by Nicola Marsh
She’d accepted their narcissistic parenting a long time ago, had learned to don a nonchalant mask as if nothing they did or said bothered her. But it did, and her blasé attitude soon spilled into all areas of her life. She’d heard what employees said about her behind her back: detached, cool, Ice Queen.
She didn’t care. Being a boss—and a damn generous one at that—demanded that she maintain a distance from her workers. Made for better production, rather than being buddy-buddy, knowing their firstborn’s name or which basketball team they supported.
Oddly enough, it was the descriptions of her in the media during her engagement that bothered her most: indifferent, dispassionate, apathetic.
They’d made her sound cold and heartless, criticizing everything from her clothes to her hair, when all she’d ever done was try to appear elegant and cool in public because of Flint’s high profile. Flint had insisted it was par for the course, that everyone in the Hollywood limelight copped it. She’d accepted it, but she hadn’t liked it. Liked less the fact that there was an element of truth in the crap they printed.
She did feel cold inside. Untouchable. Like no one could broach the brittle veneer she’d constructed to protect herself a long time ago.
Yet in fifteen minutes, Jett Halcott, with a wicked twinkle in his eyes and a decadent smile, had warmed her in a way she’d never thought possible.
“Is this seat available?”
The champagne flute slipped from her fingers and fell to the carpet as she stared in disbelief at the guy she’d been fantasizing about.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He sat and grinned at her like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be here. “Miss me?”
Wishing she hadn’t had the champagne to cloud her brain, she shook her head and immediately regretted it when everything in her orbit spun. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“And you didn’t answer mine.” His forearm brushed hers on the armrest and she jumped. “I guess you just did.”
“I’d have to care to miss you,” she said, tilting her nose a fraction in the air, spoiling her act when his fingers deliberately grazed her wrist and she sighed.
“You care,” he said, tracing a circle over her pulse point and sending a shudder of longing through her. “I intend to prove how much by the end of this flight.”
She snatched her hand away and tried to drag up some righteous indignation. “You knew you were on this flight and you didn’t tell me?”
He shrugged, infuriatingly smug. “What’s there to tell? We shared a drink at the bar, now we’ll share…a few more here.”
His deliberate pause led her to believe he wanted to share a lot more besides drinks. Oh no…that’s the moment she remembered the very last thing she’d said to him. A feisty challenge thrown out in the heat of the moment to a stranger she’d never see again.
You and me. Naked. Having hot and sweaty, unforgettable, wild, climb-the-walls sex.
By the lascivious gleam in his green-eyed gaze, she wasn’t the only one who remembered.
She was so busted.
“We’ll be taking off soon.” She gestured at the other first-class compartments. “Shouldn’t you get back to your seat?”
She knew his response before he spoke, as his lips curved into a taunting smirk.
“This is my seat.”
Eight hours in a private compartment with him?
Allegra didn’t know whether to punch him for orchestrating this, or jump him.
“Your seat shouldn’t have been available.” She glared at him through narrowed eyes, reverting to type, not wanting him to see how seriously rattled she was by his appearance. And the fact that these seats could convert to a big bed when the lights turned down. “How did you do it?”
He smirked. “You know that thing you have for my accent? Maybe the check-in girls weren’t so immune to it, either.”
She snorted. “Insufferable and cocky. Could there be a worse combination?”
“Vegemite and pavlova.”
She bit back the urge to laugh at his humor. “What?”
“You have heard of Vegemite and pav, right? Aussie icon foods?”
She had, but he was having so much fun in his righteous smugness she’d let him run with it. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Heathen,” he said, his teasing smile doing weird things to her pulse. “Imagine a black, salty yeast paste. That’s Vegemite.”
She screwed up her nose, when in fact she’d tried it at a post-Oscars party once and loved it.
“And pavlova is a meringue-based, cream-filled dessert topped with fresh fruit or chocolate crumbs.”
Yum. “Your point?”
“You asked about bad combinations, I just gave you one.” He winked. “Pity. I thought you were more than just a pretty face.”
She would’ve puffed up in outrage, considering that he’d implied she was stupid, if she hadn’t seen the amusement deepening his eyes to moss, and a hint of something more. Uncertainty.
For all his bluster, the Aussie hadn’t been sure of his reception. Had maybe expected her to be pissed off he hadn’t told her his destination when they’d had a drink earlier.
And damn, if that glimmer of doubt didn’t make her like him all the more.
“Don’t be obtuse,” she said, with a toss of her hair, enjoying the instant flare of heat in his eyes as a few strands brushed his arm.
“Don’t use big words,” he said, snagging the strands, rubbing them between his fingers, before winding them around his index finger and tugging gently.
Her scalp prickled at the delicious sensation as she clamped down on the urge to grab his hand and shove a whole fistful of her hair into it.
“Must add deprecating to your many talents,” she said, her dry response garnering another gentle tug as he wound her hair tighter.
“You have no idea how talented I really am.” With one more wind his hand reached her head, his fingertips gliding along her scalp in a slow caress that made her melt in a puddle of longing.
She should rebuke him, should set the record straight about that flyaway sex remark before she’d boarded. But she couldn’t think, not with his fingers delving through her hair. How could a simple scalp massage be so damn erotic?
Her eyelids fluttered shut and her head lolled back as she savored the incredible sensation of having a guy who wasn’t her hairdresser play with her hair.
“Excuse me, we’re taking off shortly.” The flight attendant cleared her throat. “Can I have your empty glass, please?”
Allegra’s eyelids snapped open to find the flight attendant regarding her with open envy as Jett brushed his knuckles against her cheek before straightening.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” Allegra handed over the glass, not surprised her hand trembled. “Thanks.”
“I’m sure you’ll both have a pleasant flight,” the flight attendant said, beaming before she moved on to the next compartment.
“I’m sure we will, too.” Jett’s heated gaze locked on hers, daring her to disagree.
Allegra couldn’t. Not when her scalp still tingled and her body was burning up from the inside out.
Eight hours on a plane, in a private compartment, with a sexy Aussie.
Nope, she wouldn’t dare disagree.
Chapter Two
Jett paced the first-class bar area, wondering what was it about Allegra that brought out his inner smart-ass in a big way. Whenever he opened his mouth around her, he let fly with a quip or a barb designed to make her react.
If he analyzed it fully, it probably had something to do with that ice-cool gaze of hers turning to blue fire before she lobbed a return zinger his way.
Major turn-on.
Which is why he’d spent the first fifteen minutes of this flight downing a whiskey at the bar and walking around, trying to tamp down the urge to make that mile-high fantasy come true.
No way would he have his first encou
nter with a woman like Allegra in a plane’s restroom. Uh-uh. If he had one frigging condom he was going to make it count, and that meant waiting another ninety minutes until they served supper and then made up the beds for the rest of the night flight.
He’d made an educated guess that her ex would’ve booked a private compartment for their honeymoon and it had paid off. Once he’d appealed to the airline’s booking staff’s softer side, not only had he secured the seat next to Allegra but had organized a romantic package, too. A package designed to seduce and ensure they joined the mile-high club in style.
Rose petals and chilled champagne weren’t his usual style, but Allegra deserved it. The way she strutted ensured she had an invisible C for classy tattooed on her forehead, and he wanted to do this right. Especially considering that she should’ve been on this flight with her husband.
What kind of a schmuck ditched a woman like Allegra? Sure, he could surmise she may be wound a little tight, but she was stunning, intelligent, and witty.
Unless that coolness extended to the bedroom—he dismissed the thought in a second. The way she’d kissed him. The sounds she’d made. What she’d said to him. Nah, a woman that confident in her sexuality, who blurted out that she wanted hot sex with a stranger, would be a firecracker between the sheets.
Something he had every intention of seeing for himself.
“We have to stop meeting in bars like this.” Allegra’s hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment before she stepped around him and ordered a sparkling water with lemon. “I’m beginning to think you have a drinking problem.”
“Don’t believe every Aussie stereotype you hear.” He raised his glass in her direction and downed the remainder of his whiskey. “Bottoms up.”
She blushed and it made him want to ravish her on the spot.
Leaning in close to place his glass on the bar, he said, “Did anyone ever tell you you have a filthy mind?”
She stiffened before deliberately stepping away. “You’re the one twisting things, not me.”
He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I wasn’t the one who wanted to have hot, climb-the-walls sex.”
“Shh, someone might hear you,” she hissed, the pink on her cheeks deepening to crimson.
“Actually, I stand corrected.” He snapped his fingers. “I do want to have hot sex with you, but I wasn’t the one who said it first.”
“Forget I ever said that.” She picked up her drink, avoided his gaze by staring into it, and jabbed at the floating lemon wedge with a straw. “Surely you’ve said something in the spur of the moment and regretted it later?”
“You regret wanting to have sex with me?” He shook his head, mustering a hangdog wounded expression. “Because I could give you a plethora of glowing recommendations.”
Her lips curved into a devastating smile that illuminated her eyes. “You’ve got a smart mouth.”
“Matches the rest of me.” He lowered his voice and crooked his finger. “You can call me Einstein.”
She swatted him away as laughter spilled from the mouth he’d like to ravage.
“Look, I’m not usually that forward. The kiss, what I said…” She waved her hand around. Yeah, like that would erase the scintillating encounter. “It’s not me.”
“Then why did you do it?”
He wanted her to say because she couldn’t help it, because she got caught up in the moment, because she couldn’t fight the sexual attraction simmering between them.
She gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment before straightening, as if coming to a momentous decision. “Honestly?”
“Works for me.” He preferred honesty any day of the week over subterfuge and cunning and lies, three things Reeve had been a master at, considering what the scheming bastard had done to their agency.
She sighed. “There’s something about you that made me ignore the rules of a lifetime.”
Impressed by her candor, he said, “What rules?”
Her gaze met his reluctantly, the depth of her uncertainty surprising him. For a woman who strode rather than walked, and held her head high, she appeared vulnerable.
“I never, ever lose control.” She sucked in a breath, as if she expected him to laugh. “And that’s what being around you makes me feel.” She exhaled on a long sigh. “Like I could lose control and enjoy it.”
In his world, not many people were that blunt, and her honesty made him want her all the more. He had two options: resort to his usual teasing banter or accept her admission for what it was—a truth that could make them both go a little crazy.
“Losing control isn’t so bad,” he said, touching her hand, knowing from her sharp intake of breath that she acknowledged that this attraction between them was potent. “In fact, it can be pretty damn amazing.”
“Spoken like the voice of experience.” Her response held bite but she didn’t move her hand away. “So how many women have you picked up at airports and lost control with?”
He screwed up his eyes, pretending to think. “Including today? One.”
Taking a chance, he entwined his fingers with hers. She didn’t disengage. “And from a dumbass guy’s point of view? It’s pretty damn incredible when a woman voices exactly what she wants.”
He tugged on her hand and pulled her close to murmur in her ear. “Major turn-on to know you want to fuck me as badly as I want to fuck you.”
An odd little strangled sound escaped her throat and she eased away to look at him.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said, the faintest quiver in her voice alerting him to just how out of her depth she was.
“Say yes.”
Her eyes widened until he could see minute indigo flecks in a sea of pale blue. “Proposing an island fling is very cliché.”
“Who said anything about waiting ’til we get to the island?”
…
Allegra went through the motions of eating supper but she hadn’t tasted a thing. The grilled Atlantic salmon salad with garlic-infused lime dressing could’ve been cardboard for how much attention she’d paid to her meal. And when she barely spooned tiramisu, her favorite dessert, into her mouth, she knew she was in trouble. Trouble of the irresistible kind.
That’s what Jett was. Irresistible trouble.
“How’s your dessert?” He scooped a huge spoon of double-fudge chocolate mousse, his selection from the amazing menu, and popped it into his mouth.
That mouth… When it wasn’t zapping speedy one-liners her way, it resurrected memories of how it had kissed. And reinforced how much she’d like to do it again.
On this plane, if he had any say in it.
She’d been saved from responding to his bold declaration to join the mile-high club by the timely arrival of the flight attendant ushering them to their seats to serve supper.
He hadn’t said anything further, but his proposal hung in the air between them, outrageous and bold and tempting. Oh so tempting…
Sex was as controlled as the rest of her life: something pleasant she’d enjoyed but not particularly earth-shattering. She’d lost her virginity in college—late bloomer—and had two or three short-term relationships with guys as forgettable as their prowess. Before Flint and their perfunctory bedroom antics.
So what was it about Jett Halcott that had her so turned on she could barely eat?
“You’re staring at my mouth like you want it for dessert.” He scooped up another spoon of mousse, turned it upside down, and licked it off with a slow sweep of his tongue.
She almost came.
All too aware of her reaction, he repeated the action, swirling his tongue through the rich chocolate in a decidedly obscene way that had her thighs clenching together.
“Sooo good,” he said, placing his spoon on the tray, snagging a napkin and dabbing at his mouth. “You should try it.”
They both knew he wasn’t talking about the mousse.
“Maybe I will,” she choked out, taking giant gulps of water to ease the dryness in her throat.
“Is that a promise?” He winked, his roguish charm as compelling as his sexual magnetism. “Because I guarantee one hundred percent satisfaction.”
“You’re incorrigible,” she said, unable to erase the erotic visual of him licking mousse off the spoon out of her mind. And imagining him licking her in the same way, like he couldn’t get enough.
“But you want me anyway.”
He laughed when she poked out her tongue at him.
“You’re insufferably overconfident. Cocky. And too full of yourself.” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “And no more talk of sex.”
He shrugged, the teasing quirk of his lips indicating an incoming zinger. “Agreed. Less talk, more action.”
She rolled her eyes. “Can’t believe I’m even considering sleeping with you,” she said, picking up her fork and stabbing at a grape on the mini fruit platter.
“Pardon?” He cupped his ear and leaned toward her. “For a minute there I thought you said you were considering sleeping with me? Once I romance you in style, you won’t stand a chance.”
She found his smug grin endearing and cute rather than annoyingly condescending. Yep, she was in trouble. In way over her head with this one.
She made a zipping motion over her mouth. “Shut it.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Okay then, no sex talk. Which leaves the weather or work.”
Neither appealed to her, but anything had to be better than his sexy quips whipping her into a frenzy.
“Is that why you’re heading to Palm Bay? Work?”
For the first moment since she’d met him, darkness clouded his eyes. “Yeah. Meeting with a resort owner.”
“You’re in the hotelier business?”
“Something like that.” His sudden interest in the cheese platter next to the fruit spoke volumes. “I had to sort out a few things in LA for work, and had planned on heading home to Sydney when this opportunity at Palm Bay came up.”
Wondering what it was about his work that had him so recalcitrant, she continued. “You’re based in Sydney?”
