Flying High

by Barbara Dunlop

  “Sounds like you picked the right profession.”

  “Definitely.”

  He stretched the thumb circles down between her shoulder blades, hitting on a particularly sore muscle.

  She moaned.

  “Hurt?”

  “It tightens up whenever I spend too much time on the computer.”

  He made his way around the edges of the knot, gradually working out the tension until she felt as though she might melt into a pool of jelly and ooze onto the floor.

  “Erin?” he whispered close to her ear.

  His breath was hot against her skin and she could imagine his lips brushing against her, kissing her ever so gently.

  She subconsciously stretched toward him. “Yes?”

  “You be okay if I go a little lower?” He tugged at the straps of her dress.

  “Sure.” Yes. Anything. Just don’t stop.

  He pushed the straps down her arms and eased her dress down a few inches. “Stay on your stomach.”

  She nodded.

  He inched it a little further. The neckline rasped its way over her nipples and she sucked in a breath.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she all but squeaked.

  Her skin had turned supersensitive and she had a crystal-clear vision of his rough hands on her breasts.

  He went back to the sore spot between her shoulder blades, then gradually worked his way down her spine. His fingertips were strong and sure. Her muscles couldn’t decide whether to relax in ecstasy or tighten with arousal.

  She filled her lungs, suddenly attuned to his scent. The candles flickered warmly off the wood walls, bathing the room in a golden glow. His fingertips moved lower, firmer, deeper.

  Erin didn’t know what heaven felt like, but she was pretty sure it had to be close to this. Her body began to tingle and her thighs began to twitch.

  His warm breath caressed her skin.

  His lips would be next.

  She was sure his lips would be next.

  She couldn’t be the only one feeling the heady press of the passion rising between them. He couldn’t be doing all this to her and not know it.

  His touch skimmed the top of her buttocks, and his breathing grew deeper and faster.

  Was that a sign?

  Was he feeling something, too?

  He had to be.

  Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

  She waited, barely breathing. But he just kept massaging.

  She turned her head and whispered his name into the sultry darkness.

  “Hmm?”

  Her gaze sought and caught his.

  His hands stilled. His eyes were burning with passion, midnight-blue, dark with need.

  Without giving herself a chance for second thoughts, she flipped onto her back.

  Striker stared at her for the space of a single heartbeat, eyes darting to her breasts and then back to her lips. Then he swooped down and his hot lips settled on hers.

  The kiss was everything she remembered, everything she’d imagined, everything she’d ever wanted.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and arched up to complete it.

  He slipped his strong forearms around the small of her back and pulled her against him. He angled into the kiss, opening wide, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as if he couldn’t get close enough.

  Fine with her. She wanted him against her, around her, inside her. An avalanche of desire was thundering through her body, demanding satisfaction.

  His kisses grew hotter, molten, consuming. He kissed her lips, her neck, her cheeks, her eyes, laving her skin with his tongue then caressing it with his soft lips.

  He nibbled his way along one ear and she gasped his name out loud.

  “You’re delicious,” he rumbled.

  He slid one hand between their bodies, cupping her breast with the searing heat of his palm. He tested her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  Blasts of desire spiraled into her system.

  She needed to get closer, needed to feel his skin against hers. She reached for the knot in his tie, fumbling.

  “Striker?” she begged for help.

  7

  STRIKER REACHED FOR his tie and yanked it loose, pulling it off over his head and dropping it. It slithered down to pile between Erin’s creamy, soft breasts. The sight nearly undid him.

  He ripped at the buttons of his shirt, quickly shrugging his way out of it so he could feel her breasts against his bare skin. She was soft and warm, and silky smooth.

  He pulled her up tight, nearly crushing the breath out of her, kissing the gasp of surprise from her mouth. Even as he curled his tongue around hers, he tried to tell himself to slow down, back off a little and quit acting like a teenager. But it was no good.

  He hoped her gasps meant she was keeping pace.

  He kissed her long and hot and hard because he couldn’t get enough of her lips. They were tender, delicious, sexy as hell. His hand cupped her breast, and he wanted to pull back and stare, take in all of her beauty.

  But pulling back meant breaking the kiss, and his lips wouldn’t let him do that just yet. Maybe they never would.

  She arched her back and he couldn’t resist tasting more of her body.

  He worked his way down her neck, peppering wet kisses over the mound of her breast, making his way to her hardened nipples. He covered one with his mouth, his heat against the cool of her delicate skin. He swirled his tongue around her and she moaned his name, fingers tunneling into his hair.

  He felt an immense jolt of satisfaction crest within him. She wanted him.

  For the first time in his life, a woman wanted him and him alone. Erin didn’t know about his wealth, his family, his possessions.

  He wanted to shout from a rooftop.

  He moved to her other breast, while his hands slid down her arched back, kneading their way over her buttocks.

  “Striker,” she gasped.

  “Erin,” he answered.

  “I want you.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Now,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  He clasped her skimpy panties and yanked them down her legs. “Erin,” he breathed again, looking his fill, unable to believe she was lying with him, beautiful, sexy, amazing.

  He slid one hand up her smooth legs, along her calf, past the tender skin behind her knee, absorbing her satin feel as he gazed deeply into her bottomless eyes.

  When he reached her searing heat, her eyes fluttered closed and her lips softened on an expressed sigh.

  “Yes,” she whispered, flexing her hips, giving herself thoroughly and totally to him.

  A wave of tender emotion poured through Striker, unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Not making love, not flying, not with anyone, ever.

  She was like no other woman he’d ever met.

  She was special.

  And he’d treat her…

  Striker stilled, something cold and heavy settling on his chest.

  Treat her like what? The same way he’d treated every other woman in his life? The chill spread out through his body.

  What the hell did he think he was doing?

  “Striker?” Her voice seemed to come from far away.

  He wanted to kick himself. He was making love to her under false pretenses. He’d just spent two hours devoted to a callused and calculated seduction.

  And, if that wasn’t bad enough. He’d lied to her.

  She thought he was an ordinary charter pilot. She had no idea that his seduction techniques had been perfected on six continents.

  He’d treated sex as a game. Just like he always did. Only this time it was worse. He’d stacked the deck.

  He gazed at her with aching regret—her beautiful hair, her creamy smooth skin, her dark, pouty lips.

  Though it was the hardest thing he’d ever done, he forced himself to let go. He pulled back, thumping down onto the floor beside the couch, clenching his fists.

  “Striker?” H
er eyes were full of confusion.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, looking away, not trusting himself.

  “About what?”

  “This.” He spread his hands wide and squeezed his eyes shut.

  She gave a nervous laugh. “I, uh, really don’t think this was anything to be—”

  “You were right about me,” he said, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. “More right than you’ll ever know.”

  “I…was?” She inched her dress down her thighs.

  He hardened his voice. It was better if she hated him. “I’m pond scum.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”

  “I seduced you, Erin.”

  She adjusted the top of her dress, covering her breasts. Thank goodness for small mercies.

  “Well, yes,” she said. “But you did have a little help.”

  “You don’t understand.” He shook his head and dragged his hand through his hair, pressing his fingertips hard against his scalp. What was the matter with him? Why had he done this to her?

  “It didn’t just happen,” he confessed, refusing to give himself any quarter. “This whole thing was a calculated, deliberate lie.”

  “What whole thing?” The confusion in her voice was turning to frustration.

  Good. He’d much rather have her mad than hurt.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  “The coffee,” he admitted. “Julie’s massage. The salmon—”

  “You lied about the salmon?”

  “What? No.”

  She sat up, seeming to regroup. “Well, thank goodness for that.”

  “Erin.”

  “Striker.”

  “I’m really—”

  She cut him off with the palm of her hand. “Listen. I don’t know what happened to change your mind, but—”

  “I didn’t change my mind.” He reeled at the very thought. “My God, Erin. Do you think I’m not—”

  Her voice went cold. “Hey, I was still kissing, and you were stopping. In my book—”

  “I stopped because I don’t deserve you. Didn’t you listen to what I said? This whole thing was a setup.”

  “You mean the massage wasn’t about curing my headache?”

  “Well…” Yeah. Actually, he’d cared very much about curing her headache, and it certainly hadn’t been dependant upon having sex with her later. Still. His primary motive had been to seduce her.

  “I see,” she said, and the last speck of warmth went out of her eyes.

  He stood up and paced across the room to get rid of his pent up energy. “You know how you think I’m an uncouth lowlife?”

  She snapped the straps of her dress back onto her shoulders. “Well, if you’re trying to change my mind about that—”

  “I’m not.” Striker drew in a ragged breath. He suddenly felt as if he were looking at himself through his father’s eyes, and he sure didn’t like what he saw. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m the very worst kind uncouth lowlife. I’m an uncouth lowlife with charm.”

  “Oh, this is definitely charming.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “If you weren’t interested, why did you bother to seduce me?”

  Striker bent and picked up his discarded tie, bunching it into his fist. Why? Because she was gorgeous? Because she was sexy? Because she was a challenge? Because he had no morals?

  There were a thousand reasons.

  “Because I like you,” he said.

  “Oh, that makes perfect sense.”

  He didn’t answer.

  She took a deep breath. “So, why did you stop?”

  “Because I like you more than I thought.”

  She was silent for a minute, her gaze focused on a point somewhere behind his right ear. “Right.”

  “Erin, I…”

  She lifted her chin. “Forget it. Are you staying for dinner tomorrow or not?”

  Striker paused. Okay, change the subject. Shut up already and quit embarrassing her.

  “Yes,” he answered. Running out on her now would only compound his sins.

  ERIN WAITED until Striker’s bedroom door clicked shut before she slumped back on the couch, pushing her tangled hair back from her face. This was definitely not one of her ego’s finest moments.

  Her headache was completely gone, but her body still buzzed with sexual arousal. Striker might have changed his mind, but Erin’s hormones were on high alert.

  She rose unsteadily to her feet, blowing out the candles as she made her way toward the stairs.

  Then, having second thoughts, she detoured through the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of brandy and a glass. Maybe she’d take a long, hot bath and deaden her insecurities with liquor.

  It wasn’t like she had to get up early. The phone call to Patrick would wait, and they had the whole day to plan dinner for Allan.

  Besides, her ego needed some serious attention here. She’d been naked and moaning in Striker’s arms, and he’d walked away. Left her high and dry. As if she were of no interest to him whatsoever.

  Ouch.

  Bottle and glass dangling from her fingers, she headed up the stairs.

  As she rounded the corner at the top, Julie’s door cracked open. “Erin?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  Julie opened the door wider. “You heading for his room?”

  Erin shook her head, resisting an urge to laugh darkly.

  Julie stepped back and motioned Erin into her room. “What happened?” she whispered as she closed the door behind them, glancing at the brandy bottle and the single glass.

  “It’s a little embarrassing,” said Erin.

  Julie’s expression turned to one of animated interest. “Oh, good.” She quickly scooped a water glass from the corner table, settling into one of the big armchairs. “Have a seat, pour me a drink and dish.”

  With a sigh of resignation, Erin curled up in the other chair and splashed a generous drink into each of their glasses. It was hard to know if the gratification of trashing Striker to Julie would be worth the humiliation of telling the story.

  “Give,” said Julie.

  “You have to promise not to laugh.”

  “Why would I laugh?”

  “And you can’t pity me, either.”

  Julie took a drink. “Oh, this is sounding better and better all the time.” She wiggled up to the edge of the seat, leaning toward Erin. “Talk, woman.”

  Erin reminded herself that there was a ninth floor office with her name on it back in New York. Once this was over, it would all be worth it.

  Julie knew most of her deep, dark secrets anyway.

  “You remember the foot massage?” she asked.

  “Do I ever,” said Julie, her smile turning dreamy.

  Erin took a bracing sip of the brandy. It burned down her throat in a satisfying way. Striker would be a fuzzy memory in no time.

  She set the glass down. “Well, the foot massage turned into a neck massage, which turned into a back massage, which turned into a kiss…” She picked up her glass again and studied the amber liquid.

  “Doesn’t sound too embarrassing so far,” said Julie.

  “Then he backed off.”

  Julie leaned farther forward, peeking around the glass. “What do you mean backed off?”

  “Backed off.”

  Julie’s eyes narrowed. “Did you say no?”

  Erin shook her head. As a matter of fact, she’d said yes in as many ways as she knew how.

  “Are you sure?” asked Julie.

  Erin tossed back the rest of her drink, clacked the glass down on the table and looked Julie in the eye. “I believe my exact words were ‘Striker. I want you. Now.’”

  And she had. She still did. How the hell could he do this to her?

  Julie polished off the last of her brandy and held out her glass for more. “A little hard to misinterpret that.”

  Erin topped them
both up. “I’m guessing. Yeah.”

  “I could have sworn he was hot for you.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Did he tell you why? Like, is he a religious fanatic or something?”

  “He said he liked me.”

  Julie nodded. “Ahh.” Then she shook her head and giggled into her hand. “That makes no sense at all.”

  “I have a feeling he meant ‘like’ as in ‘respect.’”

  “What? He thinks nice girls don’t have sex?”

  “That’s the only explanation I can come up with. I’m pretty sure he was into it. I mean…Okay, I’ll say it. I’m sure he was into it.” Erin shifted in her chair. “They ought to write a law against turning a woman on and then leaving her flat.”

  “If you thought he was into it, believe me, he was into it,” said Julie. “Maybe he’s got a 1950s morality thing going.”

  “Or maybe I don’t turn him on all that much,” said Erin, experiencing an uncomfortable moment of doubt. Could she have imagined his interest? She had sort of made the first move. What if he was just being polite?

  “Oh yeah, that’s likely.” Julie lifted her index finger from the glass and pointed at Erin. “Trust me, when he was massaging me, he was warming up for you.”

  Julie’s words and the brandy combined to make Erin feel better. She allowed herself a small smile. “You think?”

  “I know. Whatever’s bothering him, it’s not that you don’t turn him on.”

  Julie was such a good friend.

  It made Erin feel suddenly weepy. “Thank you.”

  Julie squared her shoulders. “So, what are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re still hot for him, right?”

  Erin took another drink instead of answering.

  “Oh, come on, it’s just us, you’re allowed to say it.”

  Erin cringed for a second. Then she lifted her chin. “Okay, yes, I’m hot for him. And I don’t get hot for that many men.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “What?”

  “You work too hard,” said Julie. “You don’t date enough. But that’s a whole other conversation. What are you going to do about Striker?”

  Erin shrugged. “What can I do?” Lust after him from afar? That was pretty pathetic. Thank goodness he was only staying one more day. After that, she should be able to handle Allan on her own.

  “Turn the tables,” said Julie.