by Liz Schulte
“I don’t write for Vegas Go. I’m an editor for Max-Out Magazine. I saw how you reacted last night to Max’s little show. I didn’t want you to associate me with that kind of sophomoric show. I am really like you, Karee.”
“You write for Max-Out?”
“I’m the managing editor.”
Karee grappled with the idea she’d just had incredible sex with the right-hand man of her boss’s sworn archenemy. Crap. At this moment, she could care less that Bret worked for Max-Out. Veronica, though, would care greatly and would probably demand some sort of scathing commentary about Bret’s sexual prowess. No can do, Vee. This guy curled my toes—and a few other parts.
“I’m sorry, Karee. I probably should have said something before I jumped your bones.”
“Hold on, cowboy. You’re not the only one who has a confession.”
“If you’re gay, I’m all for your girlfriend joining us.”
“Har har har.” Karee rolled onto her side and faced him. “I work for Love Magazine.”
Bret blinked. His mouth opened. Closed. “You work for Veronica Martori.”
“Yeah. And you work for Maximillian Rutledge.”
Silence ensued as they considered the magnitude of the revelations.
Karee shook her head. “You know, Vee sent me on this trip in her place because she knew Max was coming on the trip.”
“Max sent me in his place when he found out Veronica had cancelled her ticket,” Bret said.
They stared at each other then started to laugh. Finally, Bret asked, “Is Veronica as wild about Max as he is about her?”
“If by ‘wild,’ you mean antagonistic, vengeful, and incapable of speaking about Max without screaming and breaking something valuable then yeah, she’s wild about him.”
“Thought so.”
Could fate really have such a sense of humor as to thwart? This suite had been meant for Max and Vee, and because of their hairy relationship, Karee had ended up having the most erotically fabulous Valentine’s Day ever.
She stared at Bret and considered his impressive body. She’d already stepped over so many of her own boundaries. Bret gave her the same kind once-over as they marshaled their thoughts. Damn, did the man of her fantasies have to write for Max-Out. No doubt his contribution would be sardonic and humorous in a way only men would appreciate. He’d probably give it a silly title like “One Mile Up … A Little to the Left” and include a sidebar that covered some stupid aspect like “12 Things To Lick at 30,000 Feet.”
A scandalous thought popped into her head. What if planned to write about their sexual exploits? Was it fair of her to ask him not to since it really emphasized the seductiveness of the luxury jet. Between him and the sex toys, she’d been seduced.
“Since we’re both writing stories for opposing magazines, and our encounter will no doubt color the articles, can we at least agree not to use real names?” she asked.
“Agreed. Do you have a preference?”
“I’ve always liked Loralee. And make it so that I’m from Georgia. I’ve always wanted one of those sultry Southern accents.”
Bret grinned. “Anything else, Loralee?”
“What about you? What name do you want?”
“Tiger.”
“You want me to call you Tiger? Who am I, Mary Jane talking to Peter Parker? Hah. No way.”
“Aw, c’mon.”
“Bret!”
“All right already. Call me Bubba. And I’m from Florida.”
“Terrific. These two should get along great—a redneck and a debutante.”
He laughed. “It can’t be any weirder for them than it is for us. Are you going to tell Veronica the truth?”
“Hell, no. Are you telling Max you slept with the enemy?”
“No.” He looked at her. “So … what should we do next?”
Karee knew what Bret was really asking: Do we continue to enjoy this fantasy or do we call the captain and tell him to turn this bird around?
Oh well. No matter what Bret wrote in his article, she was still having the best time she’d had with a guy in months … er, years. If it only lasted for the next couple of hours, she’d still count herself a lucky girl—at least in the sex department. Plus, she would have a helluva story to report, too.
She leaned forward and brushed a kiss across his lips. “Why don’t we investigate the Jacuzzi?”
In seconds, they had slipped into the bubbling pink waters of the hot tub. There was enough room, barely, for two people to sit in it—one in each curve at the heart’s top—and their feet met at the point of the heart’s bottom.
“I can’t believe they managed to put a hot tub onto an airplane. Amazing.”
“And the water is pink,” said Bret. “Is there nothing immune from that color?”
Karee laughed. “Hey! We forgot the champagne. We should have some bubbly and a good toast before…”
Bret’s brows rose. “Before what?”
“Before you get a blow job.”
If there had been an sporting event for men leaping out of Jacuzzis, grabbing champagne bottles and glasses, and returning, Bret would’ve gotten the gold medal. He handed her a glass, popped the cork, and poured the champagne. He put the bottle in the space between the hearts; the pink tabletop was small but would accommodate the champagne container and the flutes.
“To great stories, insane bosses, and second meetings,” said Bret, tapping his glass to hers.
“And to Arros Air,” added Karee.
They drank. The champagne was sweet and fizzy; she drained half the glass and giggled. Oh Lord. She was giggling. She hated giggling. But she figured that with a sexy man, good alcohol, and a killer spa … a girl was entitled to a few giggles.
She sank down into the water, enjoying the rest of her champagne and the feel of the hot, bubbling water on her skin. Bret did the same, though she knew without looking he was staring at her. Oh, poor baby. She’d bet money he couldn’t wait for her to put her mouth on his dick. She swallowed another giggle. She’d torture him for another minute or two.
“This water is divine,” she said. “Isn’t it, Bret?”
“Yeah. Terrific.” He sounded put-out. He placed his empty glass next to the champagne bottle. “It smells like strawberries.”
Karee sniffed. He was right. The water was pink and scented. The whole room was a ten on the Cheese Scale, but … she liked it. She liked the room, the pink, and the high cheese factor. But she especially liked Bret.
After she finished her champagne, she put down her glass and slipped between his legs, crawling forward to kiss his chest. “You’re not pouting are you?”
“A little.”
“So you want me to go down on you?”
He inhaled a sharp breath, his eyes going wide and dark. “Hell yes.”
“I don’t have gills,” she said. “It might help if that particular part of you was above water.”
Water splashed as he lifted himself onto the edge of the hot tub. The grooved seat, cushioned no less, where he’d been sitting made a nice placement for her knees. His legs pillared on either side of her and she was able to settle quite comfortably in position.
She peppered kisses on his inner thighs, licking away the droplets of water. “Would you believe this water is flavored, too? It’s like lapping up strawberry juice.”
“I care deeply about the flavored water,” said Bret. “Really.”
“Oh, well I could go on describing its many qualities … or I could do this.”
Karee licked the top of his cock, swirling her tongue around the plumed head. He was already halfway to full mast. He gasped, his hands diving into her hair. He squirmed a little and moaned a lot, but she knew he was waiting, no, wanting her to take him fully.
Another slow traverse up his now fully hard shaft until she reached the head again … then she rounded her mouth over the top and sucked. The grip he had on her hair tightened. Inch by inch, she took him into her mouth, all the way to the base.
Her hands reached for his balls, squeezing gently, as she licked and sucked his cock. His moans were louder now, his legs tense, and his hands drifting to her shoulders. Making him hot was making her hot. Bringing him this kind of pleasure overwhelmed her senses; her nipples were tight and tingling; her skin flushed from the heated water; and her very core throbbed.
She released his length and looked up at him, unable to articulate how she felt or what she wanted.
“Bend over,” he said.
Karee scrambled to her feet and Bret stood, too. The water reached mid-thigh and lapped at their skin. They spent a few quality minutes stroking each other, kissing each other, racketing up the heat factor until it was in the red zone. Then Bret whispered again, “Bend over.”
Karee turned around and accommodated his request, holding on to the edge of the hot tub as her rear end flounced in the air. He’d sheathed himself again, and within seconds, she felt the slow, hot slide of him, and she shuddered in delight at the deep penetration. Bret placed one hand on her hip and the other slipped underneath, his finger pushing along her slick folds.
As he thrust deep and steady, she felt the sparks right before the explosion. Her body felt electrified, her clit so sensitive, she could hardly stand the movement of Bret’s finger, then pleasure crashed through her, over and over and over until she screamed from the intensity of it.
Moments later, she felt Bret stiffen, her name on his lips as he held onto her hips and came. She’d never had anyone make her feel so whole, so cared for. Another orgasm jerked through her body as tears of joy leaked from her eyes. This is what she wanted. This is what she’d been missing.
Reality slowly returned and they parted, sinking into the water. Karee found herself sitting on Bret’s lap, her arms around his neck as she continued to recover from the spectacular sex. He held her tightly, stroking her back, and she sighed contentedly.
“Karee,” he said.
She lifted her head to look at him. God, he was cute. And funny. And so sweet. “Yeah?”
“This is the best fantasy I’ve ever had.”
Chapter Six
“This is the best fantasy I’ve ever had?” repeated Veronica. “He said that?”
“Yep.”
They sat in Veronica’s plush office, Karee stretched out on the white leather couch, Vee curled into the chair. She felt incredibly relaxed. Life was good. Life was beautiful. Life was sexalicious.
“Then what?”
“Vee, it was incredible.” She still felt a zinging thrill in her girl parts when she thought of her Valentine’s Day romance.
“Are you seeing him again?”
“We’re having lunch today.” Karee had been thinking about nothing but seeing Bret again. Maybe what they’d experienced on the jet had been all flash and no substance. It wouldn’t be the first time the opposite sex had let her down. But, this time, if he turned out to be a dud, she knew it would devastate her. It would renew the idea that dating was akin to Inquisition-styled torture. Just get out the thumbscrews and the rack—both were easier to endure than trying to find a guy worth hanging onto.
All she ever wanted to do was write and since she got the job with Love, that dream had expanded to include the other areas of magazine publication. But now, with Bret, for the first time ever, she was interested in something, make that someone, other than her job. It was both frightening and exciting. Damned if she didn’t hope that the spark she and Bret had discovered together would not only burn brighter, but also stay lit for a long, long time.
“Are you sure his name is really Bubba?” asked Veronica. She had sensed something off about Karee’s story from the beginning, but Karee wasn’t ready to reveal that she’d done the horizontal bop with Bret. Given Vee’s hatred of Max-Out and its owner, chances were good she might never tell her boss the truth.
“Who the hell names their kid Bubba?”
Karee shrugged.
“Whatever. We’re working on the February issue so I need your article ASAP. We’re putting it to bed this week. Make it good, sweetie. I want those issues to fly off the stands!”
“I will,” said Karee, though she was strangely reluctant to write the story. Somehow, writing for the world what she and Bret experienced seemed wrong. She wanted to keep that plane ride to herself, like her own little secret, a mental diary made up of memories that only she and Bret shared.
“It’s too bad you won’t be around to see the issue. I could mail you a copy.”
Karee’s musings about Bret turned into puzzled shock. Won’t be around to see the issue? Huh? “You’re … you’re firing me?”
“I’m giving you a promotion, Karee. In London.”
“London?” Karee Lomen stared at her boss, knowing her stunned expression probably amused her mentor.
“Yes, darling. London. You will be the editor-in-chief for the new U.K. edition of Love Magazine. Just think of all that awaits you—shopping, shopping, and more shopping.” Veronica put a hand against her brow and struck a pose of near faint, which made Karee laugh.
“I’ve groomed you for this day, m’dear. You know the romance world inside-and-out. Love has made a mint in the U.S. and you must make sure our little venture does the same in the United Kingdom.”
Karee smiled, tears in her eyes, and said, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Your dream job.” Veronica grinned. “How many times have you told me about your desire to run the magazine? I’m giving you better than Managing Editor, dearest. You’ll be Editor-in-Chief. You’ll be setting up and running the U.K. edition—starting February twentieth.”
“Five days?” Karee felt panic warble through her. “As in, I’m getting on a plane five days from now? Are you crazy?”
“You’ve earned it, Karee!” Vee said, excited and oblivious to Karee’s reservations. “Check in with the office, then take a week or two to familiarize yourself with London, get your flat in order, and look at the offices. I’ve been setting this up for you for the last six months, Karee. It’s my final Valentine’s Day gift to you as my best friend and my best employee.”
This was a dream promotion. Something Karee had aspired to since she started working for Love. So, why didn’t she feel more thrilled? Duh. Bret. She’d known him all of two days, for Pete’s sake! She’d been working toward this career goal for five years and had expected to work several more years to get her very own magazine. She couldn’t chuck it all out the window for a guy.
How many times had she seen co-workers give up their business goals for a man, only to get screwed over? Well, shit. Not many. Peggy the accountant seemed thrilled with life as a married woman, and Tamara just got engaged and seemed have enough enthusiasm and energy for her career and planning a wedding, and there was Jennifer, her own editorial assistant married for two years, who just found out she was preggers….
Wait a fucking minute.
What was she doing? Thinking? Feeling? No, no, no. She was taking this job, she was flying to London, and she was saying adios to Bret. They didn’t owe each other jack squat. Fantasy ended. Article finished. It was over. Kaput.
A howl of despair wailed inside her, an echo of pain and remorse for what might have been. But how could she keep a relationship going when Bret was in Las Vegas, and she was in London? An impossibility. Damn it.
“Vee, I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes, you idiot.”
“Yes, you idiot.”
Veronica laughed. “That’ll do. Now go to lunch with Bubba and tell him the good news.”
* * *
“Shit-on-toast! I’m late!”
Bret put down his cup and goggled as the luscious and charming Karee, codename Loralee, grabbed her purse and dug through it. She tossed a twenty onto the table and scooted away, nearly tipping over the chair in her haste to rise.
“Karee!” He looked at the money, which would more than cover their modest lunch, and scooped up the bil
l. He was modern guy, but still old-fashioned enough to abhor the idea of “going Dutch.” It gave him pleasure to pay, too. But Karee wasn’t the type of girl who would allow him to take care of her—they’d gone to the mall before lunch and all attempts to buy her clothes, jewelry, meals, or flowers were met with lectures and refusals. Yeah. Karee was fiercely independent.
“Veronica’s gonna kill me. I was supposed to be back at the office fifteen minutes ago.”
“She won’t kill you. She adores you.”
“Only on Tuesdays.”
Karee hugged the purse to her ribs, unintentionally pushing her breasts up and increasing the already pleasing cleavage of her sexy black dress. He ripped away his gaze from her breasts and met her stare, rewarded by the sensual regret he saw in her green eyes.
“Have I mentioned that you’re funny and sweet and … god, you look really good in those jeans … but I’m moving to London in four days?”
Bret felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. “What?”
“I just found out today. This morning. Three hours ago. Vee made me Editor-in-Chief of the new U.K. edition of Love Magazine. She’s done a lot of the prep work, but there’s still a ton to do before we roll our first issue in June. It’s the bridal issue, of course, which will be weird because I’m not all that fond of weddings, unless it was my own, but even then, hell, I don’t know. I think I’d hire a planner or just get hitched in Vegas. Easier that way, you know.”
She was speaking fast again, and now he knew that the rat-tat-tat of her words indicated her level of nervousness. He couldn’t believe that he wouldn’t have a chance to get to know Karee better. London? No! His heart clenched at the appalling idea she’d be living in another country.
Bret rose and grasped her elbow, pulling her into his embrace. Her gaze traced his lips, and he felt a response in his groin. His woman was so beautiful, so sexy … so elusive. Of course, the two of them would have to be careful until they figured out a way to break it to their bosses that they had not only joined the Mile High Club together, they had decided to date. No, wait. They couldn’t date. England was one helluva commute from Vegas.