LIMITED EDITION BOXED SET: No Pants Required | Bedwrecker | Hollywood Prince

by Karr, Kim

  Red flushes like crimson flowers across my face as I rush to grab my wineglass and slam the tray table closed. Once that’s done, I reluctantly lift my gaze, and with his proximity, I can see his face so much better.

  With a look of bemusement on it, he’s glancing down at me, and that face is just as breathtaking as the rest of him. Strong jaw. Sexy, sexy lips. Sharp, perfectly shaped nose. So masculine.

  There’s a crackle over the speaker. “Folks, there’s a slight delay. We’re finishing up some last-minute paperwork, but should be underway shortly…” the pilot is telling us, and this beach God is talking again.

  I can’t hear the pilot.

  Is something wrong with the plane? Not to be rude, but why won’t this guy be quiet? The announcement might be important. By the time it’s done and I refocus on him, I have no idea what he is saying.

  Right now, though, I have no time to worry about what is coming from his full moving lips. I don’t even try to decipher his words, because I am too busy preparing myself to combat my fury.

  As if going to war, I purse my lips and narrow my eyes at the same time. I have always camouflaged awkward situations with anger, which is one of the reasons why people think I’m a bitch.

  This time is no different.

  And when I fire, I do so with full force. “If you wouldn’t have surprised me like that, I might have thought to clear your space. An ‘excuse me’ is all you needed to say.”

  I’m loud. Too loud. Everyone is looking at me. And it comes out much snippier than I had intended.

  That dark hair looks windblown but perfectly tousled, and it kind of pisses me off. He would have to have hair like that. This time when he speaks, I can actually hear him. “I did say that.” He laughs a little ruefully. “A couple of times, as a matter of fact,” he adds in a much nicer tone than I deserve.

  Anger transforms into panic. “What exactly did you say?”

  He points to my glass. “You mean when I asked you if that was for me?”

  Okay, so it wasn’t do you like what you see.

  My lip-reading skills need improvement.

  This is bad.

  Really bad.

  Mortified, I’m desperately hoping he doesn’t find another seat. In fact, I do my best to ease out of this awkward situation. I give him what I hope is an endearing shrug instead of the wrath I had originally intended to bestow. Honestly, what I want to do right now is disappear into the crack between my seat and the window. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  Next time I get my eyes checked, I think I need to have my hearing checked, too. Do poor eyesight and bad hearing go hand in hand as you get older? I am almost twenty-five. I’d better find out.

  Obviously opting to remain in his assigned seat and not move across the aisle to the empty ones, that hotter-than-sin body and beautifully groomed hair folds itself into the seat beside me, and as soon as that fine ass hits the cushion, he tilts his head my way.

  The shiver that runs down my spine startles me. I can’t remember the last time my body reacted like this to a stranger. If I were forced to come up with that answer, I’d have to go with a very long time ago.

  Those dark eyebrows rise so much that they arch like angel’s wings. “Don’t worry about it. You seem nervous.”

  Honesty is best at this point. “Well, maybe a little.”

  Again with the eyebrow raise, and can I just say, he can do that on repeat. It’s super sexy.

  “Okay, so flying gives me a lot of anxiety,” I confess.

  “Are you a white-knuckle gripper?”

  White-knuckle gripper?

  Isn’t that some sort of sex toy?

  Shocked that he’d ask, I furrow my brows. “Beg your pardon?”

  He guffaws, tilting his head with the force of it. “Do you grip the armrest for at least half the flight?”

  Nothing dirty. I have to think about his question, though. “You know what? I’m not certain.”

  “I want to know so I can make sure to keep my arm out of reach. Scratch marks aren’t really my thing.”

  So dirty just might be what he is going for.

  At that, I raise a brow back. This is going to be fun. I just need to shed my uptight skin. I don’t know this guy. He doesn’t know me. I’ll never see him again. With that, I find myself spouting at the mouth. “I hate flying because I’m scared of heights…or, more specifically, falling. I don’t like bungee jumps, being near ledges, or even looking down from a tall building. It sets my heart racing and gives me a little vertigo. And sometimes on bridges, I need to walk on the inside of the sidewalk and look down at the ground to get across.”

  Now he looks sympathetic. “My sister is afraid to fly. Her solution is to pop a Xanax as soon as she boards. It usually holds her over until landing.”

  “I thought about it,” I admit.

  His eyes are still hidden by the dark frames of his Wayfarers, and I really want to see them.

  “Can I get you something?” the blond flight attendant asks him. The way she looks at him, I’m surprised she doesn’t say, “Coffee, tea, or me?”

  He glances toward her. “Yeah, sure. I’ll have a Corona with a lime and a couple bags of peanuts.”

  She reaches in her pocket and hands him two bags of Planters. “Here you go. And I’ll be right back with that beer.”

  She’s off in a jiffy, eager beaver that she is.

  “Miss,” he calls.

  She turns.

  “Some chocolate, too, if you have any.”

  Her responding nod is almost seductive.

  “Thanks,” he tells her and shoves one of the bags in the pouch in front of him. The sexy stranger then rips open the other bag and pours some of the peanuts in his palm. “Here, have some of my nuts.”

  Nervous laughter spouts out of me and even though I’d never eat out of a stranger’s hand, I find myself considering trying his nuts.

  Yes, I thought that.

  The rakish tilt of his lips mesmerizes me as he continues to hold out his palm. “Come on, you know you want to try my nuts.”

  Aha! He is so trying to be dirty.

  Still, it makes me laugh enough that my wineglass starts shaking in my hand. “Oh, no, that’s where you’re wrong. My mother taught me never to take food from a guy I don’t know.”

  Emptying all the peanuts into his palm, he crumples the empty bag and shoves that into the pouch, too.

  I hate when people put their trash there, but it doesn’t seem to bother me right now because I’m a little preoccupied watching him.

  As if he has a secret, his lips tip up a little more. He has the best smile. Unexpectedly, he pinches one of the peanuts and lifts it. “It’s ‘don’t take candy from strangers.’”

  There’s a hush in the air. It takes me a moment to find my breath. “Right. That’s the saying.”

  His hand moves closer to my lips. “First of all, this isn’t candy, it’s protein, and I doubt your mother ever told you not to eat protein.”

  My breath hitches. “No, she didn’t.”

  “And secondly, we’re not strangers. We’re seatmates. I don’t know who you think I am, but I wouldn’t offer my nuts to just anyone.”

  Laughter roars out of me.

  Somehow he manages to stop himself from completely losing it. With his smirk in place, he’s determined to get me to eat this peanut and moves his fingers even closer. “Come on, try it. You know you want to.”

  As shocking as it seems, I find myself opening for him, and he drops the capsule of protein right on my tongue. For one brief second I imagine taking his hand and holding it to my mouth so I can lick the salt off his fingers. Oh, geez, what is wrong with me? Last night must have gotten me more worked up than I realized.

  “Good, right?” he breathes.

  Feeling flushed from head to toe, I give him a nod while chewing, then I swallow.

  When I do, I start to choke. The peanut is stuck. Oh, this can’t be happening. Coughing profusely, I try to unlodge it
and force it up.

  Concern flashes in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  I nod and manage to say, “I’m fine. Just went down the wrong pipe.”

  No longer concerned for my safety, he asks, “Trouble swallowing my nuts?”

  Still chocking, I have no choice but to spit the peanut into my cocktail napkin.

  Real lady-like.

  His eyes are on me. I can feel them.

  When I look up, there’s a coyness about him.

  That grin turns devilish. “I’m sorry you choked on my nuts, but you might want to work on your gag reflex.”

  Dirty, dirty, boy.

  “What would I do without your wit?”

  He quirks a brow and sits back. “You know you prefer me sitting next to you than sitting alone.”

  “You think so, do you?”

  “I know so. I mean, come on, you’ve already eaten my nuts and we’re still on the ground. Who knows what will happen when we’re in the air. With me by your side, you won’t have any time to think about being nervous.”

  There is a dip in my belly, and we haven’t even taken off yet.

  “Here you go,” the bubbly blonde says, handing him his bottle and a bag of M&M’s. Her name tag reads Jodie, but to me she’ll remain Tiffany.

  The beach bum turns to me. “Would you like some? I can get a glass,” he says, offering his bottle.

  I shake my head. “I don’t care for the taste of beer.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Anything carbonated messes with my stomach.”

  With a shrug, he shoves all of the nuts in his mouth and then takes the items from her with a thank you. I want so badly to mention something about him eating his own nuts, but can’t find the right thing to say.

  I’m so unfunny.

  Once he’s downed his drink, he sets the candy on his lap and whips those sunglasses off. In the pouch they go, too.

  Tiffany is beside him instantaneously. “I’ll take that,” she says. “Would you care for another?”

  He hands her his bottle. “After takeoff would be great. And another for my seatmate then, too.” He points to my partially filled glass and then that insanely sexy stare lands on me.

  Clearly he knows what he is doing to me, because he looks me over from head to toe with languid gray eyes that look like two storm clouds.

  When his gaze lands on my own, our eyes lock, and the air practically crackles around us. What is going on here? Maggie has me all worked up over this list and now I have sex on the brain.

  His gaze lingers on mine, and I swear I see his own breathing pick up.

  Inwardly, I am proud of myself for having taken the time to do my hair and for not wearing sweats. Unfortunately, I have no game and shiver under the intensity of that penetrating stare.

  As his eyes land on my feet, he points to my book, which for the first time I notice landed in a way to display the cover and title perfectly. “Let me get that for you,” he says.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  This isn’t happening.

  This can’t be happening.

  The picture of two men and a woman in an embrace is in plain sight, and the title, Summer’s Ménage, and author’s name, Sandy Cox, are clearly visible. “No, no, I got it,” I say anxiously, diving for it like it’s my last meal.

  It’s too late. Our heads collide, and the small amount of wine I have left in my glass spills all over his hair. Making things worse, when he sits up, he has my book in his hand, cover facing him.

  No. No. No.

  Maggie, I’m going to kill you. Kill you!

  This time, when he looks at me, I feel like he’s assessing me. Sizing me up. Wondering just how kinky I am. “Sandy Cox,” he quips with a raised brow.

  I am dying.

  Dying.

  Obviously a pen name with a play on the location of the book. Odd, I hadn’t noticed that before now.

  A million deaths pass before I can glance at him.

  Bemused, he shrugs and with the most adorable teasing grin says, “I haven’t read this one yet. How is it?”

  There are no words for the mortification I’m feeling right now.

  Trying to stop what happens next is completely useless. Rubbing his wine-dampened head, he smirks at me, and then opens the book.

  I want to grab it from him, but that will only make things worse, so I try to deflect. “I’m sorry about spilling my wine on you.”

  There’s a glint in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, but I have to tell you I don’t think I’ve ever gotten my head wet this early into the game.”

  Trembling from his suggestive tone, I say to myself, “Game?” Then it sinks in and I think, Okay, yes, this is a game. And believe it or not, I want to play. Game on.

  “Cabin crew, prepare for takeoff,” the pilot’s voice booms overhead.

  Tiffany is at our row and taking my glass, a little too late.

  Perhaps thinking he’s won round one, my seatmate starts to read the first line—out loud. “‘Gabe was salty. Owen was sweet.’”

  I feel an odd shiver.

  His voice is low, deep, thick, and oozes with more and more sex appeal as he continues to read. “‘The beginning of the summer heat meant the windows were open. Summer VanVoreen let the cool breeze waft over her as she sat on the bed and examined her choices. She had come to Montauk alone, as she did each summer. And like each summer before, she knew she wouldn’t spend it alone. That time, though, she had gone into town and brought two men to her isolated beach home, not one. Her gaze shifted between the two of them. It first went to Gabe, who had a warrior-like body, and then to Owen, whom she thought looked more like a king. They were both incredibly good-looking in their own way and very fit. She had a choice to make, but she couldn’t pick just one, so she decided to spend the summer with both. Should they both agree to her proposition, of course.’”

  Heat and tingles of arousal shoot through my core. How can this be happening? I’m a thousand shades of red and a million degrees at the same time. I can’t let him go on. I know what is coming next.

  Sex.

  Lots of it.

  One woman.

  Two men.

  Keeping it together, while internally dying, I place my hand over the page. “Story time is over, big boy.”

  His hand covers mine and I swear electricity courses through me. “Oh, I’m only getting started. This book is going to make for one interesting flight.”

  Nabbing it, I quickly tuck it in my seat pouch. “You can’t read this book out loud. People are listening, and this flight is PG.”

  He leans toward me and his hot breath trails across my neck. “Then I’ll whisper.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to direct your attention to the television monitors. We will be showing our safety demonstration and would like the next few minutes of your complete attention.”

  Saved by Tiffany.

  Taking a deep breath, I blow it out and direct my attention to the screen. “When the seat belt sign illuminates, you must fasten your seat belt. Insert the metal …” My mind wanders to my seatmate and his voice. There’s something so familiar about him.

  He nudges me. “Pay attention.”

  How’d he know I’m not? I refocus.

  “There are several emergency exits on this aircraft…”

  The minutes pass slowly. “Oxygen and the air pressure are always being monitored. In the event of a decompression, an oxygen mask will automatically…”

  Nervous, I draw in a deep breath. If that ever happens to me, I’m not sure how I’ll react.

  My seatmate shifts. His body heat radiates as he leans closer to me. He smells like lavender and sea air. An odd scent. Still, I find myself taking another deep breath.

  By the time the safety movie finishes, the plane is moving down the runway.

  “Fuck, that was boring. Give me that book back.”

  I laugh. I shouldn’t like the way the word fuck sounds coming o
ut of his mouth, but I do. “No way.”

  His gaze swivels to mine. “But I want to know what happens.”

  I bite my lip in contemplation. Story time could be fun. Then reason sets in and I whisper, “You’ll have to buy the book to find out.”

  The plane gains speed.

  I grab for the armrest.

  His gaze lands on my hand and he says nothing else as the plane moves faster and faster down the runway.

  The color in my cheeks feels like it is finally waning. I think I’m good now, other than the fact that I’m terrified.

  Glad for the silence, I press my head into the seat and close my eyes. Soon enough the plane is climbing and I feel like the air inside my brain is expanding.

  Too much wine.

  When my head starts to spin a little, I squeeze the armrest even tighter.

  My worries about the plane crashing seem amplified in my somber state, the what ifs firing like missiles through my brain.

  What if the pilot has to perform an emergency landing in a field and it’s not long enough? What if the plane starts to go down over water and we are all sealed inside? What if we crash into a building and ignite into a million flames?

  What if…

  What if…

  What if…

  His arm touches mine. “Hey.”

  Through one eye, I look over at him.

  “Squeeze my arm if you have to,” he whispers.

  We smile at each other, drawn together by our mutual understanding over my fear of flying.

  “I don’t want to leave scratch marks,” I tease.

  He leans even closer. “Go ahead and make your mark. I can take it.”

  Unless I am totally off base, he’s talking about more than my fear of flying.

  Closing my eyes tighter, all I can think is…I plan to.

  5

  Crossroads High in the Sky

  Makayla

  Falling asleep has always been a challenge for me. I lie awake thinking about things that don’t always make sense.

  Pondering.

  Worrying.

  Wondering, what if.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned off the ‘fasten seat belt’ sign, and you may now move around the cabin.”