The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

She walks over and takes my scotch from me and goes to the sink and pours it down the drain.

“What the hell are you doing?” I frown.

She smiles up at me and slides her hands under my suit jacket and around my waist. “Looking after my man.”

“Don’t tip my fucking drink out.”

“Then don’t drink because you’re stressed. You’re playing with fire, Jameson.”

“You’re not my mother.”

She smiles sexily and goes up onto her toes and kisses me softly.

I glare at her. “I’m furious at you.”

“I know.” She kisses me again. “I wasn’t going out, and then we had to spy on Aaron’s boyfriend because he was meeting someone there from Grindr. And Jake turned up and wouldn’t stop talking to us. He’s so annoying.”

I glare at her.

She smiles and snuggles into my chest. “I missed you this weekend.”

I feel myself relax for the first time since I dropped her off at home on Saturday.

“Don’t miss me, Em.” I sigh.

“I can’t help it.” She kisses my lips, totally oblivious to anything I’m saying. “If you’re stressed, you go down to the gym, or you come and get me. What about karate? I hear that’s amazing.”

I roll my eyes. “Doing karate and turning into the fucking Kung Fu Panda will not relieve my stress, Emily. It’s laughable that you think that it would.”

“Okay, well, hell, go for a run. I don’t want you day drinking.”

I snap my arm around her waist, unable to control myself any longer. “And I told you I don’t want you out with other men. Especially him.”

She runs her fingers through my stubble as she smiles softly. “You’re my only man,” she whispers up at me. “It’s you that I’m thinking about.”

I feel my anger slowly leave me as we kiss.

“I need you tonight,” she says softly.

God, I need her too. No, stick to the rules. “It’s not Tuesday.”

“I don’t care.”

“Do you have to disobey me on every single thing, Ms. Foster?”

“Just you wait to see how naughty I’m going to be tonight, Mr. Miles,” she breathes as I pull her against me to feel my erection.

“Ahem.” A voice sounds at the door, and we both look up, startled.

Emily jumps back from me. “Tristan,” she splutters. “I was just . . .” Her eyes flick between him and me. “I mean, I . . .”

Tristan chuckles. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” she stammers. “I’m leaving.” She practically runs for the door. “Ah, um, goodbye.”

I smirk as I watch her face turn a deep crimson. Tristan already knows—we tell each other everything. “Goodbye, Ms. Foster. I shall send the car for you at seven.”

She nods in embarrassment and scurries from the office, and I smile after her.