Indigo Nights: A Sexy, Contemporary Romance (2 page)

He offered no smile, no introduction. He just looked at me, or
into
me. I wasn’t quite sure.

I laid my palm against my breastbone to calm the pulsing of my heart, but somehow I couldn’t look away. Then, as if in understanding, like he’d got the measure of me, he offered me a brief nod and turned away.

I lost sight of him when he sat. I exhaled in relief, but at the same time, I wished the sides of my seat were slightly lower so I could watch him a little more.

I hadn’t noticed a man in a long time. Not in a way where I wanted to touch him, and for him to touch me. Mr. 8A had prodded awake a part of me that had been asleep a long time. I’d been thinking about starting to date again for a few months now, but not because I missed being part of a couple. Not because I wanted to share my life with someone, but just because I thought I should. As much as anything, it was the next step in my recovery. I could see how it could become ten years between lovers if I didn’t do something. Even my brother was regularly suggesting I get out and meet people. His wife, Haven, was even more vocal about it. She’d even tried to set me up a few times. As she said, I didn’t have to fall in love but dinner and casual sex could be fun.

I wasn’t sure if I could be casual about sex.

Was it possible to separate the physical from the emotional? Did I need to sleep with a stranger—to break the cycle of singledom I was in?

I wasn’t convinced. A relationship was a risk, and if I was going to take a risk, shouldn’t it be with a guy who might be my forever man? I was done with dating men who saw me as the girl they were with before they got serious, because drunk or not, I was always serious about them; I couldn’t help myself. Nearly four years might be a long time, but if I found the man that was meant for me, I’d happily wait another three. At least, that was what I was telling myself.

A small, quiet voice from deep inside told me I was just frightened. Frightened of intimacy without the cloak of alcohol to protect me.

Alcohol gave me confidence.

Alcohol made me sexy.

When it came down to it, the pull of sober sex was easy to resist.

In the meantime, Mr. 8A was a mighty fine view, and I was happy to look but not touch.

I checked my phone for the time. Five minutes to takeoff and the cabin doors weren’t even shut. We were late. I glanced behind me and out the window. Snow was falling thickly. I hoped we were still going to be able to take off.

The three cabin-crewmembers assigned to first class were gathered at the bar, chatting, waiting for the signal to start clearing people’s glasses, and stealing furtive glances at Mr. 8A.

I understood their excitement.

There weren’t many men who wore a suit like he did.

Or many men who were so handsome they elicited a short intake of breath on first glance.

Or many men who looked like if they touched a woman, they’d possess her forever.

I shifted in my seat. I had to try to distract myself. I leafed through the pages and tried to find where I’d left off.

“Sir. Miss,” the blonde addressed me and Mr. 8A a few minutes later. “I’m afraid we’re delayed due to the weather. We’re asking people to make their way back to the lounge. We’re hoping we can be back on track within a couple of hours. I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.”

Used to travelling, it didn’t take me longer than a minute to be off the aircraft and headed to the lounge. I wanted to find a free table in a quiet corner to work through my recipes, so I needed to get there quickly. It was for occasions such as these that I wore flats when I travelled.

After checking in to the lounge, I headed to my favorite place at the far right-hand side of the space, beyond the showers and the business center. There were only three tables of two in this section, and people who didn’t fly regularly didn’t realize they existed. It meant peace and quiet.

I pulled out my notebook, tucked my legs up under my skirt and started to scribble. Just a few seconds later, I sensed someone approach my section. Damn, I’d wanted this corner to myself. Head down, I watched the empty chair at my table as it was pulled out and someone put their bag on it. Wanting to know who was planning to sit with me when there were two other tables free, I snapped my head up and came face-to-face with Mr. 8A.

My heart started to thunder in the same way it had when I came across alcohol when I was first sober; it was warning me about temptation.

“Excuse me. Is this seat taken?” His voice was deep, gravelly. I’d not heard him speak on the plane.

I glanced across at the free tables. “No, please. Go ahead.” I couldn’t refuse, but why the hell did he want to share my table?

He pulled out his laptop and set it next to his phone along with a small black Moleskine.

I pretended to be engrossed in my notes, but all I could think about was him. All I could do was concentrate on not staring. I caught his scent: earthy and dark, expensive and sexual. Everything about him was magnetic. Hands unsteady, I gripped tighter onto my notebook.

A waitress approached, her eyes glued to my tablemate.

“Can I get you two anything?”

Did she think we were together, married? A grin started at the edges of my mouth. “I’ll have a virgin mojito, and do you have any cake?”

Cake would stop my hands from shaking. Cake was now, as it had started then, a tonic for all that was wrong.

“We may have some. I’ll have to check,” the waitress replied.

“Thank you. Whatever you have.” I smiled at her.

“And you, sir?” Mr. 8A’s focus hadn’t left his laptop. He glanced up, then back to his screen. “A soda water with a twist of freshly cut lime. Please.” He didn’t wait for a reaction before he recommenced typing.

“Yes, sir. Anything to eat?”

“No.” His voice was firm. “Thank you,” he said, almost as an afterthought. She scurried off with our order. Mr. 8A continued to divide his attention between his laptop, which got the majority of his time, and his phone and notebook.

Knowing he was doing anything but taking notice of me, I took the opportunity to do some more of the staring I’d started earlier. I guessed him to be six foot two or three—almost a foot taller than me. His hands were large, but moved quickly and precisely over the keyboard. His expression hadn’t changed since the plane. He was definitely stern.

He took a deep breath and glanced up at me, catching me staring again. He held my gaze, and again I couldn’t look away.

His phone vibrated on the table.

“Yes,” he answered, but continued to return my stare.

His eyes were blue but an unusual shade.

Indigo.

I almost said it out loud.

Why couldn’t I look away?

He held one finger up as if excusing himself and asking me to wait, then got up and wandered toward the showers to continue his call. Did he mean to ask me something when he returned? He’d gestured as if we’d been interrupted in the middle of something. He hadn’t spoken to me since asking if the seat was taken, but perhaps he’d been about to? I realized I wanted him to ask me a question. I wanted to hear his deep, gravelly voice. I wanted to tell him something about me. A secret.

I craved intimacy with him.

But that’s not who I was. I didn’t give in to temptation anymore. I needed to shut him down. I needed to concentrate on my cake.

Dylan

She was delicious. Unusual. She looked like a fifties movie star: Vivian Leigh or a young Elizabeth Taylor. My cock had begun to twitch when she’d looked at me on the plane. And I could tell she’d been checking me out while I was working. I was used to it, and I quite enjoyed that she was taking her time, lingering over every detail of my physical form.

And when she hadn’t looked away when I caught her? I loved that. She’d done it on the plane, too. It was intriguing, challenging. And I was up for it.

I needed a new fuck, and she’d do nicely.

Her tits were real, which was a plus. I was a connoisseur and could tell the real from the fake at a hundred paces. I’d choose real every time, but wouldn’t rule a woman out for having a little help. And she’d ordered cake, which caught my attention. Most women I came across didn’t eat. That was cute.

“That sounds fine, Raf. I’m in London for the week, so as long as I have it before I leave, it’s fine.”

I ended the call with my business partner and strode back. Luckily my meeting for the next day had been moved back, so if we didn’t take off today it wouldn’t be the end of the world. In fact, given the company at my table, I’d say it might be just perfect.

I understood the dynamic between men and women. I got to sleep with hot women, and in exchange they got to fuck a rich guy in the hope that they’d become beneficiaries of my cash. I might be handsome, but I knew from bitter experience that if a richer guy came along, I’d be left in the taillights of the women I slept with. It just happened that now, there weren’t many richer men, which gave me a certain satisfaction. I’d made peace with the transactional nature of relationships between men and women and had no expectations. At some point in my past I’d thought that love was possible. Not anymore. It was all about giving to get.

I checked out my table companion’s hand. No ring. I couldn’t remember meeting a hot woman in first class unless I’d bought the ticket.

Our drinks had arrived and we were still alone in this section of the lounge. I’d meant to sit near her when I’d arrived, as I’d been intrigued on the plane, but I’d not seen where she’d gone, so I’d headed back here. It was a place not many people knew about. Apparently, she did. Did she come to this lounge a lot? A wealthy heiress, perhaps? I was used to being with women who wanted my money, not women who had their own.

I finished off a few emails, then shut down my computer and put it back in my carry-on, leaving my notebook and phone in front of me on the table.

I leaned back into my chair, watching her slicing through her cake with her fork. “So, you like cake, virgin mojitos and red lipstick. I’d guess you also like fifties movies, kittens and the beach.” I wanted to add
and I bet you fuck like a train
, but didn’t.

It was true. I’d been with enough women to know the ones who were gorgeous but terrible lovers apart from the ones that were built for sex.

The woman in front of me was made for fucking. Those full, ripe breasts, that red, swollen mouth. I shifted in my seat at the thought of my fingers wrapped around her tiny waist and smoothing over hips that flared out into that incredible ass I’d caught as she’d left the plane. And I bet she was loud. We’d have to go somewhere private to allow her to let go and scream as hard as she was going to when I touched her.

She didn’t respond to my assessment. Most women found it charming when I read them like that. More often than not I got it right. “Tell me what else.”

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “I don’t like kittens.”

“But I was right about the movies and the beach.”

She shrugged. “Who doesn’t like fifties movies and the beach?”

It was a fair comment. “So tell me something unique about you.”

She smiled, though it wasn’t the flirty one I was used to. More of a polite smile, reserved for checkout girls and chumps like me who were crashing and burning. “I’m good. I’m busy.”

Oh.
A stab of disappointment hit me in the stomach. I wanted to have a little fun. Work was under control. I was ready to lighten up. I didn’t normally have to work so hard to get a woman to play along, but I wasn’t going to give up that easily—I liked a challenge. “What are you reading?”

She lowered her notebook. “You know, I’m sure any number of the flight attendants, male or female, would be happy to indulge you in”—she swirled her hand in my direction—“whatever it is you’re doing.”

I took a sip of my soda water, my eyes not leaving her. “I’m not interested in the cabin crew. I’m flirting with
you
, hoping you’ll flirt back.”

She set her book on the table and looked right at me. Her eyes were beautiful. Wide and deep brown and she had a beauty spot high on her right cheekbone. Stunning. “And what is the purpose of that? You seem pretty able to occupy yourself with your gadgetry. You can’t be bored.”

“I’m not bored. I want to get to know you.” I grinned. I was happy to use all the weapons in my arsenal. She was worth it.

She cocked her head and frowned. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what? Like I want to make you come so hard you’ll be seeing stars?” I held my breath for a second, wondering how she’d react. It could have been a step too far.

She shook her head but raised an eyebrow. I hadn’t lost her.

“Oh really? You think that’s ever going to happen?”

“I know it will. You’re curious. You’ve been checking me out.”

She blushed, but I wasn’t trying to make her feel bad.

“I enjoyed it. Don’t be embarrassed. I love attracting the attention of a beautiful woman.” The cabin crew’s attention was irritating, but being eye-fucked by a woman like her was invigorating.

She rolled her eyes. She thought it was a line. To be fair, it sounded like one, but I meant it. I’d noticed her, so I’d have been disappointed if she hadn’t noticed me.