Although he distracted me long enough I survived the take-off without a meltdown, a ping of disappointment hits my chest. The touching, the rush of excitement, the desire, it was all a game? A ploy to lessen my panic?
3
Isabelle
Ipress my palms on the black marble vanity of the business class bathroom. Although this washroom is larger and more decorated than the economy bathrooms I’ve become accustomed to, I still can’t extend my arms without hitting a partition wall.
After taking a big breath, I lift my eyes to the gold-encrusted vanity mirror. My face is flushed, my lips are swollen and red from Mr. Holt's thumb rubbing along them, and the unbridled look of lust in my eyes. That is what reflects back at me—a look that doesn't belong on my face.This isn’t me.That woman nibbling on a stranger’s thumb isn’t me. I have rules. I have morals—morals I’d forgo just for one taste of his sinfully delicious-looking mouth.
What?Jesus, Isabelle, get a grip!
I’ve been hiding in the washroom the past twenty minutes, trying in vain to reel back the dignity that eluded me when I sucked on Mr. Holt’s thumb. Thankfully, the flight has another hour and twenty-three minutes until we land.
Yes, I'm counting.
Unfortunately, that means I still have an hour and twenty-three minutes of being seated next to a man who makes me disregard all my ethics. I swear I'm not generally like this. At the very least I expect to be wined and dined before allowing any man to get close to my panties. But one look from Mr. Holt's piercing gray eyes makes me want to tear off my own panties and hand them to him on a shiny silver platter.
An urgent knock on the door startles me. “Just a minute.”
I shouldn’t be surprised by the interruption. I’ve been hogging the only bathroom in business class since the fasten seatbelt sign was switched off.
I exhale the nerves fluttering in my stomach before swinging open the door. My breath hitches halfway to my lungs when I discover who is knocking. Mr. Holt’s six-foot-plus, well-formed physique fills the doorway.
His eyes roam my body as he boldly steps into the washroom. My thighs touch when his enticing scent permeates the air, ridding the space of its offensive sanitizer smell.
Mr. Holt’s gaze is unyielding, like a man who knows what he wants and has no intention of backing down until he gets it. And from his gaze alone, I can tell he wants me.
Pleased by my inner monologue, a shameless moan vibrates my lips. Don’t judge; I may be in a washroom thirty thousand feet in the air, but I haven’t had sexual contact with a man in months, let alone with one as devastatingly gorgeous as Mr. Holt.
“Why are you hiding in the bathroom?” His voice sends an excited tremor down my spine.
“I’m not hiding.” My tone hints at my deceit.
Seconds feel like minutes when we stand across from each other in a gray eyes versus brown eyes intense, lust-driven stare-down. We’re close enough for the hum of intimacy to be felt, but far enough apart I still hold a shred of composure.
A victorious smile tugs my lips when he turns his gaze away first. Scrubbing one hand over his head, he shoves his other into his pocket.
“I don’t have time for relationships,” he informs, his voice husky.
Brazenly, I reply, “That’s okay, neither do I.”
In my industry, I can’t have a pet, much less a relationship.
His eyes lock with mine, shocked by my blasé response. “If we do this, you need to be aware it is a one-time-only deal. There won’t be any calls in the morning, no dates next week. One time only.”
Chewing on my bottom lip, I nod. Even with my shrewdness blinded by lust, I can appreciate his frankness. I hate the false promises men give to get in your panties.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m an old romantic at heart, and one day, I hope to have my fairy-tale ending, but for now, I’ll happily unleash my inner vixen to participate in what I’m sure will be mind-blowing sex with another consenting adult.
Mr. Holt smirks at my agreeing gesture before stepping closer to me. His movements are effortless, yet still demand my attention. His eyes study my face before settling on my eyes. My brows furrow when he places a business card for a nightclub called The Dungeon into my palm.
“Meet me here Saturday night at 10 PM.” A breathless moan spills from my parched lips when he adds on, “Make sure you wear a dress. Panties are optional.”
A frustrated gasp escapes my lips when he pivots on his heels to make his way back to the door. Upon hearing my brazen groan, he spins back around. His heavy-lidded gaze is ruthless, pinning me in place with desire.
“Believe me, there is nothing more I’d like to do right now than find outwhat you look like underallthose clothes, but if I start, I won’t stop.”
Who said I wanted you to stop?
