The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

As I sit down, I come to the realization that Tristan doesn’t make me nervous at all; I wish his brother didn’t.

“I just was wondering if you had time to look at the story I wrote?”

“I did, yes, and I loved it. Were you happy with it?”

“Yeah, I think it was better. I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to do with it next.”

He frowns. “We’ll need to submit it as if it has come to you. Did you talk to Jameson?”

“Umm.”

The office door opens, and Jameson marches in. “Hello.”

“Speak of the devil.” Tristan smiles.

“Hello,” I reply as I turn my attention back to Tristan. It’s hard not to stare at Jameson when he’s in a room; he overtakes any space.

This playing hard to get is harder to do than it looks.

“Emily is here to talk about the story she wrote.”

“I see.” He stares at me, and I feel the magnetic pull to him as it begins to surround me.

“Was it okay?” I ask.

“It was.” His eyes hold mine. “It was very good.”

“Are we just going to submit it now as if it has come to her as news?” Tristan asks.

Jameson’s eyes stay fixed on mine. “Yes, I think so.”

My eyes flick between the two men. “Okay. I’ll submit it and let you know what happens.”

Jameson’s eyes hold mine. “I have something I need you to add with it. It’s on my computer. Come with me, and I’ll get it now.”

My nerves tingle. “Okay,” I reply as I stand.

Jameson holds his hand out. “Ladies first.”

I turn to Tristan. “Thank you. See you later.”

Tristan smiles broadly. “Goodbye. Have a nice afternoon.”

I walk to Jameson’s office, and I can feel the heat of his stare on my behind.

Just play it cool . . . no flirting . . . no touching. Just play it cool.

I am here to prick tease the bastard . . . nothing more and nothing less. We get to his office, and he opens the door. I walk past him, and then he closes it and flicks the lock.

I turn to him as he steps toward me in slow motion. His face comes to within an inch of mine.

Our eyes search each other’s, and without a word said, he grabs my ponytail and wraps it around his hand and pulls my head back to his face.

“Don’t fight with me,” he breathes, then leans down and licks my lips.

“Don’t be an asshole,” I whisper.

He bends and runs his hand up my bare leg as he holds my hair in his hand. His tongue licks up the length of my neck, which is stretched out for him, as his hand grabs my behind.