The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

“Last time,” I pant against his open lips.

“For

real.” His eyes are closed in pleasure.

What must we look like?

He’s fighting this too. He knows we are wrong for each other, but the physical attraction between us is just too strong.

One time . . . one time won’t hurt . . . will it?

The damage is already done. One more time won’t hurt, surely?

“Go out there, and tell him you’re leaving,” he says as he straightens my skirt and tucks in my blouse.

“I’m finishing my drink, and then I will.”

He kisses me tenderly; his lips linger over mine. “Stay at my house.”

“No, I have a room booked.”

“Where?”

“The Edison at Times Square.”

“Meet you there. Tell the desk that your husband is picking up a key.”

I nod, unable to verbally agree to this lunacy. My voice box must know that this is a bad idea.

He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, smiles, and kisses me once more. He really is a gorgeous man—there’s no denying it.

“It’s good to see you, Anderson,” he whispers.

I smile softly up at the forbidden fruit . . . it’s so good to see you.

His dark eyes hold mine. “I can’t fucking wait to get you naked.”

He turns and, without another word, walks back out into the bar as if nothing has happened.

I stare after him. My hair is messed up, and my body is tingling from head to toe. My chest rises and falls as I try to regain my composure. Jesus, what did I just agree to?

Tristan fucking Miles.

I switch the channel on the television and glance at the clock. Where is he?

It’s been over an hour. I raced back to my hotel room, showered, and got all irresistible, and now he hasn’t even come . . . what if he doesn’t show up?

My eyes widen in horror as a possibility comes to mind. What if he was just pulling a power play to prove that he can have me if he wants me? No . . . he wouldn’t.

Oh my God, he totally would . . . it’s Tristan. What did I expect?

I hear the door click, and I quickly rearrange myself in the bed.

He’s lucky.

The door opens, and he closes it behind him. He turns, and then his eyes float over my naked body. He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Anderson.”

I’m lying on the bed, naked, my legs slightly parted. If I’m going to do this whore-bag thing, I’m going hard core. Don’t mess with me tonight, fucker; you have something I need.