted. The guy totally owned how full of shit he was. You had to appreciate that, at least.
Noah wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his body. I felt ab ridges.
Gah.
He ducked his head so that his lips tickled my ear, his words loud enough for Easy to hear. “You look amazing in whatever you wear, babe.”
I went a little melty.
Easy laughed.
“So how was the rest of your Vegas trip?” I asked, wanting to get off the subject of my gargantuan suitcase pronto.
“Good,” Noah answered. “We had a few jets break getting back, so some guys are stuck out there still, but not exactly a hardship. There are a lot worse places you can get stuck.”
Easy made a face. “I’m still pissed about getting stuck in the desert.” His gaze shifted to me. “I had to make an emergency landing in a neighboring country when we deployed to the Mideast. It was intense.” He gestured toward Noah. “Meanwhile, these guys got back and took leave and went diving in the Caymans.”
“Does that happen a lot? Uh, jets breaking?”
I knew nothing about planes, but that kind of sounded like a big deal.
Easy snorted. “We’re flying planes that were built when some of us were born, so yeah. It happens. Not to mention, the maintainers have to do their part. Maintenance has been on its ass since we left for Red Flag.”
“So when you say jets break, are you guys flying them when this happens?”
; Noah answered. “It depends. Sometimes it breaks before we take off and we have to step to another jet. Other times you can have a problem when you’re in the air.”
“What do you do then?”
“Depends on the problem. We have a checklist and procedures we go through in the event of an emergency. Some stuff isn’t a big deal; other stuff is a lot worse. Our job is to make the right judgment call and decide whether we should stick with the mission, fly home, divert to the nearest runway, or eject.”
I didn’t like the sound of “a lot worse.” Or “eject.” I didn’t like the sound of any of this. Or the way they casually discussed the plane “breaking” like it wasn’t a big deal. I guessed it came with the territory, but that didn’t make it any less intense. My idea of risk-seeking behavior was eating more cookies than the recommended serving size or making out with strangers on a dance floor. It wasn’t this casual disregard for personal safety.
“Have you ever ejected?” I asked Noah, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.
He shook his head.
My gaze drifted to Easy. “You?”
“Only if she isn’t cute.” He grinned. “Sorry. Pilot humor.”
Wow, it was surprising that he could fit in the cockpit with a head that big.
Noah squeezed my leg. “I’m going to go change, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I was a little sad to see the flight suit go, but I nodded.
Easy jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Do you want a beer?”
I hesitated and then nodded again, feeling like I needed the liquid courage. I didn’t know what it was, but I had a hard time feeling comfortable around Easy. Maybe it was how hot he was or the fact that he so clearly knew it and knew that everyone else knew it, too. Noah was hot, but in a less obvious, cocky way. Easy was in-your-fucking-face. And some part of me had been trained since puberty not to trust a guy who was too good looking. I found it hard to believe that Noah would be friends with a guy who was a dick, but the verdict was still out on Easy.
He got up from the couch, his long legs encased in worn denim, wearing a ratty-looking navy T-shirt, striding to the kitchen. A minute later he returned with a beer dangling from his hands. I wasn’t a huge beer drinker, but I didn’t really want to stand out as being high maintenance. Or more high maintenance than I already appeared to be.
Fly With Me Page 10
