by Tara Wylde
I sit on the stool beside her. “I’ll have a …” I pause a second and shift through my memories of the beer I had the last time I visited Italy. “Le Baladin Isaac.”
The bartender nods and shuffles around, his slow, somewhat clumsy movements making him seem even more cow like as he makes Cassie’s drink and fills a glass with my beer order.
Cassie shoots me a sideways glance. “A beer? Really? While you’re in Florence? Not having a negroni while you’re here might be against the law.”
The bartender places my drink in front of me. “I’ll take my chances.”
“It’s your call.” Cassie sips her cocktail. “But considering what happened at the airport, I’d think you’d want to do everything in your power to stay on their good side.”
“You’re the one who should worry about that,” I remind her. “And can we stop talking about what happened? I’ve had my share of dead bodies for the night.”
“Works for me.” Cassie lifts her glass and drains it before directing her attention to the giant blackboard across from her. “I’d like a plate of those potato wedge things and an arugula salad.” She sets the glass down and taps her nails against it. “And another one of these.”
The bartender nods and turns to me. Speaking Italian in order to reduce the odds of him making a mistake, I order a steak, medium rare and pair it with a pasta dish.
Cassie braces an elbow on the bar top, props her chin in her hand, and studies me. “How’d you learn to speak Italian?”
I almost tell her that my family has a house not too far from Florence, and that I spent an entire year living there between high school and college, during which time I rotated between working with a local pilot, hang gliding, and chasing after local girls. Basically, doing all the things the offspring of the wealthy are expected to do. I stop myself at the last second, remembering that I’m supposed to be a normal guy, not one of the privileged few.
I rack my brain for a more plausible explanation. “In college, I dated a girl, an artist. She wanted to spend a summer painting in Venice, and I stayed with her.” It’s not a complete lie. The year I spent in Italy did involve seeing a few college-age artists.
The bartender slides another negroni in front of Cassie. She picks it up, drinking it slightly slower than the last one. At this rate, she won’t have to worry about checking in. A couple more negronis and she’ll spend the night in this room, passed out under one of the tables.
“I wish I could have done something like that,” Cassie says, her tone wistful.
My eyes meet hers in the long mirror spanning the wall across from where we’re sitting. “Like what?”
“Just take off and spend time somewhere else, immersing myself in the local culture, not having to worry about … real life adult stuff. Not worry about being responsible for anything. Just doing whatever I want, when I want.” Cassie reaches up and pulls the rubber band from her hair. She shakes loose her ponytail until her thick black hair hangs down to her shoulders, framing her face.
I wrap my hands around my glass in a desperate attempt to stop myself from reaching out and tucking some of that hair behind her ear. My cock swells just enough to press lightly against my fly, a not-so-subtle reminder that Cassie is a beautiful girl and that it’s been a long time since I was last with a woman. I ignore the silent message. Sure, I want to claim Cassie as my own, what red-blooded man wouldn’t? But even more than that, I want to know what makes her tick.
“Then why don’t you do something like that?”
The bartender arrives with our food. I shift closer to my plate, inhaling the unmistakable scent of red meat. There’s very little that Texans like better than a good steak. Based on the way this one smells and looks, it’s almost as good as the meat I eat when I’m in my home state.
“Because I have responsibilities and as much as I would like to ignore them, to pretend they don’t exist, I can’t.” Cassie dips the tines of her fork into the little side dish of Italian dressing before jabbing them through a few pieces of lettuce. She uses a bit more force than necessary. “It’s not in my nature.”
“Why did you become a pilot?” I slice into my perfectly cooked steak.
“Both my dad and grandfather were. They taught me. Every time I take off, I feel them sitting in the cockpit beside me.” A small smile lifts the corners of Cassie’s mouth.
“Are you and your family close?”
Cassie nods and picks up one of the potato wedges. She juggles it from one hand to the other in a desperate attempt to cool it. “Yeah. When I’m home, I stay with my mom and sister.”
“Where’s home?”
“Castorville, Texas.”
Casey shoves the potato wedge into her mouth and moans with pleasure. An image of her on her knees before me, her gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock, making that exact same sound, floods my senses.
It takes all my effort to pull my thoughts from that stunning image and back to the conversation.
“Castorville? Really?” That’s just thirty miles from my penthouse apartment in San Antonio, which by Texas standards is practically in my own back yard.
“Yeah. Feel free to help yourself.” Cassie gestures to her large plate of potato wedges. “My entire family lives there. One of my great, great, etc. uncles was one of the city founders. He liked it so well, his siblings soon showed up too. Can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
“Why international flights?” Northwest follows a good system, sending its international pilots out for two weeks before giving them a full week off once they return to their home base. It’s a good life if you enjoy traveling and don’t have a family, but the long stretches away can take a toll on those who have loved ones waiting for them.
Cassie shrugs and motions for another drink. “The pay is good, which I need, and as much as I love Castorville, I want to see the world. Just wish I’d signed up with a different airline.” The tone of her voice makes me think she didn’t mean to say that last bit out loud.
“Having a problem with Northwest?” Cassie has been working for them for a few years, meaning she might have a little insight into why the company isn’t performing well.
“I’ve been having problems with Northwest since the day I signed a contract to fly for them.” Cassie finishes her salad and pushes the plate toward the edge of the bar. The bartender hands her another drink, which she pulls close and starts playing with the condensation gathering on the base of the glass. “Only two more years, and my contract will be up. That’s the day I start exploring other job options.”
“You signed a long-term contract with them.” The contract I signed was only a year long.
“Five years.” Cassie lifts the glass to her lips. “At the time it seemed like a good thing. All the airlines were struggling and making cutbacks and my contract stated that if Northwest was forced to let me go for economic reasons, they’d provide six months’ salary as severance. That’d have been enough to keep me going and hopefully find another job. Now, I’m stuck.”
“What makes them so bad to work for?” Cassie is too busy draining the contents of her drink to answer right away so I motion to the bartender and ask him to get our room keys from the front desk. The way Cassie has been putting away the negronis, she’s not going to want to stop by the front desk before heading up to the room.
Cassie swallows and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s hard to explain, but there’s about a hundred little things that the management does that drive me insane. Whoa!” She grabs on tight to the edge of the bar. “Things are starting to spin.”
“That’s because you’re drunk.” I jump off my stool and cup a hand around each of her shoulders. Little sparks of hot energy dance along my skin wherever it connects to her, despite the thick Northwest flight suit she’s still wearing. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”
As if magically summoned by my words, the bartender returns. I take the keys from him, shoving them deeply into my pocket, leaving both of my ha
nds free to guide Cassie from the bar.
“Wow,” she whistles softly. “I don’t remember the last time I drank anything, much less enough to get buzzed.”
“I think you’re a little past the buzzed phase.” Sober, Cassie is gorgeous and aloof, something completely unattainable, but in her current state, she’s downright adorable. I don’t know which version I like better. “And not all the booze has had a chance to hit your system. The good news is that the rooms are on the ground floor. Which means we won’t get a view, but at least you won’t have to deal with an elevator ride.”
“That’s nice,” Cassie says. “You’re nice too, do you know that?”
“It might have been mentioned a time or two,” I lie. People who know me, the real me and not the persona I created for this job, think I’m a lazy, shiftless, egotistical son who was lucky enough to be born into an obscene amount of wealth. The fact that Cassie sees something different triggers a warm glow in the pit of my stomach. “Let’s get you into bed.”
“If anyone other than you said something like that to me I’d be livid.” We step into the hallway and Cassie leans heavily against me. “But you’ve been so polite and …” Cassie’s brow furrows as she searches for the right word. “Whatever it’s called, I’m not even a bit upset.”
Great, so in Cassie’s mind, being nice is the equivalent of being neutered. Maybe I’m not so flattered after all. And if she knew how turned on I am right now, how my cock is practically sitting up and begging for some one-on-one attention from Cassie’s sweet body, she’d blacken my eye.
Cassie’s room is halfway down the long hallway. Mine is directly across from it.
Stopping in front of the door, I dig the keys out of my pocket and slide the card through the reader on Cassie’s door.
“The security team at the airport promised they’d send a courier with our bags to the hotel. When I sent the bartender to officially check us in and get the keys, he double checked and confirmed that they’d arrived and already been placed in our rooms so you should have everything you need.” The green light on the door flashes and the lock clicks. I push it open. “Are you going to be okay by yourself?”
Cassie tilts her head back. Her dark brown eyes seem huge as she looks up and into mine. I don’t know why, but my heart thuds in my chest and my palms suddenly go sweaty.
Times seems to stretch out endlessly between us before she finally answers.
“No, I’m not. I need your help.”
Cassie
Ronan thinks I’m drunk. He’s not completely wrong. My flushed skin feels a size too small. My eyes keep bouncing from one spot to the next to next like they have ADHD. And I have a nice floaty feeling. My thoughts are slightly jumbled, but I’m aware of them.
The truth is I’m caught somewhere between buzzed and drunk. Not sober enough to drive, but sober enough to know exactly what’s going to happen if Ronan comes into my hotel room.
Smiling playfully up at him, I nudge the door open with my toe. I clutch his upper arms and edge into the room, drawing him along with me.
Even though we agreed not to talk about it, the entire time we were sitting at the bar, I hadn’t been able to get the image of the dead man out of my mind. I couldn’t get over the idea that one minute he’d been alive and the next he wasn’t. I didn’t have any idea who the man was, but that didn’t stop me from thinking about all the things that he’d never do again, and all the things I’d miss out on if the same thing suddenly happened to me.
And the whole time, Ronan was there. I can’t think of any other single guy who would have sat quietly at the bar, just talking to me, instead of making one pass after another. When he pocketed the keys and guided me back to the room, I’d thought that this was it, this was the time when he’d turn into a typically pushy male and use the fact that I’m drunk as an excuse to get into my pants.
But he wasn’t. He seems genuinely concerned about me.
That, plus the fact that it’s been a long time, too long, since I last felt a male touch is why, right this second, I’m inviting him into my room.
I draw him over the threshold and into the dark room.
“Are you sick?” Ronan asks.
I shake my head. “No, just a little light headed.” Tomorrow morning, when I know damn good and well that I’ll regret this moment, I am going to blame this entire experience on the alcohol I drank, but for right now the only thing I want to do is feel Ronan’s body pressing against mine.
I reach up and wind my arms around his neck. His hands settle on my hips.
“Cassie—” His voice is strained. “—you just had a lot to drink.”
“And your point is what, exactly?” I rise onto my toes. Even in this position I’m still several inches shorter than him.
“That you don’t know what you’re doing.”
I notice that, despite the fact he thinks we’re making a mistake, he hasn’t made any effort to push me away.
“You’re wrong.” I tighten my arms, trying to draw his mouth closer to mine. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
His hands flex against my hips. I sway closer until his hardness presses against my lower belly and grin. “Feels like you’re pretty excited.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” He closes his eyes. “Cassie, you’re gorgeous, but I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“When we first met, you made it pretty obvious that you were into me. What’s changed?”
“Nothing.” Ronan breathes deeply through his nose. “You’re the most attractive woman I’ve ever met.”
I’m not a vain person, but even so, his words send a thrill shooting through me. “I am?” I whisper.
Keeping his eyes tightly closed, Ronan nods. “Yeah. And there’s nothing I want more than to crawl into that big bed with you.”
“Then let’s do it.” I run my thumb back and forth against the nape of his neck and revel at the faint shudder my touch triggers. The corners of my mouth lift into a sexy grin. “This is the first time a guy I’ve invited into my room has ever played hard to get.” It’s a nice change from the normal.
“Cassie,” Ronan groans. “You don’t understand.”
His fingertips press through the thick ugly material of my Northwest uniform and into the soft flesh underneath.
“Cassie, you’re … different from any other woman I’ve ever met. If we do this … I want it to be different … special. Do you understand?”
For the first time since I hauled him into my room, Ronan bends his neck, but instead of kissing me, like I desperately want, he rests his brow against mine. Oddly, the touch is way more intimate than any kiss I’ve ever shared. My knees quiver and warmth curls up low in my belly.
Even as I go weak in the knees, the reality of his words penetrates the pleasant drunk fog that’s been clouding my judgement and pierces my conscious. Back in the employee breakroom, before we flew away from Georgia, he asked if I believed in love at first sight. I’d written the statement off as nothing more than yet another cheap come on line. But what if it wasn’t? What if he really did take one look at me and start to fall?
I reject the questions as soon as I think them up. It’s hogwash. Ronan is just like every other guy I’ve ever encountered. He’ll say and do anything to get laid. He just happens to be more flowery and romantic about it than others.
At least this time, I know what game he’s playing and have the skills needed to play along.
Tired of his hard to get routine, I move my left arm and trail my hand down Ronan’s chest, moving it lower still until it finally comes to rest against the tented fly of his uniform. I caress his hardness, grinning as he gasps.
“Tell you what,” I whisper. “How ‘bout you let me show you just how special I can make you feel tonight?”
Cassie
Before Ronan can answer, I tilt my head farther back and raise up a little higher onto my toes until my mouth claims his. I catch his lower lip between my teeth, and he shudders against me.
I love how my body feels all soft and pliant as it leans into Ronan’s hard planes. His lips are warm and delightfully firm beneath mine. I sweep my tongue over them, tasting the last remnants of his beer still clinging to his skin.
Ronan shifts slightly, pressing his knee between mine, parting my legs just enough to slip a thigh between them. Continuing to keep my hand pressed firmly to his cock, I rub myself against his rock-hard thigh, the sweet friction making me gasp against his lips.
Ronan’s grip on my ass tightens, his fingers digging into the soft fleshy globes as our tongues battle one another in a duel that’s as old as time.
Ronan groans. Smiling, I break the kiss and revel in the raggedness of his breathing. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s as turned on right now as I am.
“Hmm. One thing’s for sure, you really know how to kiss.” My fingers measure his length. The way our bodies are pressed together and the thickness of his uniform make it a little hard to tell, but it feels like he’s hung like a horse. My entire body hums with anticipation. Even fully clothed, he packs more punch than alcohol. “Based on the current evidence at hand, it seems like you’re coming around to my way of thinking.”
“Starting to,” Ronan says, his naturally low voice even lower.
“In that case—” I move both hands and start to undo the buttons that line the front of his uniform. “—I propose we move this part to the bed. What do you think?”
The look in Ronan’s eyes indicate he still has doubts, but he doesn’t raise any verbal objections as I push the jacket off his broad shoulders before picking up his hand. My pussy quivers. I’ve been flying solo for too long and, while there’s nothing wrong with that, it simply can’t compare to the feel of a man.