The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

“You have three options, Anderson.”

“Yes.”

“You can get your smart-ass mouth fucked.”

I smile. That sounds pretty good, actually.

“Or you can bend over, and I’ll give my own version of the Eiffel Tower.”

I chuckle. He’s so ridiculous. Where does he come up with this stuff?

“Or”—he sips his drink and casually shrugs—“I suppose I could take yo

u out for dinner and dancing or something equally boring.”

I smile over at him.

He raises a sexy eyebrow. “Well?”

I narrow my eyes as I fake concentration. “I’ll take dinner and dancing, thank you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Ugh, I knew you were going to pick that one. You’re boring. Why would you want to dance when you have the opportunity to suck my dick?”

I laugh, loud and free. The conversations I have with this man kill me.

“What?” He smirks.

I stare at his beautiful face for a moment. “Tristan Miles, I have never met anyone quite like you.”

“Ditto.” He holds his glass up. “A toast.”

I take a big gulp of my champagne and touch my glass with his.

“To swallowing semen,” he says.

What the hell? I snort and spit my drink out, and it spurts all over the table as I laugh out loud. “You’re head obsessed today.”

He sits back in his chair; his eyes are alight with mischief. “That’s because I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Tristan.” I lean forward in my chair.

He leans forward, too, mimicking me. “Yes, Claire.”

“Be a good boy, and you might get what you want.”

He smiles darkly. “Or be a bad boy, and take it anyway.”

The air crackles between us; our eyes are locked, and nerves flutter deep in my stomach.

I think those two lines just summed up the entirety of Tristan Miles.

I can kid myself all I want about being in charge.

We both know I’m not.

Tristan

We’re in a busy and bustling restaurant. It’s late, after one o’clock in the morning, and we are sitting side by side at the bar.