The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

Get drunk, for one.

“I’m not actually feeling well,” I lie.

“Oh really?” Nelson’s face falls. “Are you okay?”

“I have a migraine.”

“Oh no.”

“Yes, I always get them when I fly. It’s so annoying. I’ll be fine, but I might have to lie down, so if I go missing this afternoon, you’ll know where I am. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“Of course, yes.” He thinks for a moment. “I’ll let them know.”

Three hours later, the strong hands go up the center of my spine and then slowly slide down around my naked hips.

The room is darkened, the relaxing music has a deep sensual beat, and the smell of the masseur’s aftershave is doing things to my lady parts.

Pierre’s hands slide up my back. He drizzles hot oil, and it gives me a thrill as I close my eyes.

Now . . . this . . . is more like it.

“Is this all right?” he asks in his strong French accent.

“Perfect,” I breathe.

Oh man, this is more than perfect; this is spectacular. I’m doing this every day.

Screw the conference.

His hands roam down my back, and I smile into the table.

My phone rings in my bag. It’s loud and would be annoying to people in the other rooms. “Oh, sorry.” I wince. “It will stop in a minute.”

It rings all the way out and then starts to ring again. Shit. “Sorry.” We wait for it to stop, and it starts again. Damn it, what if something’s wrong back home? “I’m sorry; can you pass me my bag, please?”

He picks up my bag and passes it to me, and I dig around for my phone. I don’t recognize the number. “Hello.” I lie back down.

“Where are you?” Tristan barks. “You are missing the workshops.”

Oh shit. “Umm . . .”

“And don’t even think about lying to me, Claire. I know you’re not in your hotel room.”

I frown at his tone. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? “Excuse me?”

“Where are you?” he sneers.

“I’m getting a massage, actually.”

“What?” he gasps.

“Your lecture was intolerable and completely boring. I have better things to do. Goodbye, Mr. Miles.”

“Claire Anderson,” he begins to scold me, and I press “End Call.” I turn my phone on silent and throw it onto the chair in the corner. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”

Pierre’s strong hands go down over my ribs and then lower to my hip bones, and I feel a twinge of arousal sweep through me.

I smile with my eyes closed. Hmm . . . it really is fun being a bitch.