The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

To be honest, I could stay here with her forever.

She makes anywhere home.

Emily smiles up at me. Her long dark hair is splayed across the pillow, and her big eyes offer me a deep comfort. My hand slides down over her full breast and lower over her stomach. I turn her head and take her lips with mine. Our tongues dance in a slow erotic dance.

I’m so in love with this woman. When we’re alone, nothing else matters.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Her eyes search mine. “For what?”

“For finding me.”

She rolls toward me and takes my face in her hands. “We were always going to find each other,” she whispers. “Soul mates do that.”

I smirk as I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “You don’t really buy into that soul mate mumbo jumbo thing, do you?”

“I didn’t.” She kisses me softly. “Until I met you.”

We stare at each other in the flickering light, and if I could bottle this moment, I would.

Never have I had something so raw and pure in my life.

Her love is a light . . . my light.

“Jay,” she murmurs as she runs her fingers through my stubble. Her eyes search mine.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can we come back here next weekend?” she asks hopefully.

“Really?” I whisper.

She nods with a soft smile. “I love this old house.”

I smirk. If the truth be known, I’m kind of keen on it myself. “Maybe.”

She snuggles against my chest. I feel her relax in my arms, and after a while, the gentle pattern of her breathing notifies me that she’s drifted off to sleep. I inhale deeply into her hair and smile as I watch the fire.

This is it. I can stop searching.

I’ve found her.

Chapter 20

Jameson

I walk into the apartment right at seven to the delectable aroma of gourmet food cooking. I smile, drop my laptop bag, and make my way to the kitchen to find Emily dancing with her back to me as she cooks. I sta

nd at the doorway and watch her for a moment. She’s wearing a black skirt and a white shirt, her long dark hair is in a ponytail, and her naturally beautiful face is glowing.

A warm feeling of comfort runs through me at her obvious happiness.

All is right in my world when she’s here.

This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced. I don’t want to be anywhere but here with her. From three o’clock every afternoon I start to watch the clock, waiting for the time I get to come home.

I watch as she picks up her wineglass and sips it; her burgundy lipstick marks the glass in a perfect lip shape, and I smile—even her lipstick on the glass does things to me.