his arms.
His mouth covered hers so quickly she froze in shock. She hadn’t expected such a public first kiss, nor had she expected his mouth to be soft. Or gentle. Or warm. Or persuasive. Or delicious. He sipped from her lips the way he had from his wineglass earlier.
Not that she’d been watching his mouth. Much.
He lifted his head a fraction of an inch, leaning his forehead against hers. “Put your arms around my neck.”
His lips brushed hers with each whispered word and the eroticism nearly melted her. She lifted her arms as directed and his hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer. The embrace mashed her breasts against the hard, hot wall of his chest and fused her hips to his. Desire swept through her like a California canyon fire, searing her deep inside. She planted her hands against his lapels, broke the kiss and looked away—right into the eyes of Helene Ainsley two tables away.
It’s all about appearances, Adam had said.
And Lauryn had better not forget it. That’s all this was. A charade. A setup. A chance for him to paint a convincing picture for the business council nominating committee. The heat in Lauryn’s veins turned to ice.
Adam reclaimed her hand and carried it to his lips. He kissed her knuckle below the ring and reseated her. Leaning over her, he caressed her shoulders and then pressed another scorching kiss to the tender skin beneath her ear. Goose bumps rose on her skin.
Not good. She really, really didn’t want to want him.
“Very convincing. Good job,” he murmured low enough that only she could hear.
The waiter arrived immediately with a bottle of champagne and presented the label for inspection.
Oh yes, Adam had definitely planned this—right down to preordering his favorite vintage of the Salon Blanc champagne. Lauryn knew his preferences because the club kept the brand in stock. Rumor had it that when he requested a bottle he’d chosen his bedmate for the night.
Lauryn didn’t want to be just another woman to share his sheets and his champagne. She’d better not forget the Adam Garrisons of this world bought what they wanted.
He might have bought her participation, but he couldn’t buy her self-respect. And that meant she had to stay out of his bed no matter how easily he’d awoken the passionate hedonist she thought she’d buried years ago. Because when the hedonist came out to play, her common sense went away.
And she refused to be another man’s puppet.
Lauryn stopped dead on the asphalt. “What is that?”
“A Columbia 400, turbo,” Adam said with enough pride in his voice to clamp an iron band around Lauryn’s chest. “My plane. Your ride,” he added, confirming her worst fears.
He covered the last ten yards in quick, long strides and set their luggage down beside a tiny white airplane with a shiny propeller on its nose. His hand dipped into his pocket, reappearing with a set of keys.
She closed her eyes and gulped. This is so not good.
She should have known he wasn’t just taking a different route to Miami International when he headed west of town.
Lauryn’s shaking legs carried her forward at a much slower pace. “Why can’t we fly commercial? You know, big jets with trained pilots, copilots and air hostesses who bring drinks?”
“Too slow.” He shoved his aviator sunglasses into his hair and looked directly into her eyes as if he believed his calm assuredness would be contagious. “I am a trained pilot. I’ve had a license since I turned sixteen. You’ll be safe with me.”
Someone called out to him. Adam turned and walked to meet a guy in a khaki flight suit coming out of one of the hangars.
“I do not have a death wish,” she muttered.
“Neither do I,” he called over his shoulder.
She waited until he finished his conversation and returned. “I’ve never flown in a private plane.”
“Good. I’ll be your first, and I’ll make it good for you.” The gleam in his eyes as he opened a door on the side of the aircraft was purely sexual. Her body responded accordingly, warming, moistening. She shook off the unwanted response.
“My father died in a plane crash.”
Compassion softened Adam’s features. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I take good care of my plane and I’ll take care of you.”
She wavered.
“Statistically, you’re less likely to be in an accident in a plane than in a car. Climb in. Sit in the right front seat.”
Her feet stayed planted. “Adam, I get seasick.”
“Seasick and airsick are not the same. Trust me, Lauryn.”
He grabbed her cold hands and carried them to the warmth of his cheeks, sandwiching her icy fingers between his smooth-shaven jaw and his warm palms. And then he leaned in and kissed her. One gentle, coaxing caress of his lips against hers followed another and another until the beginnings of arousal edged the fear from her stiff limbs. She was on the verge of responding, of threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him closer, when he lifted his head.
“Trust me,” he repeated.
She was stuck. He was going to force her to ride in that dinky tin can. Grimacing, she pulled her hands free. “On three conditions. A, if I absolutely hate it you let me fly home on a regular plane. B, no fancy acrobatics. And C, I don’t want to hear anything about the mile-high club. Not one word.”
He grinned. “Deal. Now climb in.”
He handed her into a compartment barely four feet high and wide. There were two leather bucket seats in the cabin and two more up front. She squeezed between the front seats and groaned as she sank into the one on the right. She was surrounded by glass, and she’d be able to see exactly how high they were off the ground. She buckled her seat belt. Tight.
She couldn’t believe her father had flown for a living. Flying hadn’t just been his job, it had been his passion.
Ten minutes later Adam eased his long frame in beside her. She gripped the armrests and watched him prepare for flight. Headset. Buttons. Dozens of them. And the she noticed the twin screens on the dash. One was GPS. She couldn’t identify the other one. The propeller started, vibrating the plane.
He leaned over and pushed a headset over her hair. “Can you hear me now?”
He winked. Her stomach knotted. She closed her eyes.
Minutes passed while Adam communicated with the tower in the take-charge voice he used at work. She occupied herself with mental math. How much interest would a million dollars paid in twenty-four installments net over five years, ten, by retirement age?
The plane moved forward, bouncing gently down the runway before gathering speed and lifting off. She knew the exact second they left the ground. Squeezing her eyes closed, she tightened her grip on the armrests.
Moments
