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I entered the plane, set my carry-on under the seat in front of me, and sank into first-class seat 2D. It always had to be the second row and the window seat. If that seat was sold out, I’d have no problem getting the person who bought it to switch with me. First row was out of the question because they always made you stow your carry-on. Any rows beyond the second always ran out of the first choice of food before the flight attendant reached you. That pissed me off more than anything. And the window? Always the window. It was all about the view and the peace and serenity that I felt when I saw the fluffiness of the clouds that enveloped the sky. Not to mention the fact that I hated people climbing over me to get to the bathroom or the food carts bumping me as the flight attendants made their way up and down the aisles.
I laid my head back and took in a deep breath, my brunette wig still in place and my Chanel sunglasses covering my eyes.
“So you’re the one who booked the window seat?” I heard a man’s powerful voice speak.
I turned my head and slightly lowered my sunglasses only to find a well-tailored black Armani suit staring me in the face. All six foot two of it. My eyes watched as he put his carry-on in the overhead compartment, shut it, and then took his seat next to mine. Short light brown hair that was cut in a classic crew. Simple. Stylish. All American. A strong masculine jawline with a perfectly manicured five o’clock shadow, alluring lips, and a pair of men’s Phantom Aviator glasses that covered his eyes. He radiated a scent. Warm yet cool. Sophisticated. Sea-like with a hint of patchouli. He reeked of wealth.
“Excuse me?”
“When I booked this flight, I was disappointed to see the window seat was already taken.” The corners of his mouth slightly curved upwards.
A rush of warmth flooded my panties and I swore I’d just had an orgasm.
“When did you book this flight?” I asked.
“Yesterday.”
“Then maybe you should have booked it sooner if you wanted the window seat.” I smiled.
“Perhaps. But my business in Seattle finished earlier than I expected.”
“May I get you a beverage?” the perky young flight attendant asked.
“Tequila with a splash of lime, please,” I replied.
“And for you, sir.” Her “I want to fuck you” smile widened.
“I’ll have a vodka cranberry. Light on the cranberry.” He grinned.
I glanced down at his arm, which was sitting on the armrest, and took note of the Cartier watch that sat proudly on his wrist. Elegant, powerful, and out-of-this-world expensive. He didn’t remove his sunglasses, but neither did I, so I couldn’t very well say something to him. But I was dying to see his eyes. He wasn’t complete until I saw the color of them. Actually, he would never be complete until I saw firsthand what kind of package he was sporting underneath his expensive designer pants. He was the type of man women fell to their knees for, and I could understand why. He was beyond gorgeous. In fact, I don’t think my eyes ever laid on anyone sexier. He looked to be early thirties, thirty-two at the most.
“Your tequila with a splash of lime.” The flight attendant smiled as she handed me my drink.
“Thank you.”
“And your vodka cranberry, light on the cranberry.” Her grin widened as she handed him his drink with a napkin tucked underneath it.
“Thank you.” He flirtatiously smiled back.
Rolling my eyes, I brought my glass to my lips. When he set his napkin down, I noticed she had written her phone number on it with a note that read:
“I’ll be in New York for a couple of days. Call me.”
I sighed as I set my drink down on it.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” I picked it back up. “I would hate for the ink to smear.”
He let out a chuckle.Damn it.Even that was hot.
“No worries. And if it did, I wouldn’t care.”
“She’s cute. You wouldn’t want to hit it at least once?” I arched my brow.
“She’s cute. But she’s not my type.”
“And what exactly is your type?” I smirked.
“Brunettes with long wavy hair and,” he reached over and pulled my glasses from my face, “rich brown eyes.”
