Naughty or Nice

What the actual fuck?

His brow cocks and I want to slap myself. As if I have any right to know what he’s up to on his phone. But it was supposed to be a flirtatious prompt—like Hey, I’m interested.

Oh, God.

The fizz and altitude have definitely gone to my head.

‘Just catching up on messages and firing one off to the team in Singapore to confirm our arrival.’

I nod and automatically lift my wine glass. I do a mental recap: three glasses of champagne and a bit of red—no more for you—and put it down again.

‘Isn’t it early there?’ I check my watch. It’s half-ten at night, UK time. ‘What is it? Eight hours ahead?’

‘Yes.’

‘So that makes it six-thirty...?’

My voice trails away. That look is back in his eye—that look that has salacious heat swirling in me so readily that I forget what point I’m even getting to.

‘You should get some sleep.’

‘Sleep?’ Sleep is not what I’m thinking of. Far from it.

‘Yes—you know...that thing babies hate, teens crave and us adults scarcely get enough of.’

I give a laugh, but it’s tight with need. I know it is, and he does too, judging from the way his eyes drop to my mouth.

‘Why break form, then? Sleep can come later...’ I say.

The lights have been dimmed, the plates cleared away. Frederick is gone—dismissed until his next summons, I assume—and I’m curious to see what other thrills this plane has to offer.

I stand and step around the table. ‘Tell me, Lucas, where do you sleep?’ I walk around the cabin, my fingers brushing over the back of a chair. ‘Here?’

To be fair it looks as comfy as any hotel bed, but he shakes his head, his jaw tense. It’s as if he’s fighting his instincts and I wonder why...

I look to the back of the cabin, to the closed door, and I know the answer before I ask. ‘What about through there?’

I walk towards it and look at him over my shoulder. He’s still seated, rooted, but his eyes follow me.

‘May I?’ I say, my fingers over the handle.

I move before he answers, sliding it open, and I can’t stop the gasp that parts my lips. I shouldn’t be surprised—not having already enjoyed the living space, glimpsed the kitchen. But I am.

It’s incredible: sexy, dark, alluring. Much like its owner.

I sense him move and suddenly he’s behind me.

‘That bed just calls to me...’ I murmur, taking in the mink throw, the cloud-like pillows and inviting duvet.

He laughs softly. ‘Good, because you’re sleeping there.’

I turn to him, my palm lifting to his chest, feeding off his warmth. I can’t meet his eyes, though. I feel suddenly unsure, nervous of his answer despite all he’s said. ‘You’ve really never brought anyone else here?’

‘No.’

‘So I’m the first?’

‘Yes.’