The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

The splash and the way it made the ice slosh had been oh-so-satisfying.

I didn’t stick around to see how the drink delivery played out, but I’d imagined the moment afterward. I pictured the tumbler with the guy’s Rolex resting at the bottom of the glass as it was set down before him, and then heard the bartender’s smug voice. “From the lady, sir.”

Vance looked—for lack of a better word—delighted. “Well, now you have to show me.”

Hales were used to getting what they wanted, and it was clear he wasn’t going to let it go. I threw my hands up in casual surrender. “Okay, whatever, but not right now. You’d be too suspicious of any move I made.”

He was willing to accept that and nodded. “You hear from the guy again?”

“Thankfully, no. He made me want to swear off dating altogether.”

“Well, that’s not true.” His sly smile was sexy. “Because now you have me.”

Did I? We were in this weird gray area where I couldn’t tell what was real. While we were both sexually attracted to each other, we couldn’t act on it. And he said he didn’t date—but we were currently jetting off on a week-long trip together. The line separating our relationship from fact and fiction was blurry.

He moved abruptly.

Warmth flooded down through me, and my breath went shallow as he reached out and traced his fingertips over the curve of my cheek. It was featherlight, just a hint of a touch, but goosebumps showered down my arms.

My voice was a whisper, and I doubted he could hear it over the roar of the engines as we continued our ascent. “What are you doing?”

His word was thick, heavy with desire. “Practicing.”

Down his fingertips went, trailing over my skin until he could gently grasp my chin and draw me forward into his kiss.

His lips were soft and warm as they met mine, making me close my eyes and focus in on the sensation. The kiss was gentle, but it caused a riot of sparks inside my body that skittered around and lit me up. My fingers in my lap curled into fists, wanting to clench on to him, but knowing it’d be better if I didn’t.

The press of his mouth against mine was tame. Restrained.

If I deepened the kiss, I was sure it’d spin wildly out of control. I pictured unbuckling my seatbelt and climbing into his lap, FAA regulations be damned. His hands would settle around my waist and urge me to grind against him while his tongue claimed my mouth.

Blood thundered through my veins, pushed along by my rapidly beating heart, and a dull ache grew between my legs. In my fantasy, his hands edged beneath my shirt and skated upward. My breasts grew heavy with the thought of his fingers inside my bra, touching me how we both wanted, even as the flight attendant was just around the corner and would catch us when she scolded me for being out of my seat.

It was insane to want him this badly, especially when I hardly knew him and needed his help. I’d mixed business with pleasure before, leading to disastrous results.

This was nearly ten years of work.

It was too important to fuck up.

But the longer the kiss went on, the faster my resolve began to crumble. He adjusted the angle of his head, inviting me to open my mouth and welcome his tongue inside, yet as soon as I parted my lips, he began his retreat.

He drew back, giving me a glimpse of his hazy eyes and the way his pulse pounded in his neck. It looked as if he’d ended the kiss right on the precipice of him losing control. The rapid rise and fall of his chest announced he’d been as affected as I had been, but he recovered faster. His gaze dropped to my hands, which were still balled into fists, then it returned to my mouth to watch how his innocent kiss continued to sear across my lips.

“That was better.” His statement came out even and measured. “Believable.”

Of course our kiss was believable. There was enough heat in my body to power Monaco for a week. The question burst from me in a demanding rush. “How long has it been since you last had sex?”

“This is the twenty-ninth day of my challenge.”

I pressed my lips together. “That’s not what I asked.”

A smile spread across his face. “You’re right. It’s been thirty-seven days.”

“Who was she?” The second it was out, I cringed. I sounded jealous as hell, which I wasn’t. I totally wasn’t. Right?

Vance’s smile grew into a grin. “Just a friend.” His tone was teasing. “Not sure how that’s your business, though.”

“If this were a real relationship, I’d want to know who you were sleeping with when we met.”

The playfulness drained from his expression. “I guess you’ve got a point. Her name is Kacey Price.”