The Stopover

by Swan, T L

  He holds out his hand. “I’m Jim.”

  My heart free-falls from my chest, exactly like the first time. I take his hand, and electricity shoots up my arm like an electric shock. “Hi, Jim. I’m Emily.”

  So we’re playing that game, are we? Pretending we don’t know each other. This really is like a stopover do-over. I’ll do whatever it takes to break the ice between us.

  With his elbows resting on the table, he steeples his hands under his chin. His eyes dance with mischief. “Where are you flying to, Emily?”

  “London.” I sip my drink. “You?”

  “Dubai. My flight’s been delayed.”

  “Mine too.”

  With locked eyes, we both sip our drinks. The air is electric, and regardless of the love that I have for this man, there is no denying that the sexual chemistry we have is out of this world.

  “Thanks for the drink.” I smile softly.

  “You’re welcome.” His eyes are dark and hooded, and I can feel his arousal from here.

  “What do you do for a living?” I ask.

  “I’m a tour guide,” he replies without hesitation.

  “Really? What kind of tours do you run?”

  “Camping.”

  I snort my drink up my nose as I giggle. “Oh.” I cough. “So . . . you’re the outdoor type?”

  “Totally.” He sips his margarita. “I’m at one with nature.” He crosses his two fingers to show me just how close.

  I try and fail to hide my broad smile. “That’s good to know. Cavemen are such a turn-on.”

  His eyes dance with delight; he likes this game.

  I do too.

  “What do you do?” he asks.

  “I’m a psychic.”

  He bursts out laughing. Oh, it feels good to see him laugh again. “A psychic?” His eyes widen in surprise.

  “Yes.”

  “So . . . you read minds?”

  “I do.”

  “All right.” He looks around the bar and gestures to a woman with his drink. “Tell me what that woman’s saying over there.”

  I look over and see an older woman who looks like she is scolding her husband as he drinks his beer. “She’s telling him that he had better hurry up and put on his compression socks before the flight and that he’s had enough. They won’t let him on the plane if he’s drunk.”

  “Hmm.” He smirks as he looks around. “What about him?”

  I look over to the man who is looking at his phone. “He’s googling prostitutes for his business trip.”

  “And him?”

  “Wondering if his wife is sleeping with her boss.”

  His smile broadens. “You’re good.”

  I cock my head. “I know.”

  “And her?”

  I look over at a girl staring at her phone with a worried look on her face.

  “Googling fungal infections. She’s worried that she caught something from her wild and condomless Saturday night.”

  His eyes dance in delight as he looks around the bar, and then his eyes come back to meet mine. “What about me?”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Yes.”

  Our eyes lock . . . shit, I promised myself that I wouldn’t be a drama queen tonight, and that is a surefire question to wind me up. I could go to town on what a jackass he’s been . . . and I will later. “Right now?” I ask.

  “Yes.” His eyes are dark as he watches me.

  “It’s good to see you.”

  He gives me a slow, sexy smile and leans toward me. “It is.” He cups my face in his hand, and my heart stops. “Although that wasn’t all I was thinking.”

  “No,” I breathe. “I know.”

  He smiles as if fascinated, our faces only millimeters apart. “Why don’t you tell me what else I was thinking?” His eyes drop to my lips.

  “You were wondering what the chocolate on my lips tastes like,” I whisper. How am I supposed to string two words together when he’s looking at me like that?

  In slow motion, he leans in and licks my open lips. My sex clenches in appreciation.

  Oh God . . .

  “Are you flirting with me, Jim?” I whisper.

  He licks me again. “I am. How am I doing?”

  Goose bumps scatter up my spine, and I swallow the lump in my throat. “Okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  I nod, breathless from his touch.

  “What about when I do this?” In slow motion he kisses me; his strong tongue slides through my open mouth and tenderly caresses mine.

  “That could probably work,” I murmur against his lips.

  “And this?” His kiss deepens, and I feel my arousal waken from its dormant sleep.

  I close my eyes as emotion rushes through me . . . this is not good. One kiss, and I’m about to burst into tears.

  How could you treat me so badly?

  Don’t be a wimp . . . I need to keep my emotions in check . . . at least for now.

  Tomorrow is a different story, but tonight is about celebrating what we have with each other.

  I pull out of his kiss. “I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am, Jim, but I can assure you—picking up camping tour directors in an airport bar is not my style.” I sit back and straighten my shirt and sip my margarita.

  He rolls his lips as if amused with the game and picks my hand up and brings it to his lips. He begins to kiss it, and then he turns it over and, with his strong tongue, licks the palm of my hand.

  My sex clenches in appreciation . . . fuck. I’m losing control of this situation.

  Fast.

  I glance over and see two girls sitting near us, transfixed and watching him with their mouths hanging open.

  What must we look like? A gorgeous man sitting here making out with my hand while I act totally uninterested. Act being the operative word.

  “You’re making a scene,” I murmur as I watch him.

  “I can’t help it,” he murmurs against my skin. “It’s been too long.”

  “How long?” I ask.

  “Fifteen days.” He kisses my hand again. “Fifteen long days.”

  That’s how long we’ve been apart . . . he knows how long we’ve been apart to the day. He wants to break the ice between us too. He’s missed me; I know he has. Suddenly I don’t want to play hard to get. I want him . . . hard . . . and fast.

  I pull my hand away from his lips. “Buy me another drink, and then perhaps I’ll put you out of your misery.”

  His eyes flicker with arousal, and his hand immediately goes up as he summons the waiter. “Yes, sir.”

  “Two—”

  “Four,” I interrupt him. He frowns, probably deterred by the extra time it’s going to take to drink those.

  “Four margaritas, please,” he replies to the waiter.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Please make it fast,” he adds.

  The waiter frowns at his apparent desperation. “Yes, sir, of course.” He rushes to the bar.

  We stare at each other as electricity thrums between us—no words are needed. We both can feel this magnetic pull to each other; it’s too strong to deny.

  “It really . . . is good to see you, Em,” he whispers.

  An hour later we walk down the hotel corridor, hand in hand. We are both quiet, lost in our own thoughts.

  My heart is beating so fast, and I know what’s about to happen . . . I’m looking forward to what’s about to happen.

  He opens the door and leads me into the penthouse. I look around and am instantly reminded of who I’m with. It’s easy for me to forget his wealth, but it never goes away. The door closes behind us, and he turns me to him. We stare at each other, and then he wraps his arms around me and holds me tight as he puts his head into the crook of my neck. He holds me and holds me . . . as if scared to let me go.

  The love between us is palpable—so much emotion . . . so much regret—and I find myself tearing up.

  I want to blurt out that I love him, that he h
urt me, and that I’m angry, but I want to let the moment just be. Let the feelings between us speak for themselves; words seem irrelevant to what’s between us.

  He pulls back, and his eyes search mine. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers.

  I cup his face in my two hands, and I kiss him long and slow and just how he likes it.

  He smiles against my lips as he slowly unbuttons my shirt and throws it to the side. He takes off my bra and cups my breasts. His thumbs dust back and forth over my hardened nipples. Our lips are locked, and he undoes my pants and slides them down and takes them off.

  He drops to his knees, and I hold my breath as he slides my panties down my legs and takes them off.

  He leans in and inhales my sex deeply; his eyes close in pleasure as he kisses me there.

  Oh . . . I’ve missed him.

  I think back to the first night we had together on our stopover, and it was so different to this. His touch back then was filled with lust; his touch now is filled with adoration and love.

  He lifts my leg over his shoulder and licks me in my most private part, the one that nobody but he knows. My hands instinctively go to the back of his head.

  This is insane. I haven’t touched him once, and he’s on his knees in front of me, completely dressed . . . having the time of his life.

  His tongue finds a rhythm, and my body begins to move by itself, guiding his tongue just where.

  I begin to shudder, and I close my eyes to try and block him out. He’s been touching me for all of four minutes, and I’m about to come . . . hold it.

  My knees go weak, and I shudder against him, and I feel him smile into me. He laps me up and lays me on the bed. He arranges me how he wants me and spreads my legs open for his gaze. “So . . . fucking perfect,” he whispers to himself.

  With urgency, he tears his shirt over his head and slides his jeans down. His cock hangs heavy and hard between his legs.

  He’s so beautiful . . . the perfect male specimen.

  I smile up at him, and then he goes to his pocket and takes out a condom. Uneasiness fills me. “What are you doing?”

  “I want you more than once, and I don’t want to lose the sensitivity.”

  I frown as I watch him roll it on . . . that’s weird; in the past he always made me roll them on him as if he was unable to.

  He lies beside me on the bed and runs his fingers through my hair as he looks down at me. I can’t read him tonight at all. He seems . . . intense.

  “You’re seeming very sentimental tonight, Mr. Miles,” I whisper.

  “Maybe I am.”

  I reach out and cup his face in my hand. He seems so lost. “Are you all right?”

  “Tonight I am.” He leans down and kisses me, and I can feel the emotion behind it. It’s as if he’s channeling all his love through his lips, and I lose all coherent thought.

  He lies over me, and our bodies take on an agenda of their own as they writhe together.

  Our kiss turns frantic, and he lifts one of my legs and slides in deep. I feel the stretch of his possession; there’s no forgetting his size. It’s unapologetic.

  We both moan in pleasure, and he slides out and slowly back in. I’m wet, so wet, and the sound of my arousal hangs in the air.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Emily,” he whispers as he loses control and slams in hard, knocking the air from my lungs.

  And then we’re hard at it. The bed is hitting the wall with force; our eyes are locked on each other’s . . . silent . . . and in awe. This is a higher level of frequency.

  Our bodies were made to fit together. We were made to fit together.

  He screws up his face as if in pain. “I can’t hold it, babe,” he pants.

  I smile. I love that he can’t hold it. “Let go,” I breathe against his lips. “We have all night. Give me everything.”

  I roll over and feel the dull ache deep inside, and I wince.

  Oh man . . . my body is wrecked.

  Jameson Miles fucked me all night long. Hard and every which way, and today I’m going to pay for it. I turn toward him. He’s lying on his side, perched on his elbow, watching me. “Hi.” I smile softly, embarrassed by what he must have seen.

  “Hi.” He leans in and kisses me before taking me in his arms and holding me tight.

  “I’m sore,” I whisper.

  “That makes two of us.” He smirks.

  I close my eyes against his chest, and we lie in peaceful bliss for another half hour, dozing.

  I get up to go to the bathroom and notice the trash can full of condoms . . . hmm, he wore condoms all night. I didn’t notice at the time.

  I get back into bed beside him and snuggle back against his chest. “Why did you wear condoms last night?”

  I feel his body stiffen beneath me, and I instantly know it was purposeful. He stays silent.

  “Jim?” I frown as I sit up.

  “Don’t.” He goes to pull me back down onto his chest. “Let’s just have a nice morning together.”

  I stare at him. “Why would you wear condoms when I know how much you hate them?”

  He exhales heavily as if annoyed and gets out of bed. “I don’t want any accidents.”

  “What?”

  He exhales heavily as if frustrated.

  I sit up. “You think I would trap you by getting pregnant?”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “What the hell?” I snap as I jump out of bed. “Are you serious?”

  “We’re not together, Emily. I would have to be a fucking idiot to not take precautions.”

  My face falls. “What was last night?”

  His eyes hold mine. “It was goodbye.”

  “What?” I can feel the tears of shock welling in my eyes.

  “Don’t be upset,” he stammers.

  “Don’t be upset?” I cry as I begin to lose control. “You summoned me here to meet you with absolutely no intention of us getting back together?”

  He stares at me.

  “Is that true?” I yell.

  “I’m not the man for you, Emily,” he replies calmly, and I know that this is a practiced speech.

  I frown as the walls begin to close in around me. “What?” I whisper.

  “You’re in love with Jim.”

  I angrily swipe the tears as they roll down my cheeks.

  “I’m Jameson. Jim doesn’t exist, Emily. He’s a figment of your imagination, the man you want me to be.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I cry.

  “You’re better off without me.”

  “If this is about Jake—” I stammer.

  “This isn’t about Jake, although I’m fucking furious with you for lying to me.”

  “I swear to you that nothing happened,” I cry.

  “I know it didn’t.”

  “Then why?” I whisper. “I don’t understand. We belong together, Jay.”

  “I can’t.” He closes his eyes and pauses for a moment as if steeling himself to push the words past his lips. “I don’t want marriage and babies. I don’t want the same things as you. I’m not cut out to do normal, Emily. I’m married to my job. It will never change. I’ve thought long and hard about this.”

  I step back from him as horror dawns. I can hear my own heartbeat in the silence.

  “I will always love you,” he whispers.

  I stare at him through tears . . . what the fuck is happening right now?

  He brushes past me and goes into the bathroom, and the door closes. I stare at a piece of carpet on the floor, shocked to my core. After the beautiful night we had together . . . this is how he treats me?

  He reappears fully dressed, and his eyes find mine. “Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

  “If you walk out that door now, we are over forever,” I whisper.

  His eyes hold mine. “I know.” He steps forward and kisses me softly as he cups my face in his hands. Our faces screw up against each other’s. “This is for the best; another man can make you happier.”
/>   I step back, furious. “Don’t you dare throw that shit at me.”

  “Do you want a lift or not?”

  “Go to hell,” I spit.

  His haunted eyes hold mine. “I’m already there.” He turns and walks out the door. It clicks quietly behind him.

  I sob out loud into the silence as I hold my poor heart.

  Chapter 23

  I sit on the carpet cross-legged, with my back rested against the couch, and flick my phone. I watch it spin until it slows in momentum, and I spin it again.

  It’s been a weird day today—one of realization and the closing of a chapter in my life.

  I’m not crying. I don’t have any tears left for Jameson Miles.

  To be honest, I’m just angry, mostly with myself for meeting him last night and being his puppet once again.

  Magic Mike XXL is on Netflix, and I’m watching it again. It’s ironic, really, that we started our love affair watching this movie, and now I’m watching it again on our demise.

  I’ve been deep in thought. I’ve got some decisions to make—big decisions.

  About where I’m going with my life . . . my career and my future at Miles Media.

  I already know what I need to do. I glance up to the television, and it’s a campfire scene on the beach, and the men are talking about a woman one of them loved.

  “When someone shows themselves to you . . . believe them.”

  My chest constricts at the significance of that statement.

  For weeks now, I’ve refused to believe that Jameson Miles was coldhearted.

  He is, though; no matter how the man I thought I knew presented himself . . . his reality is a lie.

  “Jim doesn’t exist,” he said.

  My phone rings, and the name Tristan lights up the screen. I frown. “Hello.”

  “Oh my God, Em. They think they’ve found it.”

  I sit up. “What?”

  “Lara Aspin’s computer—there’s evidence on there that it was used to log in to our bank accounts.”

  “What?” I whisper, wide eyed.

  “We don’t have details yet, but the computer analysts just called to let us know that the history is very promising.”

  I smile. “That’s great.”

  “I’ll see you in the office in the morning? Come up to the top floor as soon as you get in.”

  “Yeah, sure.” I pause on the line. “Hey, thanks for letting me know.”