 
## (3 Book Romance Bundle)

## Escape to Vegas

## Sex With The Lawyer

## Flown By The Billionaire
Copyright 2016

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# Table of Contents

Escape to Vegas

Sex With The Lawyer

Flown By The Billionaire
Escape To Vegas

By

Kelly Young
Copyright © 2014 by Kelly Young

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Escape To Vegas

All rights reserved.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording and faxing, or by any information storage and retrieval system by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use.

This Book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Kelly Young, except in the case of a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages for the sake of a review written for inclusions in a magazine, newspaper, or journal—and these cases require written approval from Kelly Young prior to publication. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

# Chapter One

We need to talk. Just four small words, but they're powerful. So powerful that they were about to change my entire life. But, of course, I didn't know that in the second they were spoken. Even though I caught the gravity in his tone and the slight furrow in his brow, I still could not begin to conceive how much my world was about to be shaken.

With his suit jacket dangling in the crook of his elbow, he swept a hand through dark hair that I'd been trying to persuade him to have cut for over a week. Neck tie hanging loose around his collar and the top button of his shirt undone, he stared at me with an expression that was difficult to read. Though, one thing was for sure, it wasn't a happy one.

"Can it wait until after dinner?" I asked, gesturing to the vegetables I was in the middle of chopping.

"No," he quietly uttered, eyes drifting to the floor as he shook his head. "No, I...um...I don't think it's a good idea to drag this out any longer."

Stilling my hand, I felt the concern crease my own forehead and tension creep into my shoulders. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Let's go in the bedroom," he urged, gaze deliberately moving to our two young children, who had been sitting at the counter, reading a book to each other. Now, however, their small dark heads, so much like their dad's, had lifted and were looking worriedly from me to him and back again.

Spinning, I placed the knife back in the rack, before hustling the children out of the kitchen. "Watch TV for a little while, okay," I offered, guiding them to the rug.

Mitchell had already left me and I could hear his footsteps on the stairs. A feeling of dread entering the pit of my stomach, I hurriedly followed him. As I walked through the open door of our large bedroom, he was sitting at the foot of the four-poster bed, legs spread wide and elbows resting on his thighs.

"What on Earth's wrong?" I whispered, closing the door behind me in case young ears were listening intently. "Has something happened at work? Is the company-?"

"It's nothing like that," he quickly uttered, sitting up straight and running a hand over the slight belly he'd developed over the previous five years. It was subtle, and it didn't bother me in the slightest, but he was conscious of it.

Blinking, I stared blankly back at him. "Then, what is it?" I sighed, wringing my hands anxiously in front of me. "Are you sick?"

"No, Hollie," he sighed. "I've met someone," he blurted, unable to look me in the eyes as he spoke those words.

They didn't need any further explanation; they were succinct and crystal clear. Yet, my brain refused to process the simple phrase and reason it out to its only possible conclusion. "What do you mean?" I mumbled, shaking my confused head. "Wh...what do you mean, you've met someone."

"Exactly what I say," he wearily snapped. "I've met someone, okay?" he stated, still not managing to lift his eyes far from the carpeted floor. "Things between us haven't been right for a while now, and...I'm just not in love with you any more. I want a divorce, Hollie."

Numb, I stood motionless. I must have misheard him. That was the only rational explanation. Mitchell and I had been together since we were sixteen; we'd been married for eight years, and in all that time, I'd believed we were both happy. Of course, it wasn't always wine and roses, we argued on occasion, but nothing to warrant such a sudden and adamant request for divorce.

"Hollie, for God's sakes, say something," he muttered.

"You've been having an affair?" I breathed, my voice catching in my throat as I leaned back against the closed door for support.

"No," he snapped. "No, I have not."

"Right," I whispered. "So, you're ready to leave me for a woman you haven't slept with yet?"

"Look, I didn't plan it, Hollie," he blurted. "I fell in love, all right?"

"No, it's not all right," I choked, laughing humorlessly. "How long?"

"What?"

"How long?" I repeated. "How long have it been going on?"

Shaking his head, he pushed himself off the bed and snatched his loose tie from around his neck. Tossing the silk onto the mattress, he began pacing the width of the room. "Nothing has been going on," he huffed. "We kissed, but it never went any further than that."

"Bullshit," I mumbled. "You expect me to believe that crap?"

Running a hand over his brow, he shook his head vehemently. "It doesn't matter now anyway, does it?"

"Not to you," I bitterly replied. "Because our marriage doesn't matter to you."

"Look-" he yelled, whirling around to face me.

Forestalling him, I reached back for the door handle and turned it. "It's fine, Mitch," I quickly blabbed, plastering a smile on my face. "We don't need to discuss it any more. You've made your decision, right? You want out?"

"I was hoping we could talk about it like adults," he spat angrily.

Unshed tears stinging the backs of my eyes, I swallowed a thick lump in my throat. "What is there to talk about?" I asked quietly.

His narrow lips parted and he sucked in a breath. However, no words emerged from his mouth.

"The kids are waiting for dinner," I told him calmly. "If you want to leave, I suggest you start packing your stuff. You can go and screw this woman with a clear conscience now, right?"

"Don't be crude, Hollie," he disgustedly muttered. "It doesn't suit you."

"Well, I don't need to worry about what you think suits me any more, do I?" I told him tartly as I stepped out into the hallway and closed the door firmly behind me. Knowing that I could not hold the tears back, I walked quickly into the family bathroom and locked the door. Sitting on the edge of the tub, salty droplets weaved their way down my cheeks and dripped from my chin.

I remained that way for several minutes, soundlessly sobbing, and wondering how the man I loved could have so cruelly ripped the ground out from under me. Had we really drifted so far apart? How could I not have noticed what had been going on right in front of my face? Had I been making him miserable and not even known it?

Feeling thoroughly drained and semi-paralyzed, I trekked down the stairs and somehow continued to prepare dinner.

Six-year-old Michael was curious and perceptive and sensed that something was wrong.

I tried to brush his concern aside. "Daddy's just going to spend some time away from home," I told him.

With a brand of simplicity that only exists in a child's mind, he asked, "Why?"

"I don't really know, sweetheart," I replied honestly.

My daughter, Alena, was more withdrawn than her older brother. But there was an unmissable crease in her four-year-old forehead, and she watched me worriedly as if she expected me to burst into tears at any second. I don't know whether the two of them knew I'd been crying despite my best efforts to hide it. My brave face may not have been as convincing as I had believed it to be at the time.

At some point during dinner, I heard the front door close followed by the roar of Mitch's BMW as he peeled out of the driveway.

"When's he coming back?" Michael asked innocently.

"I'm sorry, honey," I replied sympathetically. "I don't know that, either."

Later that evening, with the kids both in bed, I opened a bottle of wine and shut myself away in the bedroom. Not bothering to put on the light, I sat on the edge of the bed, exactly where Mitchell had been sitting a few short hours before. Gradually getting drunker, I stared miserably at my reflection.

Twenty-nine. During an entire decade when my friends had been partying and having fun, I had been a wife and mother. I didn't begrudge my kids that; I'd wanted them as much as Mitch had. But, what was I left with now? On the cusp of thirty, I was single again. For the first time in my adult life, I was single – that seemed too surreal to be true.

Finding my own blue eyes in the mirror, I noted I was looking right through myself; no wonder the children had known something was up. My light brown hair was pushed back in a ponytail, but a few strands curtained my cheeks. I looked like a mother, all right. But I didn't have to. Just last month I'd gotten dressed up for one of Mitch's work events, and I'd looked pretty good. I still had a decent figure, and with the help of a light dab of make-up, my skin glowed almost like it had when I was eighteen.

My 'loving' husband hadn't mentioned the way I looked that night. I guess he'd already met the women he was leaving me for. Perhaps, compared to her, I looked like crap. Realizing that the alcohol was making my self-immolation worse, I placed the bottle on the floor and flopped back on the mattress. Staring at the dark ceiling, I didn't get any sleep that night.

# Chapter Two

The next morning, running on nothing more than exhaustion and numbness, I moved in a haze. After I'd dropped Michael and Alena at kindergarten and pre-school, I simply drove around for a while, not sure where to go or what to do. Home didn't really feel like home any more. It was too full of memories, too full of Mitch and the constant reminder of what he'd done.

In the end, with no plan to do so, I ended up pulling into the parking lot of my best friend's Condo building. Dione and I had been friends for almost ten years; we'd met working as waitresses as we'd both been getting through college. Whereas I'd, eventually, dropped out when Mitch and I married, she'd continued; gotten her degree and had gone on to build her own PR business.

Still walking around in a fog of disbelief, I somehow found my way to her front door and tapped lightly on the hard surface.

It was several moments before I heard her groggy, "Comin'," and then, slowly, the door opened. Dark eyes blinking, she rubbed a sleepy hand across her henna brow, sweeping strands of dark hair away from her vision. "What's going on?" she mumbled, focus moving carefully over my face.

"I..um..." I muttered weakly, my bottom lip trembling. Hating the fact I seemed so weak and childlike, I bit the quivering flesh between my teeth and willed the tears to remain unshed. It was ultimately futile, though. The more I tried to blink them back, the harder it was to keep them at bay. Gradually, the scorching droplets skated over my pallid cheeks.

"Hollie," my friend anxiously said, sleep quickly dismissed from her features, "what on Earth's wrong?"

"He's left me," I managed to babble, the words distorted and barely audible.

"What?" she demanded, reaching out with her right hand and wrapping her soft fingers around my wrist. "What do you mean, he's left you?" she asked, tugging me into the apartment and closing the door behind us.

An hour or so later, tears still dampening my face, but coming much more slowly and quietly than before, I had recounted the conversation I'd had with my husband and what happened afterward.

"Just like that?" she wondered aloud, tucking her legs beneath her on the couch and leaning into its corner. "Totally out of the blue?"

"Seemed that way to me," I replied. "I thought we were happy. I thought I was making him happy."

"Jesus," she huffed, eyes moving to the ceiling as she shook her head slightly. "God, why can't men think with anything other than their dicks?" she mused rhetorically. Dione had always had a very cynical view of men – well, of people in general really. She also had serious reservations about the staying power of most relationships. Still very much free and single, she was extremely happy with that life. In all the time I'd known her, she'd only had one relationship that had lasted longer than six months.

"You think he has cheated on me?" I sniffed, wiping the back of my hand over a wet cheekbone.

"Oh, honey," she sighed, "I don't know, but it sure as hell doesn't look good." Gaze drifting downward, her serious eyes settled on me. "And whether he has or not, he's still a complete prick."

Unable to prevent myself, I huffed out a sad chuckle. "I just..." I breathed softly. "I don't know where this leaves me. I'm a single mom, my roaring twenties are almost behind me...I..."

"You're not seriously suggesting that your whole world is gonna crumble over this?" she blurted incredulously.

"Mitch and the kids _are_ my whole world," I countered quickly.

"Sure," she nodded, "and I know how much Mike and Alena mean to you, but that doesn't mean there's no room for other things in your life. Being a mom is not the start and end of who you are, Hollie."

Quietly and skeptically, I listened.

"Life is going to go on without Mitch," she insisted. "I promise you, he hasn't left a permanent void."

Silently, I shook my head. She didn't understand. To her, men were replaceable; I wasn't sure if she'd ever been in love – the painful kind that made you feel as though you couldn't breathe.

Seeming to understand my unspoken doubts, she continued. "I know it hurts like hell right now, Hol," she whispered, resting a sympathetic hand on my thigh. "You know what you need?" she said, suddenly brightening with a broad smile. "Revenge!"

"Ugh," I groaned, letting my head slump forward. "I don't-" I began.

Dione quickly forestalled me, though. "Here's what we'll do," she insisted. "We'll go out tonight, find you a handsome hunk of man and you can get your own pay back."

"I can't," I mumbled. The thought of being touched by someone other than Mitch just seemed weird. It had only ever been him; how could I begin to imagine myself in bed with another man. "I don't...It's not going to make me feel any better," I stated.

"Alright, alright," she soothed, her fingers gently squeezing my leg reassuringly. "Why don't we just go out then, girl's night? Or better yet," she excitedly gabbled. "Let's get away for a little while. You, me, Karly and Vegas."

Karly was the third of our group of close friends. She had initially been introduced to Dione through work and the three of us had quickly forged a close bond. Karly, like Dione, was single and happy to be so. She made a living as a wedding planner, and was never one to turn down a party.

"Just us girls," Dione continued, beginning to be thoroughly sold by her own idea. "We'll get your mind off everything."

"What about the kids?" I argued gently.

"Your folks would watch them for a little while, wouldn't they?"

They undoubtedly would. My parents had been complaining about not seeing enough of their grandchildren; I felt sure they'd jump at the chance. Still though, did I really want to fly down to Vegas as if I hadn't got a care in the world?

"You stood by him when he was building up that business," Dione pointed out. "You went without vacations, 'cause you guys couldn't afford them, and now he's thanking you by running off with some slut." Pushing her tongue against her front teeth, she shook her head. "Honey, it's your time to have a little fun."

Her words fueling my anger, the tears in my eyes suddenly went dry. She had a valid point. I'd support Mitch when times were tough, we'd got through it together and now he'd made a success of the company...so, this was how I was being repaid for my loyalty? No, no, I wasn't going to take that lying down.

"Let's do it," I stated assuredly, with a curt nod. "And I'll tell you somethin' else, it's going to be Mitch's treat."

# Chapter Three

After picking up the kids, I went straight home and booked our flights and a three-bedroom suite at the Wynn...all on Mitchell's credit card. As I'd expected, my parents were only too eager to take the kids for several nights, and with everything settled, I hurriedly packed a bag.

The following evening, Karly, Dione and I landed in Vegas and were soon in a cab on our way to the hotel. I had never done anything quite so impulsive in my life, and I was beginning to forget the nightmare I'd left behind.

The suite was extravagant, with panoramic windows that offered views of the brightly lit strip. Each of the bedrooms contained a king-size bed, with plentiful plush pillows and cream colored bed linens.

Karly and Dione were thrilled with the place, strolling through the rooms, they assessed the stock in the bar and the springiness of their respective beds.

"Wow, this place is great," Karly breathed, walking to the large windows and sweeping her long red hair from her face. "Remind me to thank Mitch next time I see him," she chuckled.

I smiled in response, but the mention of his name brought a wave of melancholy that I could well have lived without.

"Come on," Dione excitedly uttered, as she practically bounced from her bedroom to the living area. "Let's get down to the casino and play a little."

"Sounds good to me," Karly concurred quickly. "You up for it, Hollie?" she asked.

"Sure, why not?" I shrugged, trying to keep a brightness in both my face and my voice. How successful I was, I'm unsure. The girls were so thrilled, I'm not sure their perceptive skills were up to much. Nevertheless, I had come to have a good time, and a good time was what I would have – even if I had to force myself to.

The three of us quickly showered and dressed before heading down to the casino. Soon, we were sucked into the noise, the crowds, and the flashing lights of the slot machines. Dione suggested we go off and play some black jack, and I instantly offered to buy some chips with Mitch's card.

After winning the first couple of hands, we figured we were on a roll and pushed more money onto the table. A few hands later, our luck had shifted, yet for some reason, win or lose, we were still having fun. The smile on my features was no longer forced and I even found myself laughing.

"See," Dione said, grinning. "I told you this was a good idea."

"Yeah," Karly agreed, draping one arm around my shoulders and the other around Dione's. "I'm glad we did this. We should do this sort of thing more often."

Eventually, tiring of black jack, we headed to the roulette table, where we got talking to a married couple in their thirties. Rick and Lise were from California, and were, judging by the size of the bets they put down, very wealthy. They were also very friendly, and talked easily with us between spins.

"You know," Rick grinned, "we're having a party later tonight up in our suite. You girls should come."

"A party sounds like fun," Karly quickly replied.

"Oh, yeah," Dione agreed, nodding as she nibbled on a small plate of corn chips she'd bought to stave off her hunger. In truth, we were all becoming ravenous, and were keen to leave the gambling tables in favor of a dining table.

"Great," Lise nodded, looping an arm around her husband's waist and kissing his cheek. "It's pretty casual; wear whatever you want; bring whatever you want."

"Yeah," Rick chipped in. "And if you want to invite any other friends, feel free. It'll all kick off in two hours or so," he added, checking his watch as he spoke. "So, any time after that, come on up to the Fairway Villa."

"We'll do that," Dione assured him.

With that, we left the roulette wheel and made for the restaurant. Over dinner, I quietly mused over the impending party and wondered whether I really wanted to go. Then, I suddenly tried to remember the last time I'd been to a party. It had been over a month before, and it had been one of Mitch's company events, which meant I stayed sober so he could socialize with his colleagues. Recalling the night, I wondered if I'd met _her_ : Mitchell's 'other woman'. Chances were good he'd come across her at work. Had I talked to her that night, did she know who I was, and had she the gall to look me in the eyes?

"Something wrong?" Karly asked, nudging me from my depressing moment.

"No," I quickly uttered. "No, everything's fine. I'm just thinking. I'm not really in the mood for this party."

"Are you kiddin' me?" Dione cried. "You are coming with us, and there'll be no arguing that point."

"Maybe I'll just go back to the room," I offered quietly. "I'm feeling pretty tired."

"No way," Karly said.

"Absolutely not," Dione concurred. "I promised you a vacation to take your mind off things, and that's exactly what we're gonna have."

"If you ask me, you need a few drinks in you," Karly pointed out matter-of-factly. "Everything looks better when you've got a drink or two inside you."

I did try a couple more times to decline the invitation. However, my friends would not let it drop.

"We're in Vegas!" Dione eventually sighed. "You've got let whatever happens in Vegas happen. Hell, we've got this far by flying by the seat of our pants, right?" she asked.

Accepting that, I nodded.

"And we've been having a good time, right?"

Again, I nodded. Although, if I were truly honest, my 'good time' was being marred by the constant thought of Mitchell in the back of my mind – everything seemed to remind me of him. Even when I was doing something in revenge, like paying for the trip with his money, I couldn't entirely enjoy the moment, because there he was, never leaving me in peace.

"Come to the party, Hollie," she added, pleading.

Somewhere in the depths of my brain, I knew that drinking was probably not the best idea. However, it was the only thing I could think of that might just numb the pain. I needed to forget – perhaps some alcohol, some good music and a few dances would provide all that.

"All right," I sighed, nodding. "Let's do it."

# Chapter Four

Rick opened the door to his suite, and the sound of Outkast's 'Hey Ya!' drifted into the hallway. With his shirt unbuttoned halfway, he grinned at the three of us and stepped aside, clearing a path into the room.

"Welcome, ladies," he shouted over the loud music. "Make yourselves comfortable. Help yourselves to champagne, or anything else you want," he urged, pointing to the large curved bar in the corner of the spacious suite.

However, my focus didn't dwell long on the fact his room was twice the size of ours; with white leather couches, sheepskin rugs and tinted windows that spanned the entire length of one wall. Instead, my jaw dropped open slightly as I took in the sight of Lise on one of the couches, her tongue tangled with another man's.

Curious gaze moving back toward Rick, I noted that he was watching the pair kiss with an odd smile on his face. Then, from a small crowd on a makeshift dance floor in the middle of the room, a long-legged blonde sashayed from her friends and approached Rick. Draping an arm over his shoulder, she whispered something in his ear, before he twisted his face and claimed her lips hungrily.

"What the...?" I whispered, dragging my eyes away from our host.

"I don't think this is your average party," Dione chuckled, murmuring the words to me.

Over by the window, there were two very attractive young women; one with long brunette hair that reached the small of her back; the other with a pixie crop of platinum blonde with streaks of vibrant pink. The rail thin blonde reached up to stroke a lock of hair from the other woman's face, smiling broadly at her. Taking a small step forward, the brunette pressed her hourglass figure to the blonde's body and dipped her face. Meeting her halfway, the short blonde lifted her head, and their mouths melded gently together. As they continued to smoothly kiss, their hands began carefully exploring the other's body.

Locked in a tender and passionate embrace, the women were watched by a blue-eyed man with a clean shaved head. Standing just to the left of the blonde woman, he gradually lifted his hand and curled his fingers over the contour of her ass. Breaking from the kiss for only a moment, she cast her eyes back to him and giggled.

Too absorbed by the scene, I didn't realize Lise had seen our arrival and got up from the couch.

"Hi there," she said, greeting us all with slightly unfocused eyes and a girlish grin. "So glad you could make it," she added.

Dione was wearing an amused smirk along with her red strapless dress. Karly, on the other hand, was scanning the room with wide eyes, as if her brain was about to explode. I felt sure the color of my face was matched Dione's dress, and I didn't even know where to put my gaze.

"We only have two rules," Lise continued. "First, no means 'no'," she stated. "And second, be safe."

"Um," Dione grinned. "We didn't exactly know what to expect, so I haven't come prepared."

Amazed that she was actually considering taking part in the "party", my face snapped around to study hers. I had known that Dione was no prude, but this was...well, it was a step further.

"No problem, you'll find plenty of condoms in the glass bowl on the bar," Lise replied, as she motioned casually in that direction. As she did so, the large strong hand of the man she'd been making out with, grabbed her and tugged her back toward him. She chuckled as her back struck his hard chest, while his fingers smoothed around her torso and cupped her breasts.

"I have to get out of here," I whispered, turning on one black, three-inch heel.

Dione's quick reflexes halted me. Before I was able to take a step, she had hooked an arm around my waist. "Where are you going?" she demanded as Outkast faded and 'Striptease' by Danity Kane took over.

"I'm going back to the room," I said, leaning close so I could say the words into her ear and ensure that she heard me.

"Why?" she shouted back.

"I can't..." I muttered, shaking my head. "I'm not comfortable with this," I explained.

"Oh, come on," she chuckled. "It'll be fun. You're gonna stay, right, Karly?" she yelled over her shoulder.

Karly was still fascinated by the spectacles of the room and the twenty-or-so people that occupied it. In that moment, she seemed focused on a man and woman who were dry humping as they danced. Not bothering to twist her face in our direction, she nodded. "Oh, yeah," she smiled.

"See?" Dione stated.

"I'm not saying you have to come with me," I quickly assured her. "I just don't think it's right for me to be here."

"Why not?"

"I'm a married woman," I sighed.

"So is Lise," she argued, laughing.

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head wearily at her.

"You owe him nothing, Hollie," my friend insisted, her features suddenly serious. "He's the one who asked for a divorce, and you can't spend your whole life clinging to something he's already let go of."

"I know that," I breathed. "I'm just not ready for..." Allowing my gaze to slowly move around the room, I discovered the kiss between the women by the window had grown more intense. "I don't think I'd ever be ready for something like this," I told her flatly as my attention returned to Dione's face.

"Don't knock what you've never tried," she urged. "Besides, nobody's saying you've got to hook up with someone. Just stick around and have a drink."

"I don't know," I protested weakly.

"Please, Hollie," she replied, her head dropping to one side and her wavy black hair sweeping over her shoulder.

"All right," I relented reluctantly. "I'll stay for a while, but I-"

"That's all I'm asking," she quickly interjected. "Let's go get a drink," she grinned, tugging me through the cluster of dancing couples and toward the corner of the room.

Karly followed behind, wide eyes continually moving in wonderment.

Fifteen minutes later, with a glass of champagne inside me, I was beginning to feel slightly less warm-cheeked. The ease with which everyone around me kissed and touched each other had started to seem less embarrassing, and, despite myself, it had even kindled a slight spark of arousal in me. It was nowhere near powerful enough to drive me to throw myself at one of the men in the room, but it did cause me to be a little envious of the women who shamelessly could.

Because sex had always been with Mitch, it had always been inextricably linked with love. For me, at least. I didn't know what it was like to seek out physical pleasure in and of itself. I didn't know how it felt to act on the pure desire that could be ignited by a stranger. I had no experience of throwing caution to the wind and acting on primal sexual impulse. And although I'd always assumed I didn't _want_ those things, there was a small part of me that wondered what it would feel like to do something completely out of character. Did I want to be the same Hollie I'd always been? A quiet voice reminded me that, if I wanted to reinvent myself, now was a perfect time to do it.

Nevertheless, long-held fears and self-perception prevented me from doing any more than watching the scenes that unfolded. The main living room was slightly less crowded now, as a handful of couples had left for the comfort of one of the suite's bedrooms. Meanwhile, in the living room, as people became looser, inhibitions and clothes were being shed.

Rick had found himself tugged into the middle of the room by the nubile blonde he'd been kissing. Grinning from ear to ear, she lowered herself to her knees and began unfastening his pants.

Intrigued by how Lise would react to the unabashed display, I tossed my eyes across the room. She was back on the couch; fully clothed, she was laying on her back while the man-mountain she'd paired up with settled between her parted thighs. As he massaged her breasts in both large hands, he kissed his way down her neck. Clearly enjoying the sensation, Lise was not so swept away that she didn't notice what was going on a few feet away from her. Face twisting toward her husband, she watched with a soft smile as the young blonde peeled open Rick's fly and reached inside.

Rick's eyes found his wife's and something seemed to pass between them, but as the girl on her knees freed his erection, his eyes fluttered closed.

Unable to take my focus off the straining, smooth member the blonde held in her hand, I felt my mouth go abruptly dry. Wasting no time, the eager young woman extended her tongue and circled his tip with fervor. Clearly pleased with herself when Rick's hips responded with an involuntary jerk, she wrapped her lips around him and began to gently draw him back and forth.

"Damn," Dione mumbled beside me, her grin growing wide, "that girl sure likes to suck cock."

"Don't you think this is weird?" I asked lifting my voice slightly, so I could be heard over the pulsing beat of a dance track I'd never heard before.

"I think this is hot," Dione replied unflinchingly. "Don't tell me you're not turned on by this, Hollie," she added, peering over her shoulder at me briefly, before her gaze shot back to the middle of the room.

"I...I..." I gabbled quietly, my own eyes moving about me. Where the hell was Karly? Temporarily forgetting the half-question Dione had posed, I scanned the room. Eventually, down a hallway to the left, I spotted the white mini dress Karly was wearing. Being pressed against the wall by a man in a tux, she lifted one leg until her knee reached his hip. Automatically, he looped his fingers beneath her leg before trailing a slow pattern up her thigh.

Had everyone gone insane? Feeling like a spectator at a Bacchanalian orgy, I did the only thing I could do: turned back to the bar and reached for another glass of champagne.

By the time, I had the flute gripped in slightly trembling fingers, I turned back to find that Dione was no longer alone. A tall man, of at least six foot-three, had settled by her side and was smiling down at her. No words were said between the pair, but Dione's grin mirrored his. It was seconds before she had her hands wrapped around his neck and was tugging his head down for a kiss.

And, it wasn't long before the handsome guy was taking her hand. However, she stalled him with soft fingers on his chest.

"Don't run back to the room, will you?" she said, her dilated pupils meeting my face.

"I..." I mumbled, shaking my head.

"Just stick around and soak up the atmosphere," she urged, hurriedly as the man clutching her hand began playfully tugging her away from me. Chuckling, she flicked a flirtatious glance at him before her attention returned to me. "Live a little, Hol," she yelled, before she was pulled too far away to be comfortably heard.

Alone, I warred with what I should do. Neither of my friends would notice if I dashed out of the room and headed back to our suite; they were much too busy. Rich's face was tossed to the ceiling and contracted in pleasure as the blonde continued to fellate him. Lise, on the other hand, was in the midst of getting her skirt hiked up to her waist. So, there would be no awkward explanation to my hosts for my exit, either.

Draining the last of my drink, my mind was settled, I would get the hell out of there. It was foolish of me to even try to pretend that I fit in at a party like that: I felt gauche, ignorant and way out of my depth. My very tame sex life had not prepared me for anything like this. Whether I was mildly aroused or not, and even if my marriage had nothing to do with it, I couldn't be as free and easy with my body as Karly and Dione.

Replacing my glass on the bar, I spun quickly and my shoulder collided with a solid chest.

"Oh," came a breath as the object I knocked into flinched and spilled his drink over his shirt.

"Sorry," I enunciated, peering down at the dampness that had soaked through the cotton of his shirt and was causing the material to cling to his chest.

"It's okay," his deep voice replied. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I nodded, finally allowing my eyes to move up to his face. "Yeah, I'm fine," I continued, finding evenly bronzed skin, a firm jaw, deep hazel eyes, and short crop of dark hair that was shaved tight to his scalp.

"You sure?" he asked.

"Yeah," I insisted. "I'm just...I'm really sorry about your shirt."

"Don't be," he dismissed, lifting an arm with the sleeved casually turned up and flicking his hand. "It's no big deal." Realizing someone behind him wanted to pass, he stepped closer, close enough that I inhaled a fresh citrusy tang that lingered on his skin.

"Tell you the truth," he said, smiling. "It was probably my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going." Resting his almost empty glass down, he reached for another, offering it to me.

"No, thanks," I declined. "I was just about to leave."

"Really?" he asked, disappointment causing his smile to falter. "I was hoping we could talk. See, I noticed you from across the room, and figured this isn't the sort of thing you do often."

With a self-effacing shake of my head, I agreed. "Never."

"Me too," he quickly stated. "This is all totally weird to me," he acknowledged. "I was brought up here by a group of friends, and now they're all...otherwise occupied," he stated smiling. "And they've left me feeling awkward as hell."

"Likewise," I uttered.

"So, are you really set on leaving or would you stick around and talk with me for a while?" he asked, offering me the champagne glass once more.

Glancing at the door, then at the man in front of me, I slowly reached for the drink he held. "Thanks," I said, "that sounds nice."

# Chapter Five

For the better part of ten minutes, we struggled to talk over the loud music and the moans and groans of sexual pleasure that resounded around us. He told me his name was Carmine and that he was in Vegas on vacation; in the real world he was an architect...or something like that, I can't remember exactly.

Eventually, after more, 'What was that?' and, 'Say again', then actual conversation, he suggested that we head out onto the large balcony. Grateful for the chance to get some fresh air, and separate myself from the lusty insanity in the suite, I gladly agreed.

The night air had a blessedly cool breeze as we walked onto the large concrete space. Carmine walked smoothly to the patio table and pulled out a chair, inviting me to sit.

"Thanks," I said, lowering myself into the seat and keeping a hand on the hem of my dress to stop it riding up.

With a smile, he sat in the chair next to mine, inhaling a deep lungful of fresh air. Placing both elbows on his legs, he leaned forward casually, before twisting his head to face mine. "So, you staying at the hotel?" he wondered, making polite conversation.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "Me and my friends are staying in a suite a couple of floors down."

"Suite, huh?" he smiled. "Celebrating something?"

With a wry smile, I lifted my glass to my lips and sipped gently on the drink that was quickly going to my head. "Not exactly," I muttered.

"How did you wind up here?" he asked, not dwelling on my cryptic response.

"Same as you," I began, "we bumped into Rich and Lise and they-"

I didn't finish the sentence, because a clunk from behind us indicated the sliding doors had been parted. With a drunken giggle a fourty-something woman tumbled out onto the balcony followed by a man who must have been about fifteen years younger than her.

"Oh, sorry," she chuckled. "We didn't realize anyone was out here. Is it a private party?" she gabbled gesturing to me and then Carmine.

"Err, no," he responded, "we were just talking."

"Talking, huh?" she laughed. "Well, we had something else planned."

With a quick nod, Carmine began to push himself from his seat. "Well, we can get out of your way," he offered.

"No, no," she quickly insisted. "You don't need to do that. In fact, I'd rather you didn't. See, I like to be watched," she added, eyes appreciatively moving up and down the length of my companion's body. I could understand the fascination. He was in good shape; broad shoulders, slim waist, and his toned forearms suggested the rest of him would be equally muscular.

Having to quickly remind myself that what he looked like was of no consequence, I tried to shake that train of thought.

"Oh," he nervously uttered, glancing at me as if for help. "Well, we...I mean."

"Please stay," she continued, coming closer and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Carmine looked at me, requesting assistance. I couldn't offer any. I was too dumbstruck by what was going on.

The woman's younger friend seemed jealous of the attention she was giving the other, broader built man, and stepped forward. Giving her a playful slap on the ass, he reminded her of his presence. She responded by turning around with a giggle and tossing her arms around his neck. She kissed him, as she stepped back to the balcony's rail.

Then, smoothly she turned, pressing her butt to his groin as he continued to hold her hips. With a tipsy smile, she twisted her face to Carmine and locked eyes with him as the man behind her began to roughly pull up her skirt.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, the man next to me, broke free of the woman's gaze, but he blinked and seemed incapable of refraining from the inexplicable urge to watch. I felt it, too. I wanted to look away; knew I should. Yet, I couldn't take my eyes off the way the man's hands moved over her body, pushing her skirt up to her waist and revealing the nakedness beneath.

Then, he reached for his pants and unclasped his fly. He too now peered over to where Carmine and I sat, but it was me he focused on. With a mischievous smile, he freed himself from his jeans. His smile grew wider as he noticed my eyes drop a little and stare fascinatedly at the way he stroked his sleek, rigid member.

I hadn't realized that the woman in front of him had ripped open a condom wrapper and was now reaching back to pass him the circle of latex. Without shifting his attention from my face, he blindly took the rubber and, with amazingly well-practiced ease, slipped it onto his erection.

The woman was sliding her feet apart, widening her stance. I heard a sharp intake of breath from Carmine at my side, and as my eyes flicked in his direction. Then, I noticed the very large swell in the groin of his pants.

While the man at the balcony thrust his hips forward and the woman groaned in pleasure as he entered her, my own fingers moved unbidden toward Carmine's crotch. I didn't even realize what I was doing until my palm gently nestled against the hard ridge and felt the raw heat beneath. That warmth flushed through me, heating my chest, my cheeks and my sex.

With intense eyes, his face twisted to mine and his strong hand quickly covered my smaller one.

"Oh, yeah, that's good," the woman squealed.

Breathing through an open mouth, the man at my side swallowed and I watched closely as his throat flexed.

"Ugh, you're so freaking hot," the man by the balcony rail growled.

The masculine groan caused my hand to clench slightly, gripping Carmine's hardness. With the same incautious drive that had prompted me to touch him in the first place, I leaned forward. I kept my gaze on his dark eyes, feeling the pull of them. Gently, I licked my lips, before covering his mouth with mine.

"Argh, just like that," the woman screamed.

As the heel of my hand moved in an unconscious rhythm that stoked my own heat as much as it steeled the object beneath it, I tentatively moved my tongue to Carmine's soft lips and tasted the sweet champagne that coated them.

"You like that, huh?" the man grunted, exhaling loudly as he thrust and their bodies slapped together violently.

Carmine's tongue gently met the tip of mine, before gliding over it and penetrating the chasm of my mouth. With thorough sweeps, he explored me, examining every damp, warm nook and leaving us both gasping for breath.

"I..." Carmine whispered, tipping his head back and allowing me to see just how much darker his eyes had become. "I...don't..." Shaking his head, he blinked in an attempt to collect his jumbled thoughts. "Are we...? I mean, do you want to...?"

"I want to," I confirmed, breathless and with flaming cheeks. "Let's go somewhere a little more private, though," I suggested.

"Good idea," he nodded.

# Chapter Six

Not bothering to check the rooms in Lise and Rick's suite, I guessed chances were good they were occupied. And, even if they weren't, they'd been used recently and that thought didn't appeal to me. Instead, as we walked back into the living area, I grabbed a condom from the bowl at the bar and headed directly to the door.

Soon, we were down two floors, in the suite I was sharing with Karly and Dione. And within seconds, I had dragged him through to my bedroom. As I backed into the room, we continued to kiss; a mixture of tender, exploratory touches and urgent, hungry demanding thrusts of tongues. It was a raw state of passion that I was completely unfamiliar with. It was pure, uncomplicated sex.

As he artfully began to shed my dress, my lips took a more thorough appreciation of his neck, sucking and licking at the taut skin, which tasted of a fresh, clean cologne and a musky masculinity that made the crotch of my panties very wet.

In just my underwear, I stepped out of the circle of my dress and kicked the material aside.

Carmine's hands were at my waist and warm fingers slowly moved up the curve. His thumbs rubbed carefully at the side of my breasts through my bra. His fingers then curled reverently around the globes, taking their weight. Smiling, he bent his head and kissed my sternum. Then, with just the tip of his tongue, he trailed down, exploring the bare skin of each breast's curve.

"Oh, God," I whimpered, nipples tightening and straining for his touch.

He must have felt their hardening, because he quickly drew the pads of his thumbs across the aching nubs, causing me to tremble and moan.

It wasn't enough. With artless, quivering fingers, I reached around my back and clumsily unclasped the bra. As the straps slackened, he calmly took over, slipping them down the length of my arms and tossing the underwear aside while his mouth returned to my bosom.

Starting at the edge of one round mound, he placed feather light kisses on the plump flesh. Moving in ever decreasing circles his warm, wet lips claimed my painfully rigid nipple. My hips bucked in reply and his erection prodded my navel.

Never having experienced such a strong yearning between my legs, I found myself innately rolling my hips and rubbing myself against him. Feeling his lips smile against my skin, as he moved from one breast to the other, I clutched needily at the back of his head, cursing the fact that his dark hair was not long enough to grasp.

His own hands meanwhile, were sliding down my hips, his forefingers gliding easily into the waistband of my panties and coaxing them down. Anticipation burning within my belly like a forest fire, my weak neck dropped and my chin fell onto the crown of his head. Inhaling deeply, I was greeted with a pure, fruity shampoo.

Pushing my underwear down until it reached mid-thigh, he let gravity and me do the rest of the work. With a wriggle of my hips, the lacy panties were soon around my ankles and they, like my dress, were hurriedly kicked off.

The smell of my arousal was thick and aromatic. So much so that it briefly occurred to me to be embarrassed by it. However, when Carmine's head lifted, it was not to make a comment. Instead, he rapidly covered my mouth once more and drove his hot tongue in and out. His right hand, meanwhile, cupped my sex and the tips of two fingers gently coaxed my outer lips apart.

Muffled moans escaped me as his forefinger swept smoothly forward and found my entrance. Carefully, he pushed, penetrating me slowly. Again, I groaned, but the sound was obscured by the presence of his lips on mine. Whole body tingling, I jerked, pulling him deeper.

Understanding my need, he introduced a second finger and gradually moved both back and forth in deliberate, measured thrusts. As his expert, solid fingers moved within me, he curled the tips, stroking the spongy front wall of my sex and pressing on a spot that made every inch of my body shake.

Not ceasing that delicious massage, he broke free from my mouth and smiled down at me. "Are you ready?" he asked, bright eyes gleaming with desire.

Gasping and hoarse, I haltingly replied. "I've been....ready...since we walked in," I told him honestly.

"You're so beautiful," he stated softly, his gaze moving slowly over my nakedness as his hand slowly disengaged from me.

I groaned at the loss of him, causing his smile to broaden as his attention moved gracefully to the buttons of his shirt. Reflexes a little slow, I was a second behind in joining his efforts. My fingers were also awkward, and I tugged at the fabric with ungainly desperation. Finally though, his chest; sleek and hard, was bared to me. I instantly leaned forward to worship its perfection with my mouth.

He giggled ticklishly as my tongue traced one pebbled nipple, and I smiled in reply. While his right hand cleverly unbuckled his belt on its own, his left hand swept to my face, brushing strands of mellow mocha hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek. He squirmed as he shimmied his clothes off his hips, but it didn't stop me from sampling the warm, bronzed skin of his tight, chiseled chest.

What ultimately did stop me was when he once again pressed his body to mine and I felt the scorching heat of his generous manhood rub against the top of my hip. Head darting up, the throb of want between my legs pulsed in harmony with the pounding of my heart.

"You okay?" he asked, his left hand gripping the square of foil I'd taken from the party bowl upstairs.

"Yes," I told him huskily, watching the dextrous movement of his fingers as he tore the wrapper and removed its contents.

"I want you," I said, sucking in an erratic breath.

"I want you too," he said, his deep voice rumbling off the walls. He made short work of sheathing himself in the condom, and once he'd finished, he smiled broadly. Placing kind hands on my waist, he took a step forward, guiding me back a pace.

The backs of my calves almost instantly met the bed and I let Carmine's sure fingers direct me downward until I was sitting on the mattress. Once there, on the soft, cream outer bedclothes, I quickly scooted back, kicking off my shoes and lifting my feet.

Effortlessly, he moved in perfect synchronicity, lowering himself onto the bed and nestling between my thighs as I parted them in all too impatient welcome. With his shoes still on, there was not much opportunity to remove the clothes that still hung around his ankles, but that fact bothered neither one of us.

Resting the bulk of his upper body on his hands, which were placed either side of me, he made subtle movement of his hips. I was eager to feel the pressure of his rigidness, and reached between our bodies. However, he did not need me. Without the guidance of my hand, the thick, rounded tip of his latex-covered member had found me.

Softly smiling as he felt the swell of my entrance, he peered down into my obviously flushed face. "This isn't something I've ever done before," he said quietly.

Arching my back a little, I closed my eyes as a tiny fraction of him slid into me. "Hmm," I groaned, gripping my bottom lip between my teeth. "Well, you certainly seem to know what you're doing," I told him.

"No," he chuckled, drawing in deep breaths through his mouth as he held himself in careful control. "I meant, I've never done this with a stranger before," he explained.

"Likewise," I whispered, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as my legs curled intimately around his lower back. "But, I've never wanted anyone as badly as I want you, either."

"Oh, Hollie," he exhaled, bending his elbows and bringing his face down to mine. "You smell so good," he mumbled, his lips close to mine. "So sexy," he added, before kissing me tenderly.

"Argh," I groaned, hips writhing beneath him. "Please," I whimpered, "I can't wait any longer."

Before the strangled plea had left my mouth, his hips were moving fluently forward. Eyelids fluttering closed, his features were serene as he seemed to relish every twitch and subtle clench of my body as it consumed his.

I let out a quiet, frustrated sob, disappointed that he hadn't filled me with a strong, firm thrust. However, as he gradually moved within me, I too began to appreciate the unhurried way his rock hard shaft requested and my own softness immediately granted. My body was so incredibly wet that our joining seemed effortless. He slipped carefully inside, my sex drawing him deeper and deeper, until his blunt point gently bumped my cervix and his hilt nestled against my plump outer lips.

The fit was perfect, he filled me completely.

"Ahh," I moaned, releasing the contented sigh as I felt the delicious pressure of his hard pubic bone against my engorged clit.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his sweaty temple pressed against my cheek and his warm lips tickling my ear.

"Better than okay," I groaned, rolling my hips and shivering as sparks of pleasure shot through me. The tingling of my core; the teasing ghost of an orgasm caused me to clamp my legs more firmly around him. "God," I gasped as my shifting altered his angle, causing his shaft to press against new and previously untouched parts of me.

"Hollie," he panted, his own hips gently rocking in counterpoint with mine. "I need..." he breathed. "I need to..."

He didn't have to finish. It was obvious that his urge to thrust was becoming more powerful. The backs of my calves were draped over his buttocks and I could feel the anxious clenching in those large muscles.

"It's all right," I told him on a whimper.

"Ugh," he groaned, beginning to shift back. As slowly as he'd entered me, he withdrew, leaving just the bulbous tip at the very cusp of my entrance. Then, much more suddenly, he drove forward.

I reflexively opened my mouth, clamping it onto his shoulder as he filled me with an exquisite forcefulness that filled my lower lids with tears of pleasure. Sobbing wistfully, I bit gently on his skin.

"Jesus," he hissed as our bodies met with a clap of skin that was beaded with perspiration. "Damn, Hollie," he added, his dark voice reverberating against my chest and filling me with even more desire.

I was close. I didn't understand how he'd brought me to that point so quickly, but I knew without question that blinding, soul-quaking ecstasy was almost within reach – I could practically taste it. My clitoris, so sensitive to the pressure of his body, was throbbing violently and I felt sure he must have been able to feel it too. Meanwhile, the feeling of completeness with his rock hard erection buried deep within me was prompting spots of bright light to skip across my eyelids each time I blinked.

"Again," I begged, even as he was moving rhythmically from me once more.

This time, his lips took my lobe between them and sucked it greedily into the heat of his mouth as he rammed home.

"Argh," I cried out, tossing my head back into the pillow. His chest, hard and heaving was brushing rapidly over mine, spurring my pleasure by inadvertently massaging my still craving nipples.

He continued to nibble ardently at my ear, his tongue flicking around the shell. "Yeah," he whispered, the word mumbled.

The hands I held at his back, gripped him, nails digging into the sleek skin. "More," I urged, my body convulsing instinctively and arching to meet his.

"God," he grunted, mouth leaving my ear and upper body lifting as he forced almost all of his weight back onto his fully stretched arms.

Blinking, I looked up at his cheeks tinged with pink, his slack jaw and the undressed voracity in his obsidian eyes. He gazed at me with ravenous desire that stirred an ache in my belly. And then, he moved.

Purposeful, passionate and primal, his hips jerked back and slammed forward.

As my depths were speared with his animalistic vigor, my brain began to falter. Sex intensely clenching his rod, my lips parted and a released a deep primitive cry that was like no sound I had ever made before. With blood racing in my ears, my entire body tensed and spasmed in turbulent movements I could not have prevented even if I had attempted to. "Ahh, ahh, ahh," I exhaled on short sharp breaths, my lungs burning with the need to inhale but seeming unable to do so.

That beautiful warmth, brightness and power rolled through me in all-consuming waves, as Carmine continued to give me the entirety of his impressive length with steady, strong drives.

The orgasm lingered, sometimes fading only to surprise me when it crested once more and elicited a scream of pleasure from the pit of my stomach. It would be impossible to say how long that glorious sensation lasted. I do know it was the most intense and inexhaustible climax I had ever experienced.

Eventually though, Carmine's own excitement mounted beyond his control. His features stiffened and his body lurched with less mastery than he'd held over it before. His breathing coming in indescribably masculine groans, he jerked within me and exhaled a whispered, "That was incredible."

And then, suddenly, our bodies both stilled. Like a drowning woman, I gasped deep lungful's of oxygen and continued to cling to him with trembling arms and legs.

Both overwhelmed, we remained that way for several minutes, before he recovered enough to lift himself from me. Dropping heavily onto the mattress by my side, he turned his face toward mine.

I, meanwhile, was staring dumbstruck at the ceiling, wondering how it was possible for me to not have known it could be like that.

"Are you okay?" he quietly asked, hand lifting to my face and sweeping a strand of hair off my sweaty brow.

"Oh, yeah," I sighed, smiling. "Never better," I chuckled.

It was the first time I'd had sex with anyone other than Mitch – and I hadn't thought of my husband once the entire time. At no point had my brain made any comparison, I had simply enjoyed Carmine, as though those moments with him existed entirely separate from anything and anyone. And, I suppose, that's because they did.

For the first time in three days I slept a deep, dreamless sleep. And, throughout the night, I wore a silly smile that flatly refused to be removed from my lips.

### To be continued....

### Thank you for reading!

Please visit your favorite eBook retailer to view the next books in this series.
Sex With The Lawyer

by

Kelly Young
Copyright © 2014 by Kelly Young

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Sex With The Lawyer

All rights reserved.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording and faxing, or by any information storage and retrieval system by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use.

This Book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Kelly Young, except in the case of a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages for the sake of a review written for inclusions in a magazine, newspaper, or journal—and these cases require written approval from Kelly Young prior to publication. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

# Chapter One

I thought my life was going exactly as planned. I believed that I had my proverbial shit together. I was in control, I was happy and content. It only takes an instant to realize how wrong you are about...well, everything.

"Hey, Brooke," the smooth, deep voice behind me crooned. "It's always a pleasure to see you."

My fingers hovering over the keyboard, I tossed my head over my shoulder and quirked an eyebrow. "I really can't say the same," I muttered.

His response was a grin; a slimy, insincere stretch of his lips that he obviously thought was attractive. He was wrong.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, regretting the question as soon as it was out of my mouth, because it would inevitably extend his hovering in the doorway of my office.

"I'm here to meet with your boss," he stated, still with the oleaginous smirk. He stepped forward in his highly polished Italian shoes, and ran a hand down the dark gray vest of his three-piece suit. "I think he wants to talk about a plea bargain on the Jewkes case."

I couldn't help the unladylike snort that erupted as I turned back to my computer screen. "I don't think so," I informed him. "You haven't got anything on Jewkes and you know it. We can't wait to take this thing to trial."

"Hmm," he chuckled, slithering toward my desk before perching himself on the corner. "You were very impressive in court today, by the way."

Remaining silent, I ignored his hollow flattery.

Randy Gregoire had been assistant DA for a little over a year, and was one of the youngest ADA's in the country. A high-flying Yale graduate, he had his sights set on the top. He was driven. In that regard, he and I were extremely similar. That, however; was where our common ground had begun and ended. Randy by name and very randy by nature, he'd made attempts to hit on me each time we'd ever met. And it was no secret that he had a voracious sexual appetite; he had bedded (and tossed aside), every willing female law intern in the city. If those poor girls had believed his promises of giving them a leg-up, they were not savvy enough to be lawyers.

"It's late on a Friday night to still be working, isn't it?" he asked, reaching out and folding his smooth fingers around my wrist to pull my hand away from the keyboard.

Instantly, snatching free from him, my eyes darted up to meet his. "You're still working too," I pointed out.

"Yeah," he nodded, drawing his hand back and sweeping the fingers through his short, blonde hair. "But I'll be finished up soon, and then maybe you and I could grab a drink?"

"I'm busy," I replied stiffly.

"You're always busy, Brooke," he countered with a chuckle. "But sometimes you've got to let that hair down," he added, pitching his voice a little lower.

"How many different ways can I say 'no'?" I sighed, giving up on my work and using both hands to push my chair away from the desk. I was only propelled a few inches back, but it was enough to put some distance between us.

One hand adjusting the Windsor knot at his neck, the other smoothed over the perfectly pressed pants covering his thigh. "You're so uptight, Brooke," he chuckled. "How long has it been since you had sex?"

I rolled my eyes at his tiresome crudity. In part, I knew, it was intended to shock me. I'm sure he hoped for a feminine gasp at his blunt question. I certainly wasn't going to oblige. "That's nobody's damn business but my own," I retorted.

It had been several months since I'd had sex. I had precious time to meet people, I certainly didn't want a relationship with all the mess that would involve, and one-night stands had never really been my thing. But that wasn't the point. Sex wasn't a big deal, it wasn't the be all and end all that so many people, Randy included, seemed to believe.

"You have needs like any other woman," he continued, oblivious it seemed to the expression of disdain his words were met with. "I could help you out," he added, his greasy grin growing wide and teeth flashing like a shark that has smelled blood in the water. "I could have you screaming in ecstasy."

"I don't need a man to have an orgasm," I responded matter-of-factly, folding my arms beneath my bosom. "In fact, most of the time, they just get in the way."

My barb failed to wipe the smirk off his face. Instead, his cold, blue eyes flicked up and down the length of my body. Gradually, he took in the black stockings that covered my legs, the pencil skirt that clung to my thighs, and the white silk blouse that hugged my breasts. "Oh, Brooke," he mumbled. "I can do things your vibrator only dreamed of."

"I'm sure," I snapped, forcing myself from the chair and striding to the still open door. "For instance, my vibrator doesn't annoy the hell out of me. Now, I believe you have an appointment," I sighed, gesturing to the doorway, "and I have work to do."

For a moment, he looked like he might refuse to leave, but after inhaling sharply, he pushed himself to his feet. "You keep playing hard to get," he quietly uttered as he walked toward me. "It just makes me all the more hot for you. And tonight, while I'm banging some little slut, I'll be thinking about you touching yourself."

"You're a pig," I spat, shaking my head.

No more than a foot from me, he stopped. "I always get what I want, Brooke," he breathed.

The heavy scent of cologne, as though he'd bathed in the stuff, stung my nostrils. "Just get out," I demanded.

With a self-assured chuckle, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and took the two steps to the door. Without looking back, he strutted down the corridor to Mr. Weingarten's office.

Exhaling through gritted teeth, I grasped the edge of the door and slammed it shut. "For God's sake," I whispered, turning back to my desk. If that asshole was the last man on Earth, I wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole. Randy Gregoire, and men like him, was one of the reasons I refrained from even casual relationships: it tainted you. Men get away with it and are seen as studs. Women, on the other hand, are branded 'sluts' and are no longer taken seriously.

No, as much as we might like to believe we have equality, the truth is we don't. In what is still a very male-dominated business, I not only had to work that much harder, but also had to conduct myself in a way that made me seem like a ruthless bitch on one hand, and a chaste virgin on the other. Neither of those stereotypes was a true depiction of the real me, but I'd been playing the roles for so long, that I was starting to lose sight of what was true and what wasn't.

With a weary huff, I tossed my eyes to the clock as I slumped back in my chair and tugged myself closer to the desk. It was almost eight; everybody else, with the exception of Mr. Weingarten, had left long before. They had families and social lives. I had...work. But that was alright, because work was all I needed. It was all I wanted. Come hell or high water, I would make partner before thirty-five; even if that meant making sacrifices, I knew they were worth it.

Casting my gaze back to the bright screen before me, I lifted my fingers to the keyboard. But before I managed to type a word, the harsh buzz of the phone interrupted me. Puffing my cheeks out with a sigh, I grabbed for the handset and brought it to my ear. "Weingarten and Ressler, Brooke Addison speaking," I said.

"Um, Brooke?" A hesitant, slightly distorted male voice drifted down the line. "I..err...I'm Shawn Lamont, Helena's brother."

"Oh, right, of course," I nodded, recalling that I'd met Shawn once, maybe twice, before. My brow, however, was tightly lined in confusion. "What can I do for you Shawn?"

"Um, actually," he croaked, clearly struggling. "I'm afraid I've got some bad news."

# Chapter Two

Helena Lamont was one of those people that managed to light a room by walking into it. She was probably the only genuinely good soul I'd ever met, and law seemed like entirely the wrong discipline for her. In fact, when we met in law school, I was convinced she wouldn't make it beyond the first week. That's another thing I was wrong about. Not only did she make it through, but she breezed by, passing the bar with flying colors.

Although Helena and I were polar opposites on paper, we had one of those instant bonds that made me wonder about the possibility of past lives. Within five minutes of meeting, it was as if we'd known each other forever. There weren't many things we held in common; she liked to party, got through boyfriends like they were socks, and was notorious for completing assignments the night before they were due. However, what we did share was a sense of humor and an affection for one another that went much deeper than any friendship I had before or since.

After school, we'd gone our separate ways, I'd stayed in New York and she'd taken a job on the west coast. We remained close, though, talking at least twice a week on the phone and traveling to see each other every few months.

Unlike me, she had no great ambition to run with the 'big boys'. Her dreams were simpler: she genuinely wanted to help people, and she wanted to ensure she had enough time to enjoy life. And enjoy life she certainly did. While earning relatively little at a community legal clinic in Santa Cruz, she lived in a tiny studio apartment just a block from the beach.

"I know it's small," she'd told me the first time I'd visited her in her new home.

"Small?" I'd chuckled. "Hel, you've barely got room for a bed in here."

"Yeah," she'd smiled, nodding toward the window. "But check out that view. Every morning, I get to swim in that ocean. Really starts the day off right, you know?"

I didn't know. The cramped conditions were something I could not overlook, no matter what other perks the property offered.

As far as I know, she did spend the next two years swimming every morning. She also spent her weekends surfing or playing volleyball. And, just as it had been in law school, her dating pool was as broad as it was deep. She really lived. She loved life. It wasn't fair that it should all be ripped from her far too soon.

Staring at the mahogany coffin, surrounded by more flowers than I'd ever seen, it all seemed so unjust that my mind could not contend with it. A drunk driver; an intersection; and Helena's small car. In just a fraction of a second, it was all over.

Motionless, and unblinking I pictured Helena with the broad, genuine smile that was always infectious. I saw her sparkling, bright blue eyes, so full of passion and vibrancy. I saw the long blonde hair that always looked perfect, even when she'd just gotten out of bed. It did not seem possible that I would never see those things again.

Slowly, lifting my hand, I placed my palm on the solid wood. I wasn't aware of the imperceptible, disbelieving shake of my head or the silent tears that had begun to skate across my cheeks.

Suddenly warm fingers cupped my shoulder and, with a start, I lifted me head.

"Sorry," the man softly said, "I didn't mean to make you jump."

I found Shawn's eyes, they were the exact color and shade as his older sister's, but with a heart wrenching sadness within them. He looked as though he hadn't slept in several days, dark circles beneath his lids spoke of sleepless nights since the day he called my office.

"I'm so glad you could make it," he continued quietly. "I know, it would have meant a lot to Helena."

My gaze moving from his and back to the coffin, I exhaled shakily. "Nothing would have kept me away," I replied, wiping at the salty droplets on my face with the heel of my hand. "Um, I've been meaning to ask, are you doing anything about the driver?" I asked, sniffing.

"What do you mean?" he replied, shaking his head.

"A civil suit," I explained.

Shawn's focus fell to the floor and his hand slipped from my shoulder. "I don't think that's..." he murmured weakly.

"He's responsible for Helena's death," I said definitively.

"Is suing him gonna bring her back?" Shawn responded calmly.

"No," I breathed. "But that's not the point, you have a case-"

Gently Helena's bother lifted his face, quieting me with a subtle shake of his head. "Brooke, I know you mean well, but I don't think that's something my parents or I want to put ourselves through. Besides, it's not what Helena would have wanted."

I opened my mouth to disagree with him, but quickly closed it again. I could almost hear her voice. 'It's not worth it. It will only bring more misery. Money won't make anything better.'

"If you'll excuse me, I've got a few things I need to do," he added, stepping back. "Thanks again for coming, Brooke." Unlike the first time he'd said it, this time it was offered with almost forced politeness.

"I didn't mean to upset you," I quickly uttered. "I just...None of this seems fair."

Sticking his hands in his black suit pants, Shawn accepted my apology with a slight nod. "I know," he sighed. "And I know that you think litigation will help right the wrong, but the truth is it won't help Helena." With that, he turned away from me and strode from the room.

I stayed for some time longer, exactly how long I couldn't possibly say. I tried to seek comfort from being close to Helena, but that feeling that had always been there wasn't present. _She_ wasn't present. Her body may have lain in the carefully carved, polished wooden box, but the important things; the things that made her _her_ , those were gone.

In the silence of the funeral home, feeling more alone than I ever had, Shawn's words rolled around and around in my mind. At first, I fought them, determined that he was wrong. A legal suit may not bring Helena back, but it would be some kind of justice. It would acknowledge that there was value in the life that the stupid, selfish bastard had taken.

Yet, as the moments passed, my vehement conviction failed me. A civil suit, and even a criminal prosecution for that matter, could never right an immutable wrong. Nothing. Nothing would ever help Helena's parents deal with the loss of their daughter. Nothing would ease the grief Shawn felt. Nothing would make me feel any better, either.

And, if that was true, what the hell was I wasting my life doing?

I was working to make rich men richer. I was working every waking hour to achieve a meaningless position, so I could do what? Prove that I was as good as the men? Become one of the rich people getting perpetually richer? Did any of that have any real meaning? My career had no meaning in and of itself. On paper, I might have been more successful than Helena had been, but she had helped many more people; arguably worthier people. Along with that, she'd managed to lead a full life. She wasn't chained to her desk, she knew what it was to have fun; how to stop and smell the roses.

Perhaps, I thought, my eyes lifting from their blank stare, it was time I learned how to do some rose-smelling of my own.

# Chapter Three

Mr. Weingarten tugged his reading glasses from his face and dropped them on the table in front of him. "You want what?" he asked.

"I want to take a leave of absence," I repeated.

"I...I..." he stammered, his face creasing quizzically as if I'd just told him I'd been abducted by aliens. "But you..." he muttered, his thumb hooking into one strap of his red suspenders. "Listen," he sighed slowly, seeming to find a cohesive train of thought upon which to jump. "I know that your friend dying has been tough on you, but do you really want to throw everything away?"

"Throw what away?" I huffed, crossing one leg over the other as I adjusted the jacket of my gray suit. "I'm not talking about leaving permanently; I just want to take some time off."

"How long?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at the thinning hair at his temple.

Exhaling thoughtfully, I shook my head. "I don't know; a month, maybe two," I shrugged.

"You realize a lot can happen here in that time," he stated. "Maybe Harris will get partner."

Catching my tongue between my teeth, I fought the urge to provide a knee-jerk reaction to his thinly veiled threat. Surely, it was an idle one. After the years I'd spent slogging away for the firm, he wouldn't really offer the partnership to Harris: a man who had only been working with us for seven months and got the job simply because he was Ressler's son-in-law. Quickly, however, I realized my anger was fading.

"Brooke?" Mr. Weingarten said. "You've done some amazing work for us, won some tough cases and shown how dedicated you are, we appreciate that."

"But?" I muttered, sensing the compliment was far from all he had to say.

Sitting forward, he placed elbows on the desk and pressed his hands together. "I know how much you want to become a partner," he continued. "And, let me tell you, you're close. But if you take a career break now, it's going to set you back at least a year."

"I don't care," I sighed, finding the words flowing from my mouth much more easily than I would have expected. And I meant them. "Ever since my freshman year of college, I've been focused on one thing," I told him casually. "Life is far too short for that."

"Why don't you take a week's vacation?" he offered as it became increasingly apparent that Mr. Weingarten was reluctant to comply with my request.

"Thank you," I nodded courteously. "But I need longer than that. There are things I want to do; things I need to do." Silently, I added, 'to honor Helena'.

With a weary huff that blew out his cheeks, Weingarten let his hands flop listlessly and loudly onto his desk. "Well, if that's really what you want," he muttered.

"Thank you," I repeated more sincerely than the first time. Pushing myself from the seat opposite him, I brushed at the legs of my pantsuit. "I'll finish the week," I told him.

"What about the Jewkes trial?" he asked, his head snapping up.

"Everything's ready," I offered with a small smile. "The defense is all set, it just needs someone to deliver it. A well-trained parakeet could manage, so Harris should be fine."

A wry smile tweaked his mouth and one eyebrow crept upward.

"I'll bring you the files this afternoon," I continued, nodding before turning toward the door.

Just as my fingers grasped the brass handle, Weingarten's voice halted my movement.

"Give this some more thought Brooke, I don't want to see you making a mistake."

Twisting my head over my shoulder, I studied his face, wondering for a moment whether his concern was genuinely for me, or just for his business. "I don't need to think about it," I eventually said. "I know I'm not making a mistake."

Ironically, every night over the following days I was stuck in my office later than usual, tying up the loose ends of the cases I was working to ensure they were complete enough, that if a moron like Harris took over where I left off, he couldn't do too much damage.

For the rest of that week, neither Weingarten or Ressler mentioned the subject of my career hiatus. In fact, both men seemed intent on avoiding me. I had a feeling Ressler in particular was angry about my decision, and, although I knew that spelled the end of my partnership hopes (at least in the near future), I couldn't find it within myself to be distressed by that fact. Instead, I was invigorated with a new spirit. There were more important things than a job title and a big fat bonus. I wanted to live, even if just for a month or two, as Helena had lived. I wanted to embrace opportunity, experience new things and throw myself into life with the joy and passion she'd had. It was my tribute to her. Perhaps, upon reflection, it was a naïve way of trying to feel closer to her. But, whatever it was, I was determined to do it.

That Friday evening, I found myself staring at the clock, watching the second hand and wondering how I would put all of my big plans into action. I had secured my sabbatical. Work was done, I could have got up that instant and begun living. But how does someone start living?

"You know what we should do?" Helena's voice reverberated in my head as I recalled a night we'd spent drinking wine on her sofa. "We should travel."

"Now?" I'd asked, laughing.

"No," she'd responded. "We should take a long vacation, see some of the beautiful places in the world."

The memory sparked something within me. Shaking myself from my zombie-like state, I lunged for my computer's mouse, and jerked it to enliven the darkened screen. Hurriedly, I searched for available flights for the next day. Scanning the list of destinations, one leaped out at me: Paris. With a few more taps of the keyboard, I discovered there were seats available. It seemed like a sign. Without hesitation or thought, I bought a ticket and leaned back in my seat with a smile. Life was about to start.

"Am I really going to do this?" I whispered, grinning.

"Do what, Brooke?"

Face jolting from my computer screen, I swiveled to find Randy Gregoire's figure in the doorway.

"Nothing to concern you," I sighed, aware that even _his_ presence wasn't quite enough to put a dampener on my excitement. Sitting up, I turned the computer off, before reaching to my bottom desk drawer and yanking it open.

"You know," he crooned, "I heard a filthy lie about you today."

"Did you?" I muttered disinterestedly, not looking around as I picked my laptop bag from the drawer and got to my feet.

"Someone told me that you're taking a sabbatical," he continued, the smirk evident in his voice.

"Hmm," I huffed, slinging the bag onto my shoulder and kicking the drawer closed with my black, three-inch pumps. "Well, that's none of your concern, either," I stated smartly. Pushing my chair under my desk, I gave the room a brief scan, ensuring I'd forgotten nothing, before striding to the door.

Randy did not move. "Why don't you let me take you to dinner?" he asked, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing one foot over the other.

"I assume you came here with some purpose beyond irritating me," I replied calmly, stilling my feet just a pace from the door.

"C'mon, Brooke," he chuckled. "You've gotta give in to this sexual tension sooner or later."

Both eyebrows snapping up, I cocked my head to the right. "Sexual tension?" I muttered.

"Sure," he nodded. "All this sarcasm and scorn you lay on to mask how you feel. I know you want me, don't pretend you don't."

"I think you're confusing antipathy for attraction," I informed him tartly. "Easily done, I'm sure." As it became clear that he still had no intention of budging, I reached out to push him away from my path.

His hand quickly darted from his pocket, and his fingers clamped around my wrist. "What's your problem, Brooke? I'm trying to be nice."

"No," I stated, twisting my arm free of him, "you're trying to use me for sex."

"Same thing," he offered, with a shrug of one shoulder.

"Just get out of the way before I call the police, Randy," I demanded through gritted teeth. Lifting both hands, I shoved at his chest, forcing him back a pace. Able to get through the small gap I'd made in the doorway, I quickly crossed the threshold and strode down the hallway.

Thankfully, he didn't attempt to follow me, but his voice drifted down the corridor. "You know, it's gonna happen one day Brooke, you're going to be begging me to take you."

Not dignifying him with a response, I kept walking, until I had rounded the corner and reached the elevators. "Asshole," I mumbled, as the doors swished open and my route from the building was finally secured. Breathing deeply, I tried to force all thoughts of Randy from my mind. After all, I reminded myself, tomorrow was a whole new day.

Tomorrow, I'd be in Paris.

# Chapter Four

I didn't manage to get much sleep the night before the flight. My plans being so last-minute, I had a lot of packing to do, not to mention my passport to find, which, alone, took three hours. Eventually, however, with my hastily packed suitcase and a carry-on bag of essentials, I caught an early cab to Newark.

Although I'd only bought a seat in the coach cabin, when I got to check-in, I was upgraded; apparently there were some frequent-flier miles I'd clocked up earlier in the year, when I was working on a case that took me to Oregon to interview an expert witness. I'd ended up making several trips to see the guy, and in the end, he didn't testify on our behalf. Back then, I'd been pissed about the waste of time. But as I was handed my business-class ticket, I was very grateful. Not only did it mean I'd have a quieter, more comfortable journey, but it offered the glimmering possibility of catching up on some of my missed sleep.

When I reached my seat, I found myself by the window, with an empty spot to my left. With a contented sigh, I tucked my carry-on into the overhead compartment and ran both hands through the loose dark waves that curtained my face. Holding my hair in a ponytail, I slumped into the spacious leather seat. I quickly melted into it, finding my exhausted eyes closing without any need to compel them.

However, they weren't closed long enough to allow sleep to come to me. I felt a rush of air sweeping over me and heard the soft thump as a body sat down next to me. Eyes opening as reflexively as they closed, my face turned toward the sound of the moving air.

"Sorry," the body who'd disturbed the air said. "I didn't mean to wake you." His voice was as rich and deep as his chestnut eyes. The tone also seemed to suit the strong jaw and neatly styled hair that was slicked off his forehead with a little gel. I guessed he was in his late thirties or early forties, small laughter lines around his eyes the only thing that suggested he was a day over twenty-five.

I found my eyes moving over the smooth skin of his face and becoming transfixed by a tiny mole on his upper lip. The speck moved as he began to smile.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"No," I blurted, blinking and shaking myself from my thoughts. "I mean, yes," I corrected. "I'm fine, and you didn't wake me."

"Oh, well good," he nodded.

My lips parted in preparation to speak again, but any attempt I was about to make was halted by the appearance of a very attractive, very tall flight attendant, who placed her well-manicured hand on the man's seat and leaned down toward him, flashing him a copious view of her cleavage.

"Hi, Lance," she smiled with a sparkling set of blindingly white teeth. "I thought you were sitting in first class."

"Oh, err," he mumbled. "Well, I was, but I..um...I moved for an elderly lady."

"That's so sweet of you," the flight attendant said, her grin growing broader. "If you need anything, just give me a shout."

"Thanks, Cat," he replied, offering her an easy smile in reply.

I waited for the woman to right herself and walk a few seats ahead before turning to give him a skeptical lift of one eyebrow. "You moved for an old lady?"

"Yeah," he said, his eyes shifting slightly from left to right. "They have those seats that turn into beds up there," he said, nodding in the direction of the first class section of the plane. "Thought she'd be more comfortable."

I hummed my understanding of his story, but I still wasn't buying it. The man was one of the worst liars I'd ever come across, his hands moved restlessly over the front of his black pants and his gaze didn't remain still for a second.

"What?" he chuckled self-deprecatingly, noting the doubt in my tone.

"I don't believe you," I told him before quickly listing his many tells.

His response was to laugh and hold his palms up in a 'you got me' gesture. "What are you, an attorney or something?"

A corner of my mouth rose.

"You _are_ an attorney," he stated, nodding. "Damn," he muttered to himself, dipping his face and shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he added, lifting his face and managing to meet my eyes with the same sincerity he had the first time he spoke to me. "Okay, I know this is going to sound creepy, but I asked to be moved so I could sit next to you."

Taken aback by his sudden, very frank explanation, I found only one question on my mind and my lips. "Why?"

"Well...I don't want this to sound shallow, but I thought think you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, and I wanted to get to know you."

"Oh," I breathed, unable to find a complete word. He was attracted to me? Running on only an hour's sleep, and wearing a comfortable pair of jeans and a sweater, that seemed unlikely. I wanted to ask if he was sure, but even in my own brain that sounded like a ridiculous question.

My long silence started to make him uncomfortable. "If you want me to move, I will," he offered.

"No," I quickly replied. A little too quickly. "Um, if you want to stay, I don't mind."

"Really? You sure; it's a long flight?" he warned, with a warm smile. "And, maybe you wanted to sleep anyway."

"No," I responded with a brief shake of my head. "It'll be nice to have someone to talk to."

His face brightened as he lifted his right hand. "I'm Lance," he offered.

"So I heard," I nodded, wrapping my fingers around his large, strong ones. "Brooke," I smiled.

"It's nice to meet you, Brooke," he said, squeezing my hand gently before releasing it. "What's taking you to Paris, business or pleasure?"

"Um," I hesitated, not knowing exactly how to answer. The trip certainly wasn't business in the strictest sense, but it was a mission; a calling. However, that 'calling' was to have fun. "Pleasure," I confirmed, unconsciously sweeping a few strands of hair behind my ear. "How about you?"

"Business, unfortunately," he replied. "But, hopefully, I'll still have some time to see the sights."

"Oh?"

"I'm attending a conference," he explained, twisting his upper body toward me.

Unconsciously, my own body moved to mirror him. "I see," I nodded. "And, um, what is it you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Only seems fair," he grinned. "After all, I know what you do. I'm a pilot."

Eyes opening a fraction wider, I stared at him for a moment. "You're a pilot?" I asked.

"Yeah," he nodded, reaching for the zipper on his high-collared jacket. Tugging the fastener down a few inches, he revealed the white dress shirt with a set of wings embroidered on the left breast pocket.

"Makes sense," I nodded.

"What do you mean?"

"The fact that the flight attendants know you, and you were able to get your seat switched," I said, gesturing with a nod of my head to the attractive blonde who'd been leaning over him.

Lance was an indisputably magnetic man; tall, broad shouldered, and exuding just the right amount of confidence without being arrogant. And he was more than just easy on the eyes, he was easy to talk to. Although it had been a long time since I'd casually chatted with a stranger, nothing about our conversation seemed awkward or unnatural. And the more he talked, his voice as delicious and smooth as warm syrup, the more I realized I was developing a rather serious attraction to him.

After almost three hours of sitting in his company, I found my gaze unintentionally flitting to his lips, and my thoughts drifting to fantasies of what he might look like with his shirt off.

"Brooke?" he said, breaking my musings.

"Hmm?" I asked, forcing my eyes back to his.

A question flashed across his face, but he didn't give it voice. "I said, how come you're going to Paris alone?" he chuckled.

"Oh," I breathed. "It's...um...a long story."

"We've got the time," he suggested with a quirk of one shoulder.

Inhaling, I felt my face fall as I began to tell him what had prompted my sudden desire to experience more than my tunnel-visioned, career-driven existence.

"Sorry," he whispered, consolingly. "I didn't mean to upset you," he added sincerely.

"It's alright," I quietly offered, shaking my head. "It's not your fault."

"So, you've vowed to start living for something other than work?" he asked, clearly trying to draw me away from sorrowful thoughts of Helena. "That's great."

"Yeah," I nodded a little reluctantly, "I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well, it's just a little scary; throwing caution to the wind."

"Hmm," he hummed, his lower lip jutting out fractionally. He was silent for a few seconds, and then the thoughtful expression faded. His mind, it seemed, had settled on something. "In the spirit of throwing caution to the wind," he began quietly, tipping his head a little closer to mine. "Can I tell you that I've been thinking about doing something for the past three hours?"

"What's that?" I wondered aloud.

His intense, brown eyes moved from mine to my mouth. Without another word, his face slowly drifted nearer. His movement, so gradual, gave me plenty of warning; plenty of time to pull back or tell him to stop. But I did neither. Instead, my tongue quickly leaped over my lips, moistening them.

Just a breath from me, his eyelids dropped closed, and his head tilted so our noses did not collide. After what felt like an incredibly long moment, during which I felt my heart rate triple, his soft, inquiring lips merged smoothly with mine.

The second we came together, I experienced a spark; something that had long been dwelling dormant erupted, sending a rampage of warmth to my cheeks. Pulse thrumming in every cell, I felt my fingers begin to tremble as I lifted them to his jacket and clung on for dear life.

My reaction was, I know now, disproportionate to what Lance was doing. It wasn't a frenzied, passionate kiss. It was calm, easy and almost experimental. However, it stoked a fire in my loins that I'd not felt burning for a very long time.

After sampling my lips with his, he eventually opened his mouth slightly. My tongue responded rapidly and reflexively, forcing its way between his parted lips and racing over the warm, sweetness that I found within. His tongue entwining with mine, I found a hint of coffee and chocolate on his taste buds. As their rich flavor struck me, I moaned longingly. But the sound wasn't a desire for coffee or for chocolate, it was a desire for him. It was a desire for much more than just his lips and tongue. I needed to feel his hands on me.

Restlessly, I shifted in my seat, feeling the flood of warmth between my legs. Seeming to suddenly come to my senses, my eyes snapped open and I pulled back from him. "God," I muttered, inhaling hasty, shallow breaths.

"Wh- What's wrong?" Lance asked, shaking his head in confusion.

Staring at the mild disorientation in his eyes, I had to fight the urge to simple tug him back to me. To avoid the temptation, I released my hold on him and slowly pulled my hands back into my lap. "I...um..." I quietly uttered. "This is crazy."

"It's throwing caution to the wind," he agreed, smiling.

"But, we don't really know each other," I whispered.

"We're only kissing," he whispered.

"Yeah," I acknowledged with a roll of my eyes, "but-"

"But?" he urged, concerned by the sudden way I'd cut myself off.

"I..." I tentatively began. For several seconds, I silently debated how frank I should be with him. After all, I didn't want him to gain the wrong impression. But, then again, what did it matter what impression he had of me. After we got to Paris, there was a good chance I'd never see him again. "Um," I mumbled. "Well it's just that, things were getting a little intense. And I have a feeling that if we were somewhere less public, then we...err..."

Lifting his large right hand, he curled a gentle index finger around my chin and coaxed my face to his.

"What are you saying, Brooke?" he calmly asked.

"I..." I shakily replied, feeling my limbs melt under the heat of his gaze. "I...I want you," I whispered.

# Chapter Five

Almost before the words were out of my mouth, Lance was getting to his feet. Dumbstruck, I looked on, wondering if I'd offended him. Or perhaps he was put off by a woman being so forward. Although, I couldn't imagine many men being left cold by an overt come-on.

He walked back down the aisle before lightly tugging the elbow of the blonde flight attendant, Cat. Twisting and craning my neck so I could see over the top of the seats, I watched them share a brief few words before she nodded and smiled agreeably. I could lip-read the word 'thanks' from him, and then he smartly spun on the ball of his foot.

With long strides he came back up the aisle, and as he reached his seat he leaned forward. "Come with me," he said, offering me his warm hand and an even warmer smile.

I opened my mouth to speak, but a series of unintelligible mumblings were all that emerged.

"Come on," he chuckled. "Let's go somewhere a little less public."

Unsure what he meant, I found myself nevertheless taking his hand and allowing my body to be pulled from the seat. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I was aware that I would not have accepted his invitation so readily just two weeks before. But then, two weeks before, I wouldn't have been on a plane to Paris, either.

He lead me up the plane, toward the nose, until we reached the thick security door that separated the cockpit from the rest of the plane. Stopping, he released my hand and tipped his face up to the ceiling. Finding what he was looking for, he stretched onto his toes to reach the handle of a hatch in the ceiling.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

Not providing an answer, he tugged the hatch down and with it came a small ladder. "Up you go," he encouraged with a flick of his head.

"Should we be doing this?" I mumbled, anxiously.

"It's fine," he insisted, one hand snaking around my hip and guiding me to the steps.

Placed directly in front of him, I felt the heat of his solid frame at my back. As my hands tentatively folded around the ladder's white rails, he shuffled forward, pressing himself more firmly against me. A very obvious, very large bulge was thrust to the small of my back and I felt all of the air leave my lungs.

"I want you too, Brooke," he whispered, head dipped down so his cheek was resting against mine and the words brushed my skin. "I want you so bad."

The tiny part of my brain that was still functioning rationally paused and wrestled over whether I was about to do something I'd regret.

Live for the moment, I reminded myself. Grab opportunities; experience new things. Well, Lance was certainly an opportunity and having sex with someone who'd been a stranger to me less than four hours before was definitely new.

Not that my internal conversation mattered anyway. The larger, lustful part of my mind was in control of my actions and had already compelled my feet to climb.

The ladder lead to an attic space above the cockpit. It had two bunks, one either side, and a narrow space between them. Both bunks were really just mattresses with white pillows at the head, red blankets folded at the bottom, and beige drapes that were hung on a rod above and swept open.

"I know it's not much," his voice called from below, as he began to follow. "But it'll give us some privacy."

"It's fine," I replied, turning to watch his dark head emerge through the hatch.

Smiling, he quickly took the last few rungs and yanked the opening back into place behind him.

"What if someone comes in?" I asked.

"They won't," he replied softly, taking a step toward me. "Cat's told the flight crew that I'm getting some shuteye up here."

"But-" I muttered.

"Don't worry," he smiled, placing both hands on my hips and tugging me toward him. "I promise, we're not gonna be disturbed." His fingers drawing lazy patterns, his grin brightened as he pressed himself against me.

The heat radiating from him was verging on scalding, and the pressure of his body caused my heart to leap into my throat. Struggling to swallow, I drew shallow breaths as I felt the rapidly flowing blood flush my cheeks.

He released me just long enough to chuck his jacket, allowing it to fall to the floor. Then, his hands were on me again, more insistent than before, hungry, lustful. As his head bent forward to claim my mouth, his fingers swept up the inside of my sweater, coming into contact with the bare skin beneath it.

At his touch, I arched, pressing my breasts more firmly into his hard chest as I accepted his open-mouthed desperate kiss. Tongues tangling and darting frantically back and forth, and breath coming in pants, he rubbed the bulge in his pants against my abdomen, causing me to moan deep in the back of my throat.

Desire pooled between my legs; raging and raw, the craving to be touched was flooring in its intensity and its suddenness. With mouths continuing to move voraciously over each other, my tongue was far too busy for words. Desperate to feel some relief from the ache, I reached to his right hand and eased it away from my breast.

He allowed me to guide him toward my jeans and when I released him long enough to unbutton them, he no longer needed direction. His fingers instantly slipped inside my pants and massaged me through my underwear.

"Ugh," I grunted into his mouth, grinding feverishly against his hand.

His tongue stilled, and I felt his lips lift in a smile. Tearing his mouth from mine, he met my wild, hungry eyes. "You're so sexy," he uttered, his voice suddenly deeper and tinged with lust.

I couldn't help but wonder how many women he'd seduced like this; he seemed well-practiced. However, those thoughts abandoned me in a hurry when he gently hooked the crotch of my panties aside. "Oh, God," I whimpered, as his long, thick fingers parted my folds. Carefully, he stroked upward, lubricating himself with my arousal before reaching the tight, engorged and needy bud of my clitoris.

With expert movements, he rolled the pad of his index finger in small, slow circles. Feeling the strength seep from my legs, I hurriedly grabbed his shoulders to keep myself upright. Lance noted the effect he was having and smiled.

"God, Brooke," he murmured. "You're so warm...so wet."

"Argh," I cried, my eyes closing and head tipping back on a neck that no longer wanted to hold it. "Lance," I panted, "I'm so close."

"I know," he whispered, replacing his finger with his thumb and allowing the longer digits to slide down to my entrance.

With a frantic jerk of my hips, I begged him to penetrate me. I did not care whether I looked like a slut. Nor did I care whether it was obvious how desperate I was and, therefore, how long it had been since I'd been touched that way. All that mattered was that he finished what he'd started.

I expected him, like every other man I'd known, to force his fingers deep into me in a quick, aggressive thrust. Men I'd slept with, if they bothered to prepare me at all, liked to use their fingers in the same way they used their dicks. However, Lance was full of surprises. He barely entered me at all. Instead, he used the tip of his index finger to circle my sex in the same rhythm he was stimulating my clit.

"Oh, God," I exhaled, my nails digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders.

Gradually, so gradually, it made me want to scream, he slipped one finger into my channel. Even then, he only went as far as his second knuckle. In complete control over not just his body, but also mine, he traced the spongy flesh for a few seconds before pressing against the front wall.

The speed and accuracy with which he found my g-spot was truly something to behold. Yelping, I bucked against him, my head suddenly snapping upright and eyes wide. "Jesus," I hissed.

"Good?" he asked, with a knowing chuckle.

"I...I..." I stammered, mouth dry and uncooperative.

His dark, dangerous eyes fixed on mine, he applied pressure and began to move his finger back and forth.

"Shit," I screeched, losing my grasp of him and hands flailing to resume my hold.

Sparks of molten heat were shooting up from the juncture of my thighs, filling my belly. As though a vise had clasped my brain, I was focused on just two things: that feeling, and the sensual, lustful look in his eyes.

Fingers moving more purposefully as he sensed the coiling of the spring, Lance urged me to keep my eyes open. "I want to see them when you come," he explained.

At any other time, I might have felt self-conscious about that, but I was too far gone to register anything beyond his command. Spiraling higher, I rocked against him, rubbing myself against the thumb that had stilled.

And then, before I was aware of what was happening; before I had expected it. The wave crashed over me, stealing my breath and making me senseless to everything beyond it. I forced my lids to remain open, and kept my eyes on his. What I saw within those bright, vibrant depths was enough to make me shiver with a second orgasm.

# Chapter Six

My entire body was thrumming with the aftershocks of the climax. I was in a daze as the next few seconds passed, I wasn't aware of Lance undressing me; wasn't aware of him undressing himself either. My conscious brain only kicked in again when I was laying on one of the bunks, looking up at him as he confidently rolled a condom down the length of his shaft.

Lower jaw dropping open, I simply gaped at the size of him. I'd known he was big, I'd felt that when he was still clothed. However, I was not prepared for just how large he was. Not just impressive in length, it was also thick. It was easily bigger than anything I'd seen in the flesh, and a good match for what I'd seen in the few porn flicks I'd watched.

God, or mother nature, depending on your point of view, had been very kind to Lance. Being well-hung was not the end of his gifts. Above his noteworthy groin was a thin waist, defined abdominal muscles and a broad, bulky chest.

"You okay?" he asked, his hands falling from his sheathed manhood and his face peering down at me.

"Yeah," I nodded, breathlessly.

"You sure?" he asked, running a hand through the hair that was no longer sitting quite so neatly and had fallen onto his forehead.

"Come here," I smiled, holding out my hand to him.

Reaching out, he interlaced his fingers with mine, taking a step as I gently drew him closer. "You're beautiful," he said, eyes moving over my naked form.

Forcing myself into a sitting position, I lifted my face to him, silently requesting a kiss. He provided it instantly and generously, his lips moving sensually and teasingly over mine before his tongue and mine resumed their acquaintance.

As the kiss lingered, he lifted one knee onto the bed and placed it between my slightly parted legs. Slowly, he lowered his weight, urging me back into the mattress. Melting into the bed, I instinctively spread my thighs inviting him to settle between them.

Graceful and steady, Lance lifted his other leg onto the bunk and braced his hands either side of my arms. The rubber of the condom brushed my inner thigh and my hips involuntarily writhed in response.

"Hmm," he mumbled against my lips, before leaving them to trail my neck, my breastbone and then the tight peaks of my nipples with his tongue.

Both of my hands tenderly cupped the back of his head, fingers lacing in his thick hair. "Oh," I mewled contently, curling one leg over his lower back.

His hot, wet mouth sucked enthusiastically on my soft flesh as his lower body began to settle into the cradle of my hips. Squashed against the top of my thigh, I realized his straining member still hadn't been attended to. I couldn't be sure how long we'd been in the flight crew's sleeping quarters, but Lance was unquestionably showing more restraint than any boyfriend I'd had. The very fact that he'd brought me to orgasm _before_ focusing on his own needs made me feel a rush of affection for him.

"I want you inside me," I breathed.

Head lifting, his dilated pupils struggled to focus. "Sure you're ready?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," I nodded. "I'm more than ready." In truth, given the size of him, I wasn't entirely sure I was ready. I did, however, know that I was as ready as I was ever going to be. I'd never felt so horny in my life; never been so desperate to feel a man fill me.

"Okay," he nodded, before his face sank down to mine and he kissed me again. His right hand meanwhile had left the mattress and was moving between our bodies. Carefully, he took himself in his fingers and guided the condom-covered tip toward my waiting sex.

Both gasping rapidly, our lips separated. I looked up into his face, fascinated with the little tick of his jaw as he seemed to struggle with his profound patience and control. The fact that his mounting need, which was almost becoming unmanageable, was for me, made me feel indescribably sexy.

Urging him to let himself off the tight leash he'd forced on himself, I wrapped my other leg around him, crossing my ankles just above his buttocks. Then, I pulled him to me.

The fat, rounded tip of his shaft entered slowly, stretching the tight circle of my entrance. As I felt that delightful swell of flesh, just the right side of painful, I tossed my head back into the pillow and released a groan of pleasure.

No longer needing to be guided, Lance left his manhood and both hands returned to the mattress. My fingers stroked up the length of his forearms, before trying to curl around his thick biceps. I found them so taut that I realized he was still holding back.

"More," I panted, tightening my legs around his waist.

He inched a little further, making my eyes pop with the sensation. He felt even bigger than he'd looked. My channel flexed, muscles contracting and releasing hurriedly in their attempt to expand for him.

"Ugh," he groaned, eyes shut and chin dipped to his chest.

Puffing out rampant breaths, I continued to coax him, just as desperate to satisfy him as I was to find my own pleasure at being joined with him. "I want you," I whispered, hands clasping his upper arms roughly. "I want you deep inside me."

"Brooke," he wheezed, hips jerking slightly as the last vestige of his control fought against his primal desire. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't hurt me," I insisted. "Please, Lance, I need you."

"Oh, God," he panted, hips driving suddenly forward until he was buried to the hilt.

"Argh," I cried out, my brain reeling from a bizarre mixture of discomfort and intense pleasure. Stretched and filled so deep that I thought his shaft might penetrate my stomach, I clung to his sweaty skin not wanting him to ever leave me.

"Are...are you alright?" he asked shakily.

"Yes," I replied quickly. "Yes! Oh, God. Lance, you feel so good."

"You feel good," he echoed, kissing my temple, then my cheekbone and finally finding my lips. "So tight" he mumbled against my mouth. "So good," he added, before gently sliding his hard rod from me.

I groaned as his rigid length swept along the slick softness of my body until he was just hovering at the entrance. "Harder," I whispered.

This time, he didn't ask questions. With a masculine grunt of breath, he slammed his hips to mine, forcing his erection deeper than before.

"Oh, yes!" I screeched, finding an explosive pleasure that I'd never experienced before. Clitoral orgasms had always been my thing, with my g-spot occasionally having been stimulated by hand – mostly my own. Until Lance, I'd never noticed anything particularly pleasurable in good, old-fashioned thrusting.

Whether it was his size, his style or something else, I do not know. But I do know, that I quickly found myself on the verge of climaxing once more.

"Brooke," he breathed, withdrawing and readying himself to drive into me again. "Oh, damn, you're so beautiful," he muttered.

"Faster," I begged. "Harder."

My quietly spoken plea triggered something in him, causing him to break into a rapid pumping rhythm. Each time, he went as deep as he possibly could and withdrew almost completely.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Oh, Christ."

The movement of his shaft was hurried, but no less conscious of me. Although I didn't seem to know exactly what he was doing that felt so good, but he continued giving me exactly what I needed. Feeling the familiar tightness building, I began to roll my hips, stimulating my clit against his pubic bone whenever it was close enough to be pressed against me.

"Lance," I yelped, head thrown back into the pillow. "Yes, yes," I mumbled. "Yes!" I screamed, the sound echoing around the small quarters and joining the throbbing of my racing heart beat against my eardrums. As the climax struck me like tiny electric shocks, my entire body shook, writhed and jerked beneath him.

"Oh, God, Brooke," he hissed, suddenly stiffening. He held that tense pose, with eyes tightly shut and even the muscles in his buttocks clenched, for a fraction of a second. And then, his hips jerked against mine and he exhaled a shaky breath. "Jeez," he mumbled, slowly opening his eyes as his lower half continued to roll in lazy circles that, unbeknownst to him (or maybe not unbeknownst to him), was causing my orgasm to roll on and on; less intense than in the first few seconds, but undoubtedly still there.

"Wow," I sighed, staring at the curved, white ceiling. "That was incredible," I added, thinking aloud.

"It was amazing," he breathed, letting the weight of his upper body slowly press me into the mattress before resting his face in the crook of my neck. "You're amazing," he whispered, lips grazing my skin.

"Ha," I chuckled. "I'm not so sure about that."

"I am," he affirmed sincerely.

I could feel his member softening, but he did not pull it from me. I was glad that he didn't. In no hurry to break the closeness I felt with him, I would have been happy to lie like that for hours.

"Brooke," he hummed, lifting his weary head, "where are you going to be staying in Paris?"

"Um," I replied, shaking my foggy head. Unlike him, I was in no state to talk about anything other than what we'd just done and, even then, preferably in words of one syllable or less. "Um," I continued to mutter nonsensically. "Well...I don't actually know," I told him quietly. "I mean, I left New York very last minute and didn't bother to book a hotel. I figured I could just wander around and find one with a free room."

"Oh," he replied nodding before resting his forehead to mine. "Well, yeah, you could do that, I guess." After a moment's silence, he added, "Or you could spend a couple of days with me."

"Hmm?" I asked, wrapping my arms around his back and drawing patternless shapes on his clammy skin with my palm.

"I'll have some free time during the conference," he explained. "So, we could spend it together. What do you think?"

Suddenly panicked, I was quiet. I'd thought we were just fooling around. It hadn't entered my head that he might want to pursue a relationship outside of our mile high club adventure.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Lance, I," I began apologetically. "I should have been more clear before we...did this, I'm not really looking for anything heavy right now, you know? I'm trying to...well, I'm just trying to have some fun."

Lifting his head from its perch on mine, he tipped it back just far enough that he could look into my eyes. With the same broad smile he'd worn when I first saw him, he brushed a strand of hair from my face. "That's all I'm talking about," he said tenderly. "Having fun."

"Oh," I sighed, reflecting his grin. "You mean the kind of fun you've just shown me?"

"Something like that," he chuckled.

"In that case, why not?" I laughed, lifting my head and pressing my lips to his.

### To be continued...

### Thank you for reading!

Please visit your favorite eBook retailer to view the next books in this series.
Flown By The Billionaire

By

Carla Davis

# Chapter One

Thomas Wolfe believed that, 'you can't go home again'. He obviously hadn't ever been to my home; because, in ten years, precious little had changed. In fact, my parents hadn't altered the décor of their house in over two decades. My bedroom was unchanged since the day I left for college. My twin bed still had the predominantly pink patchwork quilt laid on it. The cream drapes hung in the window. My dressing table still had rosettes, for gymnastics and horseback riding, placed neatly around the mirror. It was the room of an adolescent girl.

So, the fact of the matter is, when I finally accepted the cold hard truth; after three months of searching for another job and desperately trying to make ends meet, I _did_ go home again. And it was as if I'd stepped back in time.

Mom and Dad professed they were happy to help me until I got back on my feet, but they were also predictably self-righteous, and I suspected it took everything within them to not scream, 'I told you so' from the rooftops.

"Life in the city can be tough," Mom said. "Your dad and I feared this might happen."

Breathing deeply before responding, I tried not to start an argument. "You had a premonition about Blue Rock laying off a hundred people?" I murmured.

Turning from the bread dough she was mixing, she brushed her floury hands on her white apron. "These things happen," she said tartly. She was only twenty-one when she'd given birth to me. Now, as she started to nudge fifty, she looked pretty good for her age. She was slender, just as she'd been throughout my lifetime, and still had most of her hair color, with just a hint of gray peaking at the temples.

"You're right, Mom," I replied, trying to focus on the laptop that sat before me. "They do."

She continued to lecture me about how I should have been satisfied to get a job locally. I didn't see the sense in arguing with her. It seemed fruitless to point out that I'd been living and working successfully in New York City for just under seven years. She wouldn't have listened. In her opinion, living in the city was the surest way to ruin my life. So, while she relished telling me that I'd made the wrong decision, she was secretly glad that I was back in Woodbridge, Connecticut. It was a sleepy, affluent town, a bubble (or so my parents believed) that kept out all the nastiness of the world.

And God knows they tried to keep me away from the "world". At thirteen, I attended Sacred Heart Academy in Hamden. It was an all-girls Catholic school, which offered the obsessively religious, guilt-laden education that my mom in particular was eager for me to receive. Mom and Dad were both devout Catholics, as were their parents. They expected me to follow suit and become a God-fearing woman, who retained her innocence until marriage. They viewed sex as nothing more than a means of procreation.

Sending me to an all-girls school was intended to help on that front, to keep me away from temptation and ensure that I didn't create temptation in any young man. It worked, at least for a while. By the time I left home for college, I was socially awkward around boys and artless in my conversations with them. I also learned to always be suspicious of their motives. However, I didn't buy into all the Catholic Church had taught me. Gradually, I stopped attending mass on Sundays. Then, I met a guy who pulled me even further from the faith my parents had so desperately wanted me to follow.

Greg was a physics major, a staunch atheist, and one of the most handsome men I'd ever met. He talked to me about the vastness of the universe, and convinced me that creation myths have always existed in some form.

"Organized religions are a human's way of trying to understand what seems incomprehensible," he would tell me. "Nothing more and nothing less."

My own doubts, which I suspect had simmered under the surface for at least a few years by that point, were stoked by his persuasive arguments. He was incredibly intelligent, charming, and witty. Falling in love with him was ridiculously easy. It was a naïve first love, the kind most of my peers had experienced at sixteen. But it was a fervent, fierce kind of love; one that made me feel that I would do anything for him. However, there was one thing he wanted that I shied away from for a time, not because I didn't want to give it, but because I was scared. Thankfully, he was much more understanding than I could have hoped for. Slowly but surely, he chipped away at my insecurities.

After nine months of dating, and at the age of twenty-one, I took the final step of defiance against the religious dogma my parents had forced upon me.

Having received absolutely no sex education, my first time was exactly what you might expect: a little clumsy, painful because I was so tense, and, I dare say, it didn't rock Greg's world, either.

Afterward, I felt a bizarre mixture of emancipation, coupled with an overriding sense of guilt. Whether I believed what my parents believed or not, I'd let them down. I knew they'd be terribly disappointed if they ever found out.

My relationship with Greg continued for another year after that, but things were strained. We were having sex regularly during that time, but I can't say I ever really enjoyed it. My mind was always drifting to the things I'd been taught. As much as I wanted to disregard it all, I couldn't—not entirely. Eventually, once we'd drifted so far apart that neither of us could ignore it any more, we parted amicably.

That year, we both graduated; he moved to California and I headed to New York, where I'd already secured an intern position at Blue Rock. I moved up quickly, putting in more hours than my fellow trainees. By the time I was twenty-five, I was the fund manager's assistant and I was content.

My love life was sparse and I'd had two boyfriends since Greg. Neither relationship lasted longer than a few months, and just like before, the sex was a disappointment to me. Frustratingly, I knew the problem was mine and not the men I chose. Even masturbating, I found it hard to reach an orgasm, and I would feel misplaced shame at the act. However, sexual gratification quickly became the least of my concerns.

Blue Rock suffered a major hit in the economy crash, and I was one of its casualties. At first, I was disappointed, but not overtly concerned. After all, I thought, I'd be able to get another job without too much hassle. But as the weeks turned to months and every application was either ignored or responded to with a curt decline, I started to panic.

Despite attempts to pinch pennies and beg a little leniency from my landlord, I eventually had to admit defeat and give up my apartment.

That's when I found myself back home in my parents' house, sitting at the kitchen table trawling through job sites while my Mom made a batch of bread from scratch and still found the time to lecture me about the mistakes I'd made.

"So, you will be coming to mass tomorrow?" she asked suddenly, ripping me from my melancholy thoughts.

"Hmm?" I replied, lifting my head as I realized I hadn't been listening to a word she said.

"You'll be coming to mass," she said, this time it was phrased as an expectation rather than a question.

"Oh," I mumbled. "I don't know..." I hedged slowly. "I...umm. I don't really think so," I eventually uttered.

"Mmm," she hummed discontentedly.

"Mom," I began with a soft sigh. "We've been over this. I told you, I haven't been for a while and I just...I don't feel it's for me."

"Jesus is for everybody, Melissa," she tossed back at me, turning her back to attend to the beeping oven.

"You know Michael hasn't been to church for years, either," I sullenly responded. "You don't give him the third degree over it."

Michael, my younger brother, stopped attending church when he was eighteen. By the age of twenty-six, he was living in Florida, had had a string of girlfriends, many of whom my parents knew about, and was 'living in sin' with his current lover, Kate. None of this seemed to bother our mom. Apparently, it was perfectly natural for a man to 'sow some wild oats' and since none of his girlfriends had been 'good Catholic girls', that meant it was acceptable.

"He's still young," Mom told me. "He'll come around once he finds the right woman and starts to think about marriage and children."

The youngest of the family, Livia, was in her junior year of college and wanted to go on to med school. She, as far as I knew, still shared our parents' beliefs and had even talked about joining a medical mission. She was, therefore, the 'golden girl'.

"All I ask," Mom sighed, "is that you come. Just listen to what Father Perry has to say."

"I'll think about it," I grumbled, picking my laptop off the table and retreating to the privacy of my old bedroom.

I couldn't bring myself to attend church with my folks, which led to more lectures; some from my mom, some from my dad, and some in which they tag-teamed me. My dad was not only concerned for my immortal soul; he was worried about the here and now.

"You need to think about marriage," he urged. "Who's going to take care of you if you haven't got a husband?"

"I've managed okay so far," I bit back.

"Well..." he shrugged, one eyebrow arching.

"This is a blip," I told him sharply. "I will get a job and get out of your hair."

"It's not about getting out of our hair," he argued. "I just want you to have a man you can depend on, so you won't experience any more of these 'blips'. Besides," he added smiling, "don't you want to have children?"

"I don't know Dad," I huffed. "Maybe one day."

"You're not getting any younger."

"I'm not even thirty yet, Dad!"

These debates with my parents would go around and around in circles, neither of them ever seeming to understand my point of view.

# Chapter Two

Once being back home for more than a month, and after ten unsuccessful interviews, I had moved beyond desperate. I would have been willing to do anything, even clean toilets. I had to get out from the suffocating atmosphere of my parents' home.

So, with an attitude of 'why the heck not?' I applied for a post I found online. I wasn't qualified, I had no experience, but it was a job and it was one that would get me out of my folks' house (even if just for stints at a time) immediately.

"You have an impressive résumé, Ms. Cannagh," said the man sitting on the other side of the desk. I'd only had to wait a week for the interview, and I was determined to make a good impression.

"In fact," he added, with a tilt of his head. "You're rather overqualified for the job."

That morning, I'd applied a little more make-up than usual, ensuring that I looked as beautiful as ever. My long blonde hair was clipped up at the back, with bangs swept sideways across my forehead. "I've been out of work for several months now," I admitted, "and I really am desperate to get a job, no matter what it might be."

"Hmm," he nodded understandingly. "It's just, I wonder if you'll be bored. Being part of a flight crew can be tedious," he chuckled. "But being the flight crew on a private jet is truly mind-numbing at times."

"I'm sure I won't be bored," I insisted, smiling warmly.

"Well, you're clearly an intelligent woman," he replied. "Serving drinks and fetching blankets or pillows is hardly the kind of work I think you would find stimulating."

Dropping all pretense, the smile quickly slipped from my face. I glanced down at the pale fingers that were entwined in my lap and shook my head. "Please, Mr. Joice," I pleaded, lifting my face back to his and fixing my eyes on him. "I need this job. And I will be the best crew member that you have ever had."

Smiling sympathetically, his face softened. "All right," he nodded. "Let's give it a go."

For a moment, I wasn't able to believe what I'd heard and sat with my jaw hanging open. "I...are you...?"

Paying minimal attention to my stunned expression, he continued. "You'll be working for a man named Mr. Race. He flies a lot for business; at least once or twice a week. We'll start you off on a temporary two-week contract. And after that time, if you, Mr. Race, and I are all happy, we'll fix you up with something more permanent."

I barely absorbed his explanation. "Thank you," I gasped, my lips spreading into a wide grin. "Thank you so much," I added. "I promise you won't regret this."

Just five days later, I was dressed in my flight attendants' uniform: a white blouse that hugged my bust; a scarlet 1950s-style neck scarf tied to the left of my chin; a black pencil skirt, which came to my knees; tan hold ups, and a pair of black court shoes with a three-inch heel. My hair was tied in a ponytail in the middle of my head, with just a couple of loose strands framing either side of my face.

I met Mr. Joice at the main office and he walked me down to the plane I would be working in. It was named, 'Make a Wish' and was one of the most luxurious things I'd ever set my eyes on. The cabin was divided into two sections; the front was like a small living room with a couch along one side, a mahogany coffee table in front of it, and four large seats that reclined all the way back to create a narrow bed. The section beyond that was lined with seats like a traditional jet. All were white leather and had plenty of leg room. Gold cushions adorned each seat, as well as the larger chairs up front.

"Usually, Mr. Race doesn't have a full house, but if he does, you'll have someone else with you," Mr. Joice said, as he walked me down the length of the cabin, showing me the full bar and the miniature cooking facilities that was located at the rear of the plane. Or at least, I thought it was the rear of the plane. He reached for a small handle and pushed open a door, which lead to a bedroom, complete with double bed and artwork hanging over the headboard.

"Is that an Altman?" I asked, staring at the oil painting of a blue jug sitting beside three tomatoes.

"Huh?" he asked, turning to look at the path of my gaze. "Oh, I haven't the faintest," he admitted with a shrug. "You'll have to ask Mr. Race."

I nodded, but dismissed the notion. I had no intention of firing questions at Mr. Race; I would do my job, be efficient, and make sure that he had the best flight possible. I certainly didn't want to appear nosey. No, I would mind my own business and let him get on with his. He'd be far too busy to discuss art with me.

As is so often the way when you hear about someone before you actually meet them, I had an image of Mr. Race in my mind. An obviously wealthy, successful business owner; I pictured him in his fifties, maybe even sixties. I guessed he'd be a little hefty from too much fine wine and food, and would no doubt have an air of confidence about him.

So, when a man in his mid-thirties; muscular, handsome, and little shy, boarded the plane, I assumed he must have been Mr. Race's assistant. I watched Mr. Joice walk briskly toward him, shake his hand and then turn to me.

"This is Ms. Cannagh," he stated.

Politely, I moved forward and forced a nervous smile at the brown-eyed man. "Good morning," I greeted, offering him my hand.

He reached out, taking it gently and giving it a quick squeeze. "It's a pleasure," he said. "Please call me, Alex."

"All right," I nodded. "I'm Melissa."

"Great," he smiled, releasing my hand and turning to Mr. Joice. "Have you given her the tour?"

As the two shared a brief conversation, I listened passively, my eyes moving over Alex's perfectly-fitted charcoal three-piece suit with white dress shirt, maroon tie, and a crisp white pocket square.

"So, umm, Melissa," he said, turning to face me. "If you wouldn't mind greeting the other passengers at the door, they should be arriving," he paused long enough to lift his left arm with a jerk that tugged his sleeve away from the black leather-strapped watch he wore, "in around five minutes."

"Okay," I eagerly responded, keen to make a good first impression. "Will Mr. Race be with them?"

A strange lopsided grin pulled at the right side of Alex's face. His eyes moved from me to Mr. Joice, who was laughing softly. Finally, his gaze shifted back to where it had begun. "I am Mr. Race," he explained, still wearing the same unbalanced smile.

"Oh," I mumbled. "I'm so sorry, I just assumed that..." I babbled. "I mean, I thought that Mr. Race would be....I'm really terribly sorry, sir."

"You've got nothing to apologize for," he chuckled. Slipping his hands in the pockets of his pants, he shrugged. "And there's no need for the 'sir'."

"But Mr. Race-" I began to protest.

"I told you," he good-naturedly interjected, "call me Alex."

"I'd rather not," I quietly admitted, realizing as the words slipped from my mouth that if my goal was to make a good first impression, arguing with the boss within five minutes of meeting him probably wasn't the best way to go.

He was no longer smiling. Instead, he studied me curiously. "Listen," he said. "I like to keep things informal because I'd like you to view me as an equal. But, at the same time, I keep things professional. John will tell you," he added, nudging an elbow toward Mr. Joice.

As it happened though, Mr. Joice's testimony wasn't actually called for.

"If it makes you uncomfortable to address me by my first name, I'll accept that," he continued smoothly. "But you were happy to call me 'Alex' before you knew who I was."

That was a rationale I could not argue with. When I thought he was just another employee of Mr. Race's, I would have been content to be on first-name terms. So what was my problem; some kind of inverted snobbery? No, it wasn't that. But at Blue Rock, I had always called senior members of staff Mr. or Ms. so-and-so. It was embedded in the company culture and seemed disrespectful to do anything else.

"So," he softly sighed, when several seconds swept past without my reply. "What's it going to be, Ms. Cannagh or Melissa?"

"Melissa is fine," I offered quietly, nodding. I wasn't comfortable, but if it was the way he preferred things, I'd just have to get used to it.

Thankfully, the rest of my first day went much more smoothly. The plane flew from Teterboro Airport to Chicago, where Alex Race and some of his board members had a meeting with a company they were in merger talks with. The flight took a little under two hours, and I was simply on hand to provide snacks and make cups of coffee. The five men and two women discussed business matters openly, but I tried to make myself as discreet as possible, drifting in and out and making a conscious effort not to listen to the details of their discussions.

I also tried not to stare too often at Alex, who was an incredibly attractive man. At a little over six feet and muscular without being too bulked up, he was the very definition of tall, dark and handsome. It became apparent as I got to know him better, that he was more than just physically attractive. He was polite to everyone and endearingly lacked an ego for someone of his success level; he was also intelligent and humorous.

Trying to deny that I was attracted to him would have been ridiculous, but I did repeatedly attempt to push the feelings aside. Nevertheless, I'd find myself blushing when I caught him looking at me from the other end of the plane, and I felt painfully shy when he was flying alone and would ask me to come and sit with him.

I did try to make conversation. "Is that a Nathan Altman in the bedroom?" I asked, standing even though he'd asked me to take a seat in one of the large lounge-style chairs near the front of the cabin.

"Yes," he smiled, loosening his tie and leaning back into his own seat. "Are you a fan of his?"

"Umm," I responded hesitantly. "Yeah," I shrugged. "He's produced some interesting work. I like some of his early Cubist stuff."

His eyes lighting up, he nodded. "You studied art?"

"Only for a year in college," I dismissed. "I enjoyed it, but my parents didn't think it would lead to a proper career. Of course, they weren't happy with the career I ended up in, either," I added with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Financial services, right?" he asked, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"Yeah," I replied, realizing that I'd done exactly what I'd sworn not to do and begun to talk about myself. "Anyway," I quickly added, "I'm sure you don't want to hear about that. Can I get you another coffee?"

"No, I'm fine," he responded. "Please, sit down. We've got another hour until we land and I don't want to sit here talking to myself."

"Shouldn't I be working?" I suggested, pointing to the rear of the cabin.

"There's nothing to do," he shrugged.

Relenting, I sat down in the chair opposite him and, as he carefully steered the subject back to art, we began to talk.***

As the days turned to weeks, our conversations became more frequent. Alex was often flying alone and he'd usually ask me to sit with him on both the outbound and return journey. Perhaps inevitably, conversation did turn to private matters and I found myself telling him about my experiences at an all-girls' school and my time at college.

He, in turn, told me about the boarding school his parents sent him to. And then, suddenly, our chat took an unexpected turn. As we were sitting next to each other on the couch, his body slightly turned toward mine and elbow propped on the back of the seat. "I met my wife when we were both freshmen in college," he sighed.

"Oh," I blurted, unable to disguise my surprise. "I didn't realize you were married."

"I'm not any more," he explained. "We're divorced," he breathed, his eyes drifting to the floor in thought.

"I'm sorry," I offered, not knowing what else to say.

"It's okay," he responded, forcing a smile. "These things happen. And I don't suppose we were really well-suited in the first place. My parents wanted me to marry her and..." he drifted to a stop, before shaking his head. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I do miss Fin, though."

"Fin?" I repeated.

"My son," he explained, smiling as he reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet. Opening it, he offered it to me and I gently took it between my finger and thumb. The little boy in the picture must have been about three; he was a miniature version of his father, with big brown eyes and dark hair that was a little messy.

"He looks lovely," I said, giving the wallet back to him.

"Thanks," he grinned. "He's not always that sweet," he added laughing. "But...umm, I miss the little guy anyway."

"You don't get to see him much?"

"No, not as much as I'd like," he softly announced. "Things between me and my ex are strained, so she makes it as tough as she can for me to see him."

"I'm sorry," I said, sincerely.

Looking up, his eyes met mine and remained there for a long moment. "Thank you for sitting here and listening to me," Alex murmured softly. "I umm..." he began, his right hand moving forward and settling on my knee.

It wasn't an advance, it wasn't a remotely sexual touch, but the very fact that he'd touched me caused me to jump as though I'd been hit by lightning.

Snatching his hand back, he quickly apologized. "I'm sorry," he stated. "I didn't mean to...I mean, I..."

"It's all right," I responded getting up. "It wasn't your fault, I was just startled."

"Melissa," he urged. "The thing is," he added, his head dropping for a second before returning to me. "I'm not going to pretend that I don't like you," he said, "because I do, and if we'd met under different circumstances, I think that..." He didn't complete the thought. Instead, he changed tact. "I don't ever date people that I work with, it just makes things messy."

"Absolutely," I concurred, nodding. "I agree."

"I know you need this job, so I promise from now on, I will behave more professionally," he concluded.

I won't pretend that I wasn't disappointed, but I was grateful. We'd reached an agreement, and despite the fact an attraction remained between us, knowing we'd agreed not to act upon it eased my mind...somewhat.

The truth was, I thought about him all the time when I wasn't at work. When we flew alone together, I found myself focused on minuscule things; like the way his hands wrapped around a coffee mug, the movement of his throat as he swallowed, the handful of hairs that strayed from his side parting and crept onto his forehead, and the way his fingers tapped lightly on the keyboard of his laptop when he was focused on his work.

Sometimes, I would feel the heat of his gaze and wondered if he was looking at small aspects of my movement. It was impossible to say, because he never let me catch him.

What was most difficult about that period was that in order to help retain a professional distance, Alex had stopped asking me to sit and chat with him. His friendship was something I quickly came to miss. I'd been able to talk to him in a way that I couldn't talk to anyone else in my life - I'd never been able to talk to anyone as I had him.

Looking back, I think that it was a mistake to try to avoid each other. The only purpose it served was to create a tension between us that gradually ballooned, until one day the inevitable happened: it burst.

# Chapter Three

We were on our way back from Los Angeles where Alex had been attending a conference. During the journey, he'd remained in the front of the cabin and I'd been tucked away behind the bar, finding pointless jobs to do. About two hours from landing, he called me over.

"Melissa," he said, rising from his seat. "I wanted to say I'm sorry for the awkwardness between us lately."

"No need to apologize," I said, smiling and turning in the hope that would be all he had to say.

However, he quickly grasped my wrist to prevent me from leaving. "Please don't go," he said. "I..." he glanced down at the fingers he held firmly, but not roughly, around my wrist and gradually withdrew them. When his focus moved back to my face, his eyes were filled with something I could not define.

Then, unexpectedly, his head moved toward mine, not in a sudden rush; but a measured, deliberately slow pace. I had plenty of time to step away from him, but I couldn't. I didn't want to. Even though a part of me knew that the consequences could be disastrous both professionally and personally, the larger part disregarded all thoughts of next week, tomorrow, or even an hour from that moment.

It felt like an eternity. His warmth gradually closing in on me, the sandalwood scent of his cologne growing stronger, and his presence becoming more powerful. Then, gently, oh so gently, he melded his soft lips to mine.

I stood there, my hands by my sides, unsure of what to do with them. My eyes dropped heavily and I moved my lips beneath his, pursing and molding them gently until our two mouths seemed to fit perfectly.

Until that moment, I'd never experienced a kiss quite as delicious and sweet as his. He hummed contentedly and the low rumble in his chest vibrated against my breasts. I hadn't even realized he'd stepped forward and that the lengths of our bodies were pressed together just like our lips.

He was firm, rigid, reliable and strong. All of those things ignited a sudden fiery passion that I didn't know was held inside of me. It was no longer enough to feel his muscular frame against me. All of the fantasies I'd had about him; the dreams I'd woken from feeling hot, restless, and yearning, paled in comparison to the reality of me having him.

Both of my hands moved quickly to his chest, running up the silky surface of his shirt and exploring the curves of his hard pecs until I reached his broad, sturdy shoulders. Lacing my fingers around his neck, I pulled him hungrily closer, while my lips parted in a moan of delight.

His right arm seemed to instinctively loop around my waist and he tugged me to him with the same degree of desire. His tongue swept into my mouth, the tip drawing tenderly in and out, coaxing mine into a strange, slow, sensual wrestle.

I whimpered, my lower half moving unbidden in small rhythmic thrusts against his hard hip bone. My heart was racing, blood pounding raw heat and lust throughout my body. My head swam with nothing but pure need until I felt the dampness spreading in the crotch of my panties.

Alex moved a couple of steps back and pulled me with him. Not that I needed any encouragement, he would have had to pry me off him. My fingers were trying desperately to grasp his hair, and my lips moved frantically, clasping and unclasping between hurried pants for breath.

His legs unexpectedly struck the couch and he let his body fall heavily into the seat. I stumbled forward with him, not expecting the sudden loss of his tall and strong frame. Our mouths parted and I gave a cry of surprise, as I found myself falling forward. But he had me. His hands were securely on my waist and he guided me onto his lap.

My knees landed on either side of his thighs and no more than a second later, I found myself shuffling closer. I was taller than him now, and it was he now who looked up to me, awaiting a kiss. For a moment, I simply looked at him. With the back of my hand I caressed the line of his cheekbone and upper jaw. "Alex," I whispered, my voice thick and hoarse.

As his fingers moved from my waist, his touch slid down to my thighs. He rubbed them gently before moving back up and around to my buttocks, which he cupped in his possessive masculine hands.

My eyes snapped shut and I jerked at the sudden, sexy aggressiveness. "Ahh," I mewled.

He said nothing as he increased his grip slightly and pulled me closer to him.

My pubic bone struck his with a sharp bump, but I didn't have an opportunity to dwell on that. Instead, my senses were focused on the large, hard swell that was pushing against my aroused, swollen outer lips. "Alex," I panted, eyes widened in shock at the scorching heat that permeated his pants. "Maybe we shouldn't be doing this," I blurted.

"You want to stop?" he said, his face dipping forward to the hint of cleavage that was visible between the sides of my blouse. As he kissed his way up the curve of one breast, my chest began to heave with breathless excitement and my nipples strained at the lacy fabric of my bra.

"Oh, God," I gasped, lunging my hips forward.

Leaving my right breast, he moved his attention to the right, mumbling against my skin. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," I whimpered, one hand moving in small circles over the back of his head and neck. "No," I repeated.

Once his mouth had explored every inch of skin available to him, he lifted his head and his hands unfurled from around me. His intense eyes had grown darker with lust and he fixed them intently on my face. His fingers then gently untied the knotted scarf around my neck. Sweeping the silk away from my skin, his lips immediately descended on this newly exposed flesh. Setting every inch of my body aflame, he nibbled and licked his way from my collarbone to my earlobe. Meanwhile, his hands were occupied with the buttons of my blouse and were soon edging the cotton off my shoulders.

I quickly released my hold of him to shed the shirt, before wrapping my arms tighter than ever around his neck. "Oh Alex," I whispered, bending my face to his ear and taking the rim gently between my teeth.

"Ugh," he groaned. "I need you." His fingers were at my back, unhooking my bra. With deft, warm hands, he rapidly tugged the material from me, baring my breasts to him.

One nipple was soon enveloped by his hot mouth. His teeth teased the tight distended nub and his tongue tracing it almost reverently.

The need to feel the warmth of his flesh overwhelmed me. Once he released my arms to allow my bra to drop to the floor, I then grasped feverishly at the front of his shirt. With his mouth still intent at my bosom, it was difficult to reach his buttons. With struggled and frustrated groans, I yanked gracelessly at the material.

Eventually, with a chuckle, Alex lifted his face. "Would you like some help?" he asked, his hands smoothing up my torso and caressing the outer edges of my breasts.

Squirming as chills shot down the length of my spine, I exhaled a shaky breath. "I can do it," I eventually said, recovering myself just enough to refocus my attentions on his shirt. Able to see now, I moved smoothly and unfastened three buttons before placing my palm on the toned chest I'd uncovered. It was just as firm and powerful as it had seemed clothed. The warmth and softness was contrasted with rugged dark hair, which was fine and short, and covered much of his upper torso. The rest of the shirt and his tie were still in my way and with a frenzy of movement, I tugged at the tie, slipping the shorter end through the knot and chucking the black silk over my shoulder. Surprising myself, I then pushed the white shirt off his shoulders, dipping my head to kiss his collarbone.

In all my previous sexual encounters, I had been passive. I'd been willing enough, but was too nervous and unsure to make any kind of advance. I'd never even had the nerve to be on top. Sitting astride Alex was, in and of itself, a first. But somehow, with him, nervousness and fear took a backseat. I was driven by desire, the like of which I'd never known. Suddenly, I understood what it was to _want_ someone sexually, to need them so desperately that nothing else in the world mattered; not my parents' expectations or the religious dogma. If the priests and nuns were right and I was going to hell, what a way to go!

Alex leaned forward so he could yank the shirt from his arms, and I instantly threw my hands around his back, pushing my breasts against his solid chest. He glanced up and I brought my face down to his, kissing him passionately as I enjoyed the pressure and warmth of his body against my taut nipples.

As I sucked his lower lip into my mouth, his fingers gripped the hem of my skirt and began to hike it upward. There was purpose and hunger in his actions, but he managed to move with grace and a control that I found very sexy.

Bundling my skirt at my waist, he trailed gentle fingers over the edge of my panties. In response, my hips rocked and pushed my inflamed sex to his engorged penis. With a groan, he removed his lips from mine and looked directly into my eyes. "You are so beautiful," he mumbled, as one hand lifted to my face and scooped a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The fingers of his other hand were slipping down into my panties.

I froze, every muscle in my body tensing with dread. I hadn't prepared for this. If I'd allowed myself to think that it could actually happen, maybe I would have waxed for him; that's what most men like, I thought to myself. As it was, my hair was trimmed and shaved into a neat triangle, but what if he didn't like it? What if he was used to hairless women, and found me unattractive or even disgusting?

The tips of his fingers moved inextricably lower, meeting the hair that began at my pubic bone. He didn't pause; there was no surprise, no reaction of any kind. Instead, his hand continued to smooth lower, eventually reaching my distended lips and drawing his forefinger between them.

I watched his face closely, searching for any sign of disappointment with my body. He was still looking up at me, his features fervid and open. As Alex's moistened finger slid up to my clitoris, my jaw fell open in a silent moan of pleasure. I was no longer able to keep my eyes on his. Instead, they drifted closed and my head dropped back.

"Alex, please," I panted, thrusting slightly and offering my needy opening to his affectionate touch.

However, he did not heed my request. While his index finger continued to roll playfully over the swollen bead, his middle finger stroked between my folds.

He was driving me insane with longing. Blistering heat flushed my face, throbbing desire pulsed through my passage, and an ache of restlessness had settled heavily in my pelvis.

"God, you're sexy," he whispered, his hand at my face curling around the back of my head and coaxing me down to him.

I went willingly, dropping forward until my forehead rested on his. Gradually, I opened my eyes, my vision hazy.

"Look at me," he urged.

I blinked, trying to focus on him. His eyes were so unwavering in their intensity that I felt helpless and vulnerable. My breath was still coming hard and fast in my chest; I kept my gaze on him.

Leaving my clitoris bereft, his forefinger moved to join the middle one and he gently pushed both until the tips slipped almost imperceptibly inside me.

Instinctively, my eyelids drooped as I squirmed in an effort to work him deeper.

He resisted. "Look at me," he repeated, refusing to move.

I forced my eyes open and braced my hands on his shoulders. As soon as my gaze met his once more, he tenderly pushed his fingers forward, curling them as he went and stroking the front wall of my sex.

Sensing that the rules of the game meant he'd stop if I took my focus from him, I continued to watch him. Finding his lips curling in a smile, I offered a shaky grin in return.

"Hmm," he hummed, his fingers questing deeper still. "You feel so good, Mel."

Needing more, my trembling hands quickly descended to his lap and began to unbuckle his belt. Leaving it loose at his waist, I unfastened his pants and tugged down the zipper. He grunted in relief as his erection was offered more space, but it was still firmly held within the confines of his tight boxer briefs. Reaching between the fabric, I shyly wrapped my hand around his shaft and gasped at the realization of just how large he was.

"You okay?" he asked lifting his face and placing his mouth to mine in a quick but expressive kiss.

"Yes," I replied, nodding.

Carefully, I eased him free of his underwear and beheld the sight of him. His circumcised head was pink and glistening with arousal; the shaft was almost completely straight with just the slightest curve that, in that position, caused the bulbous tip to curl toward his belly. It was incredibly thick, at least eight inches in length, and throbbing with a winding, bulging vein.

Clasping him, I worked my hand back and forth, imagining the vastness moving within me. He was considerably bigger than the men I'd been to bed with and I wasn't sure if I could comfortably accommodate him.

However, as his fingers suddenly left me and both hands grabbed either side of my panties, the need to feel him was much greater than my trepidation.

"I'll buy you a new pair," he muttered, before roughly tearing the fabric in his hands and stripping it away from my body.

Uncaring about my underwear, I lifted my weight onto my knee and shuffled forward. His manhood still in my hand, I held him steady, stroking my warm folds over his tip and stopping when we were aligned.

Hesitantly, I pushed down slightly, breathing deeply as I felt my body stretching. "Argh," I gasped. Releasing his shaft, I grasped his shoulders and, with tears forming in my eyes, I looked down at him. I wasn't aware of a desire to cry, it came upon me without warning. Sudden, powerful emotions, coupled with the way his body widened me in its quest for entrance, made me feel as though I was losing my virginity all over again. Only this time, it was exactly as I had always imagined it would be. This was the kind of sex that made women crave it.

"You all right?" Alex softly asked, shifting his head back so he could really look at me.

Silently a tear spilled onto my cheek. "Yeah," I smiled nodding. "It's just..." I said, a lump in my throat strangling the words. "It's been a while," I acknowledged apologetically. "And...umm," I added. "You're...err..."

"It's okay," he smoothly said, halting my pitiful attempts to speak. "We can take it slow," he offered simply. "You're in control."

Giving him a grateful smile, I leaned into him. "Touch me," I whispered.

Using both hands, Alex gently cupped my breasts, rubbing his thumbs over the softening nipples and stirring them once again into hot, hard points. Experiencing the warmth between my legs as well as at my chest, I ventured to impale myself further, swallowing up half of him with an ecstatic moan.

The fingers of Alex's right hand fell away from my bosom and slid down to my pubic bone, he pressed his palm against it and rubbed in a circle, before placing his soft finger against my clitoris and stroking in up and down motions.

"Oh, God," I whimpered, my thighs beginning to burn with the effort of keeping myself above him.

"You're so sexy," he mumbled, leaning forward and tracing my left areola with the tip of his tongue.

"Ugh," I groaned, plunging down a little further and experiencing the delicious, powerful sensation of my body lengthening and swelling under the pressure of his large, steely length.

"Mmm," he moaned, his teeth gently gripping the nipple.

Caressing the nape of his neck, I dropped forward and pressed my cheek to the top of his head. "Alex," I mewled, letting go and pushing my hips until they met his, consuming the final two inches of his shaft. My pubic bone was then pressed against his, he was entirely sheathed within me and, as my fingers dug into the thick muscles at his shoulders, I felt the tension slowly release. I felt flutters and throbs as my passage made the final adjustments and then, finally, I relaxed into him.

"Mel," he panted, his breath coming hard against the curve of my breast. "You feel so warm; so soft."

# Chapter Four

For several moments, we remained that way, simply enjoying the fact that we were one. My body quickly grew restless, though, and I rocked uneasily against him. I wanted to feel him moving within me; plunging in and out in that age-old rhythm. However, my legs were trembling and weak; I knew I didn't have the strength left to thrust myself above him. "Alex," I mumbled, running my hands through the short, soft hair at the top of his neck. "I can't..." I murmured, still rocking.

Apparently, he didn't need a more eloquent version and understood my gauche efforts to tell him what I needed. Grasping my hips, he suddenly flipped me to the right, twisting as he moved, so that when my back hit the couch, he was still securely inside me.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice deeper than I'd ever heard it before.

"Yes," I replied, wide-eyed from the shock of our motion, but nodding eagerly.

He claimed my mouth as his hips pulled back slowly. I felt every tiny ridge of veins and twitch of his motion, and moaned into his open lips. He didn't pull completely free, nor did he pause. Instead, he smoothly thrust forward.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh...yes," I whimpered, relishing the power with which he entered me. Still with my shoes in place, I crossed my feet somewhere at the base of his spine before edging them higher and moaning once more as it caused him to sink deeper still.

Again, Alex slowly drew back and this time plunged forward quicker than before.

The head of his shaft struck me sharply and I bucked against him with a squealed mixture of discomfort and pleasure.

"Too much?" he asked, lifting his head in concern.

"No," I breathlessly replied. "Don't stop, don't stop!"

Lifting his upper body, he placed his hands flat on the couch either side of me. Bracing most of his weight, he began to pump his hips faster and with more strength. Each drive forward was coupled with a groan of satisfaction from him and a breathy moan of pleasure from me.

I looked up at him and studied his face, frozen in concentration and biting down on his bottom lip. My hands, which had been at his back, slid down to his buttocks, grasping the large muscles and enjoying the sensation as they clenched each time his hips met mine.

I began to arch, meeting his thrusts, as I felt a pressure building in my pelvis. "Ugh, God," I panted.

"Argh," he groaned, stepping up the speed of his motion.

Each time he filled me, his pubic bone struck my clitoris and, with the increased speed and friction, I experienced the mounting orgasm. Sucking in a breath, I held it as I rolled my hips in a tiny circle.

"Oh, Mel," he breathed. "I'm close."

"Alex," I screamed, feeling that I was about to explode. "Yes, yes, yes!" I mumbled, my eyes clamping shut and fingers contracting tightly at his buttocks. I trembled and my hips jerked and bucked; my internal muscles spasming quickly in an arrhythmic pattern.

"Ugh," he grunted, thrusting once more and remaining deep inside me, his own pelvis jolting as if charged with electricity.

Then the warmth of his seed filled me in three strong bursts, and it suddenly occurred to me that neither one of us had stopped to think about protection.

"Oh, shit," he gasped, breathless and perspiring. Closing his eyes, his face dropped to mine and he kissed me tenderly. "I'm sorry," he panted against my mouth. "I totally forgot."

"It's okay," I responded calmly, as my fingers, which were struck with pins and needles, gradually released their hold of his behind. "I didn't think, either. I'm...err...okay, though. I mean, it's been a long time since I last had sex and that was protected, so I don't have anything."

With lazy eyes, he peered down at me. "I wasn't worried about that," he smiled. "And, just in case you were, I'm safe, too."

"I'm not worried," I replied. At that time, it was the truth, the next day it may have occurred to me to begin worrying, but right then and there, those concerns were far from my mind. I was too fixated on the way he felt within me, how right it seemed to have him fill me completely. He was softening, but still his body was exquisitely secure within mine.

"And, what about...?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm on the pill," I replied, assuring him that the chances of me being impregnated by the encounter were remote. Of course, taking the contraceptive pill was blasphemy as far as my parents were concerned. But it had been advised by my doctor to help regulate my cycle and, more importantly, they didn't know about it.

We lay there, content for several minutes. I didn't mind his bulk pushing me into the couch. Somehow it felt comforting. Occasionally, we'd share a sleepy kiss or one of us would release a satisfied sigh that caused the other to chuckle. However, as we gradually began to feel the chill in the air and our bodies and brains returned to the reality of our situation, I wondered where we'd go from here.

Alex began to get up, saying, "I guess we ought to get dressed, we'll be landing in a few minutes."

I stopped him, curling my arms around him. I needed to know something before we parted, before real life butted its way back into the perfect moments we'd shared. "So, umm...I guess I'll have to look for another job?" I suggested, a hopefully little smile on my lips.

"Why?" he asked, his dark brows creasing.

My heart sank and the smile faded. "Oh," I sighed, releasing him as if his skin burnt me. "I just thought," I muttered. "Never mind," I insisted, shaking my head and pushing at his chest in an effort to slip out from underneath him.

"You thought what?" he asked, refusing to budge. "What's wrong?"

"I just thought that this meant something," I gabbled. "I'm sorry."

"It _did_ mean something," he responded quickly. "But I don't-" he stopped himself, a dawning realization lifting the heaviness of his confused eyebrows. Smiling, he placed a hand on my cheek, rubbing his curved forefinger over my jaw. "I've always made it a rule not to get involved with people I work with," he sighed, grinning broadly. "But I think I'm prepared to make an exception for you."

Noting the sparkle in his sincere eyes, I knew he wasn't simply telling me what I wanted to hear. "Are you sure?" I asked, suddenly concerned that I was causing him to backtrack on his personal ethics.

"I'm sure," he replied. "I don't want to fly with anyone else," he assured me softly. His lips slowly descending and, seeming to seal the deal, he molded his mouth to mine.

While trying to kiss him back, I found myself unable to prevent the silly grin that contorted my lips. Something told me that work was about to get a lot more interesting.

### To be continued...

### Thank you for reading!

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