Page 32 of Whiskey Throttle
I wasn’t sure what I was doing when she joined me out there. But I knew I had to try. I had to taste her, kiss her, and see if she was as into me as I was her.
I’ve fucked enough women to know that chemistry makes every encounter better. Fuck me. The chemistry between us is incredible. The banter is beyond anything I’ve known. I definitely want more, but would she? That kiss was something, but not enough to go all the way with me. I’ve kissed tons of women with no intention of fucking them. Then again, it’s not even fair to compare her with them. She’s in a league of her own.
I close my eyes. Breathe her name into the wind like a fool. She’s not coming. I overplayed my hand. Then I hear it, the quiet vroom of the car’s engine.
My eyes flip open, and my head swivels to the black Rolls-Royce pulling in several feet away. My heart thunders in my chest. I don’t move, having practiced my position rooted by the stairs, having waved the staff away. If anyone was going to greet and show her in, it was going to be me.
The driver gets out. His face is polished professionalism that gives nothing away when he opens the back door.
A pair of black stilettos hit the concrete, followed by miles of glistening skin, until she accepts the driver’s hand. A little black dress, hair swept up like she’s attending another charity event. Huge sunglasses hide her face, and the red of her lips reminds me of how stained mine were last night when I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror.
She dressed completely wrong for where we are going. I gave her no clue as to our destination.
So she wore her armor.
It makes me smile. Makes my heart beat faster. Makes my cock harden at the thought of peeling it off. Her heels click sharply on the tarmac, owning the airstrip as easily as she did the gallery last night. The driver wrestles with her luggage behind her.
“I wasn’t sure about this.”
My smile widens at her honesty. Her vulnerability. Yet she’s walking toward me. Toward this. The world can fuck off if that’s what she’s worried about. I close the distance, wanting to hug and kiss her. But I don’t. Not in front of the staff. Not until I get her alone. Instead, I cup her elbow, helping her up the stairs.
“Neither was I.”
My words settle over her. A visible breath of relief eases the tightness around her lips when we get inside the cabin. Her dark features and black clothing look out of place against the cream interior. When she drops into the seat, crossing her legs and looking expectantly at me, I think black cat is more accurate to describe her. Graceful, solemn, and always watching.
She doesn’t remove her glasses. Not when reciting her Bloody Mary drink order and waving away the offer for food. I sink into the captain’s chair next to hers while the staff closes the door and prepares the plane for takeoff. She peers around the cabin, expressionless with only a clipped, “Thank you,” to the attendant bringing her drink and my water.
It’s not until everyone is seated and out of earshot that she leans toward me. One perfectly manicured hand slides the sunglasses down her nose like she’s not just about to ask a question, but deliver a challenge. They catch at the tip, her eyes locking on mine. Cool, sharp, and unreadable.
“Where are we going?” She surveys my half-buttoned shirt, linen pants, and casual shoes. “Why do I feel wildly overdressed compared to you?”
I grin.
“That’s easy. I dressed for seduction. You dressed for self-defense.”
She arches a brow.
“Interesting that your version of seduction looks like you wandered out of a Luca Faloni beach shoot. Do you always wear linen when you’re plotting something?”
“Only when I’m hoping the woman in stilettos will take pity on me and strip me out of it.”
She hums low in her throat, setting her drink down.
“You assume I packed mercy in my suitcase.”
I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear and sneaking in a quick kiss.
“No, Barbara. I’m counting on the fact that you didn’t.”
She slides her sunglasses off completely now, folding them with slow, deliberate grace. Her gaze meets mine. Now, smoky, unflinching, and dangerous.
“If I end up barefoot in a sundress in some bougie little hideaway, just know I’m blaming your reckless charm and this aggressively smooth plan of yours.”
“You say that like it’s a threat,” I murmur, eyes lingering on her mouth, wanting to devour it. She notices. Her eyes dart down to mine and then back up.
“It is.”
I smile, every inch of me pulsing with lust at the fact that she got in the car at all.
