The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

“I will.” I smile, grateful that they aren’t bothered at all. “Thanks for asking me to come.”

Two guys walk up to us, and the girls both smile broadly. I take that as my out. “See you,” I call as I walk toward the elevator.

“Bye,” they call.

I jump in the elevator. “Where to?” the attendant asks.

“Ground floor.” He pushes the button, and we make our descent. My heart is hammering in my chest. Jameson Miles makes me nervous as all hell. I can’t remember when a man made me this excited to get him alone.

Act cool . . . just act cool.

The elevator doors open, and I walk out and look around. Where is he?

I continue through the foyer and peer out to the busy street; I can’t see him. What the hell? Did he leave without me?

“Lose something?” a deep voice asks from behind me.

I turn to se

e Jameson leaning up against the wall, and my heart somersaults in my chest. I walk over, and he takes me in his arms. “I did, actually.” I smile up at him.

We kiss softly, and it’s different from how we normally kiss; it’s tender and sweet, as if he’s been waiting to get me alone too.

“Let’s go home,” he whispers.

I smile. That sounds so good. “Okay.” We walk out the front, and he hails a cab. Ten minutes later, we pull up in front of my apartment.

“Thank you,” I say as I climb out. I turn and hand Jameson twenty dollars, and he shakes his head as if annoyed.

“I’ve got it,” he says.

He climbs out, and we walk through the foyer, hand in hand, as he remains silent.

“Where are the doormen?” he asks as he looks around.

“There are no doormen.”

“There’s no security in this building?” He frowns in surprise.

“There’s security.” I point to the intercom on the wall. “Nobody can get up without being let in.”

He frowns as he assesses it. “Any fucker could walk in here.”

“You are said fucker tonight.” I smirk.

He chuckles as he wraps his arms around me. “That I am.”

We ride to my floor and walk down the corridor; my heart is beating so fast. This is different from the other times we’ve been together. Normally we’re so blinded with arousal that we don’t even remember walking through the front door. I open the door and lead him into my apartment, and I hold my breath as his eyes scan the space.

My apartment is tiny—it would literally fit into his bedroom.

“It’s nice,” he says.

I giggle. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He chuckles and takes me into his arms. “Anywhere with you is good.”

Our eyes lock, and something changes between us. The anger and animosity between us has been replaced with tenderness.