Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
At least she’s good until we reach the plane. She pauses on the steps and turns to look at me, wrinkling her nose in suspicion.
“There better not be a bed on this plane, creep.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I don’t think any of the planes have a bedroom.”
“Planes? There’s more than one? Dang, I should have taken Everly seriously that time she suggested we open a candy store back when we were eight.” She jogs up the remaining steps—her leggings-covered ass directly in my line of sight—and I stifle a groan and try to focus on the pilot greeting us at the top of the stairs before I get a fucking hard-on like a teenager.
We take a couple of oversized seats next to each other and the lone flight attendant on the flight gives us blankets and dims the lights after verifying that we don’t want anything. As soon as we’re airborne I show Chloe how to recline the seat and kick up the footrest and she flashes me an awed grin that makes me pause. When is the last time I saw someone get excited about the equivalent of a La-Z-Boy? Have I ever? She’s not the first girl I’ve taken on a private jet, but I’m positive she’s the only girl who’s ever scowled at me about it.
If I’d taken Vanessa this weekend we’d have been fucking in the bathroom the moment the plane leveled out. But I wasn’t interested in bringing Vanessa. Or any of the other women I have listed in my phone who would have been happy to go. I was interested in dragging Chloe on this trip and I’m not even sure she likes me. She’s attracted to me, yes, but does she like me?
Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I care if she likes me? Liking me enough to fuck me is all that I should care about. Yet I find myself strangely interested in this girl. She’s beautiful. Awkward, sarcastic and captivating. Yet possibly the most skeptical girl I’ve ever met. There’s something about her that makes me want to dig a little deeper with her. She’s a challenge. Possibly a long-term challenge and I’ll play this favor game with her—for her—if that’s what it takes to keep her from running.
“Tell me!” She’s turned on her side facing me, the blanket draped over her from shoulder to toes. Her eyes are wide and inquisitive. What does she want me to tell her? I review the last few minutes and try to remember what we’ve been talking about. I give up and raise an eyebrow in question.
“Murder on Mason Lane!” she replies while slapping her palm against the seat in a ‘how could you forget’ kind of way. Then she narrows her eyes skeptically. They’re so fucking pretty, her eyes. They’re green and she might have a coat of mascara on her lashes but nothing else. I’m sure she’d be stunning with all that shit girls put on their eyes, but she doesn’t need it. She’s naturally gorgeous, even when she’s staring at me with cynicism. “Did you work on that case or were you lying to get me on this plane?”
Ahh, the stupid case featured on Dateline that I promised to tell her more about. I can’t say a woman’s ever had any interest in using me for an inside scoop before—in anything to do with my job other than the handcuffs. The handcuffs are pretty popular, if I’m being honest.
So I give her all the details from the Mason Lane case, the details too boring to make it into a one-hour television episode. I talk until her pretty eyes droop and close, fatigue finally winning out over her quest for answers. I watch her sleep and, yes, it occurs to me that it might be a bit creepy but I don’t care. Her eyelashes rest against her perfect creamy skin. Her eyebrows are a delicate arch. Her hair—which I got a feel of last week when I kissed her—is lying across her cheek. It’s soft and glossy and I want more than a brush of it against my hand. I want to wrap it around my fist while I move inside of her. Or thread my fingers through it while her lips are wrapped around my cock. I want it fanning over my chest after I’ve made her come and she’s lying on top of me, relaxed and sated.
I reach over and brush it over her ear and she blinks at me, not really awake. She emits a small murmur and smiles, then closes her eyes again and nods off, her arm sliding from her seat to mine. I slip my hand in hers as I close my eyes and let sleep overtake me.
****
We touch down in the morning at the regional airport just outside of Vail. We’re outside the airport with our luggage in hand minutes after touching the ground. Flying private never gets old.