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"No… Not without you."
At the sound of her soft, whispered wail, he ached to drive himself deep inside her. Nothing was holding him back. At that moment he couldn't even picture Sharon's face. And Phoebe was a curvy, buxom, good-time girl, custom-designed by God for just this kind of romp. Of all the women he'd ever been with, this one should have been the last to give him scruples. Instead, she seemed to be giving him the most.
He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to accept the fact that he couldn't finish this. Phoebe was too lost in passion to think straight, so he would have to do it for her.
"I don't have anything with me," he lied.
She slid her hand up his thigh, touched him. "Could I…" She tilted her head, looked at him, and the uncertainty in her eyes cut through him. "Maybe I could do the same thing to you."
Her throat spasmed as she swallowed, and those eyes, as uncertain as a fawn's, undid him. He simply couldn't let this go any farther. Painfully, he fastened his slacks.
"It's all right. I'm fine."
"But…"
He looked away from her wounded eyes. His hands weren't altogether steady as he slipped her sweater back down over her breasts. "Everybody in the front of the plane should be asleep by now, but maybe you'd better slip out first, as soon as you finish putting yourself back together."
She struggled with her slacks, rubbing against him with every movement. When all her clothing was back in place, she looked up at him. "How do you do it?" she asked quietly.
"Do what?"
"Act so hot, and then turn so cold."
She believed she'd been rejected. Even though he'd tried not to, he knew he'd hurt her. "Right now I'm about ready to explode," he said.
"I don't believe you. What is it Tully calls you? 'Ice'?"
He couldn't fight with her, not after he'd seen how vulnerable she was, and he could only think of one way to heal the hurt. He gave an elaborate sigh and managed to sound annoyed. "It's starting again, isn't it? The only time the two of us aren't arguing is when we're kissing. I don't know why I even try to be a good guy with you because it always backfires."
Her lips were still swollen from his mouth. "Is that what you were doing? Being a good guy."
"About as good as I've ever been. It
doesn't come naturally, either. And you know what? You owe me for it."
"I what?" Those amber eyes weren't defenseless any longer. Just as he'd intended, they had begun to flash sparks.
"You owe me, Phoebe. I was trying to show a little respect for you."
"Respect? I don't think I've ever heard it called that."
The sarcasm in her voice didn't quite hide her hurt, so he kept pressing. "That's exactly what it is. And as far as I'm concerned, you just now threw that respect right back in my face. Which means you owe me what I didn't get in here, and I plan to collect."
"How do you plan to do that?"
"I'll tell you how. One day—Any day I happen to choose. Any hour. Any time. Any place. I'm going to look at you, and I'm going to say one word."
"One word?"
"I'm going to say now. Just that one word. Now. And when you hear that word, it means you stop doing whatever you're doing, and you follow me to wherever I choose to take you. And when we get there, that body of yours becomes my own personal playpen. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
He waited for her to explode, but he should have known she wouldn't let him off so easily. Phoebe knew almost as much about playing games as he did.
"I think so," she said thoughtfully. "Let me see if I've got this straight. You're telling me that, because you didn't make it to the mountaintop, so to speak, I owe you a debt. When you look at me and you say now, I'm supposed to turn into your love slave. Do I have it right?"
"Yep." The sadness had faded from his eyes, and he was definitely beginning to enjoy himself.
"No matter what I'm doing."
