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I made an irritated sound and pressed on my ears, wishing the clogged feeling would pass. We’d just reached cruising altitude, and I had already played through about a thousand ways this airplane could end my existence. My favorite scenario was a castaway situation where Damon and I had to gradually strip off our clothes to create ropes and whatever else we needed. By day two, he’d be wearing shreds of fabric that barely concealed piles of rippling, angry muscles. Every time he looked at my sun-bronzed skin, he’d pop an aggressive erection that would burst through his torn pants.
By day three, he’d be overcome with lust at the sight of my aggressively average physique and he’d take me by the sand dunes.
And then I’d shake myself, because Damon was a bad idea. Sex with Damon, even casually, was a bad idea. The man seemed to have some sort of superhuman fertility powers, and chances were, if he got that baby stick near me again, I’d wind up with another muffin in the oven.
No, thank you, Lucifer. One baby without a father was enough.
“Would you stop fidgeting?” Damon snapped. He pressed his hand on my knee, which continued to shake up and down.
I decided to ignore the pleasant feeling his hand on my knee stirred up. Nope. Not happening, Chelsea.
“Do you think planes can fly with one engine?” I asked.
“What, are you afraid of flying?”
“No. I’m afraid of falling.”
He set down his phone and whatever he’d been looking at on it. “That’s stupid.”
I glared at him. “If you’re trying to be comforting, you’re failing at it about as much as I’d expect.”
“What I mean is you’re more likely to die from a car crash on the highway than up here.”
“Yeah, but at least I’d be behind the wheel. On a plane, I’m helpless. What if a murder of geese decides to take us out? Revenge for the car park that replaced their favorite lake?”
“A murder of geese? Are you serious? That’s crows.”
“Crows wouldn’t be this high.”
“Neither would geese!” Damon raised his voice, then took a breath and seemed to calm himself. “The term is a murder of crows. Geese would be a flock. And neither would be at this altitude. The air is too thin.”
I pondered this. “An asteroid then. One rogue asteroid and that’s it. We’re toast.”
“Do I need to give you busy work to take your mind off this?”
“Can I watch a movie on your phone?”
“Can you—” He stopped mid-sentence, blinked slowly, as if gathering strength, then shook his head. “No. You cannot touch my phone. Use your own.”
“Mine’s low on charge and I don’t want to use the last of it incase Grant needs to call me about Luna. Why can’t I use yours, anyway? Do you have nudes on your camera roll you don’t want me to see? Did you forget I’ve already seen everything? Everything,” I added in a sinister whisper.
Damon glanced to the side, as if to see if the other fancy business people flying first class were listening in. “I’ve seen everything you have to offer, too, Tinkerbell. And as your boss, I’d advise you to do what I did. Try to purge it from your memory banks.”
I knew I shouldn’t tease him, but I couldn’t stop myself. “No, thanks. I like those images right where they are.”
Damon did a double take, then looked back at his phone. A few seconds later, I glanced down at his lap and noticed a distinct bulge pressing against his pants.
His mouth could lie, but his cock couldn’t. He still wanted it. The real question was whether I did—aside from silly beachside fantasies.We touched down in the city of Savannah in the late afternoon. It was pleasant, sunny, and a little breezy. If I ignored the icy chill radiating from Damon, it was almost perfect.
We were driven to a hotel downtown, let in by friendly staff at the doors, and pointed toward the elevators. When we reached our floor, Damon handed me a key.
“Room 317. That’s my lucky number,” I said, twirling the keycard and it’s lanyard on my finger.
“No. 317 is my room. You’re supposed to be in 318.”
I double checked the card. “Says 318.”
Damon frowned down at his. With a low growling noise, he pushed past me and headed for the elevators. I decided to let myself in the room while he sorted things out.
It was clearly the room he intended for himself, because it was massive. There was a gigantic bed, a sitting area, a little writing desk with a cute antique lamp, and gorgeous views of the city below.
I hopped on the bed and turned on the TV. Coming for this weekend trip meant I’d had to cancel a handful of tennis lessons and my bartending shift on Sunday. But when I complained to Damon about it, he scribbled me a check for two thousand dollars. Then he actually asked if that was enough to cover my time.
