The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

I stare at the woman sitting across the table from me. Avril Mason: she’s beautiful, ticks all the right boxes. Natural blonde, killer body, twenty-eight, a successful fashion editor—she has been on my radar for years, but we have never been single at the same time. I went on one date with her before I went to France for the conference. After that I thought we were going somewhere. Not so much now. I should be obsessed with her; I should be chasing her around New York and falling hopelessly in love.

What I’m doing is neither of those things.

I’m dreaming of a fiery brunette. That woman has gotten under my skin.

I can’t get Claire fucking Anderson out of my head. This is my third date with Avril, and every damn time I’ve spent the entire evening dreaming of Claire. It’s getting to where I have to either step up and do the deed with Avril or stop seeing her. This is not my style. I fuck whomever I want, whenever I want. Doing the deed is never an issue. Especially with someone I know I want.

Usually, I close the deal on the first night or, at the least, the second. This is my third date with Avril, and as she sits across from me—and as usual—I find myself wondering what Claire is doing.

What is it about her that has me captivated?

She’s wrong for me . . . in every sense. There is nothing that we have in common, and she’s right—we live different lives in different worlds.

Avril picks her phone up and pouts and takes a selfie. She instantly posts it on her Instagram and tags the restaurant.

I watch her in a strange detached state.

Why is she so unattractive to me, when I know for a fact that she’s beautiful?

What did that fucking Claire Anderson do to my sex drive?

My dick may as well have shriveled up and died. He doesn’t want anybody but her.

And I don’t get it, because I’ve dated some beautiful women over the years and yet have never had this happen before. I’ve always had to try to reign in my sex drive, control it to be loyal. It’s been a conscious decision.

But now, nobody seems to be good enough to make him even think about wanting to come out and party. Now my traitorous body has only one woman on its mind.

I sip my red wine, annoyed with myself.

Snap the fuck out of this.

Claire Anderson is no good for you. Stop thinking about her.

Witch.

If I had my time again with Claire, I’d give it to her good. I’d break her in half. I get a vision of her riding my cock the other night, and I clench in appreciation . . . so fucking hot.

What am I doing here?

“Well?” Avril asks.

Huh? I glance up from my daydream. Did she say something? “I’m sorry?” I ask.

“I said, let’s go back to my place,” she whispers. “I’ve made you wait long enough; it’s time.”

I smirk, amused that she thinks she’s made me wait. Poor deluded woman.

I don’t want this.

“I have to be up early tomorrow . . . rain check?” I ask.

“Are you serious?”

I hesitate, hardly

able to believe it myself. “Yeah, I am.” I sigh.

Her eyes hold mine. “You’re just not into me, are you?”