Page 20 of Mile High Ruin

“I assumed as much.”

I set down the cloth. My hands are no longer as steady as they should be.

“I’m sorry.”

This time I mean it. Not because he didn’t deserve the champagne, but because I need the job, and I’ve almost certainly destroyed the one chance I had left.

I face him. “For the spill,” I add. “And for being unprofessional.”

He watches me.

I force myself to continue. “I understand if you ask the agency not to assign me again.”

The words hurt more than they should. I hadn’t expected this job to matter when I boarded. Now it feels like another door closing before I’ve managed to get through it.

I reach past him for the door latch.

“Miss Mercer.”

I stop.

His voice is close behind me.

I turn. He’s nearer than I expect.

There’s no warning. Vadim catches my face in one hand and kisses me. His mouth comes down on mine with the force of something he has been restraining since the moment he boarded the aircraft. My back hits the door, and his other hand settles at my waist, holding me there as his lips move over mine.

For one stunned second, I don’t think.

Then heat explodes through me.

I grip the front of his stained shirt and kiss him back.

4

VADIM

The moment my mouth closes over hers, every sensible reason to stop disappears.

Sloane goes still against the door for one heartbeat, her fingers tightening in the front of my stained shirt as though she hasn’t yet decided whether to push me away or hold on, and then she opens for me with a soft, startled breath that goes straight through me.

I deepen the kiss before she can think better of it.

Her mouth is warm and responsive, far softer than the sharp words she has been throwing at me since I boarded, and the contrast strips away what remains of my control. I slide one hand around her waist and pull her closer until there’s no space left between us, until the hard line of my body presses against the softness of hers and she has no choice but to feel exactly what she has done to me.

She makes a small sound against my mouth, a sound that settles low in my blood.

I’ve kissed beautiful women in hotel suites, penthouses, limousines, and rooms designed for pleasure, women who knew exactly how to move and exactly what expression to wear while doing it. None of them has ever affected me with one involuntary whimper the way Sloane does now.

She responds without calculation. Her body arches into mine before she seems to realize she’s doing it, her fingers sliding upward over my chest, gathering the damp fabric beneath her palms. Her lips part beneath mine, and when my tongue enters her mouth, she answers immediately, meeting me with a hunger that feels newly discovered and impossible to fake.

Fuck.

She responds beautifully.

I tilt her head back and kiss her harder. Her back presses against the closed door, and my hand moves from her waist to the curve of her hip, holding her there while my other hand slips beneath her jaw.

She should tell me to stop.