The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

“Thank you.” I keep my eyes down as I play the game and refuse to look at him.

Ten minutes later, I take the final sip of my margarita and allow my eyes to drift to the man at the bar; his dark eyes are on me, and heat blazes between us.

I know that look . . . I’m going to fuck you . . . so damn good.

I feel my arousal begin to thump, and with my eyes locked on his, I pick up a strawberry and lick it.

He stands as if summoned by my tongue. With our eyes locked, I suck, and he walks toward my table. “Mind if I take a seat?” his deep, sexy voice purrs.

“Not at all.” My eyes drop to the bulge in his pants, and I raise my eyebrow.

“Don’t judge.” He smiles as he falls into the bench seat beside me. “I just watched the best damn strawberry porn that I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” I smirk. I feel the heat from his close proximity, and I have to fight not to lean toward him.

He holds out his hand. “I’m Jim.”

My heart free-falls from my chest, exactly like the first time. I take his hand, and electricity shoots up my arm like an electric shock. “Hi, Jim. I’m Emily.”

So we’re playing that game, are we? Pretending we don’t know each other. This really is like a stopover do-over. I’ll do whatever it takes to break the ice between us.

With his elbows resting on the table, he steeples his hands under his chin. His eyes dance with mischief. “Where are you flying to, Emily?”

“London.” I sip my drink. “You?”

“Dubai. My flight’s been delayed.”

“Mine too.”

With locked eyes, we both sip our drinks. The air is electric, and regardless of the love that I have for this man, there is no denying that the sexual chemistry we have is out of this world.

“Thanks for the drink.” I smile softly.

“You’re welcome.” His eyes are dark and hooded, and I can feel his arousal from here.

“What do you do for a living?” I ask.

“I’m a tour guide,” he replies without hesitation.

“Really? What kind of tours do you run?”

“Camping.”

I snort my drink up my nose as I giggle. “Oh.” I cough. “So . . . you’re the outdoor type?”

“Totally.” He sips his margarita. “I’m at one with nature.” He crosses his two fingers to show me just how close.

I try and fail to hide my broad smile. “That’s good to know. Cavemen are such a turn-on.”

His eyes dance with delight; he likes this game.

I do too.

“What do you do?” he asks.

“I’m a psychic.”

He bursts out laughing. Oh, it feels good to see him laugh again. “A psychic?” His eyes widen in surprise.