Worth every cent to be holed up with her in a private first-class compartment with
the airline’s specialty romance package thrown in. It was also guaranteed to change
his luck.
He gave Allegra a good five minutes’ head start, and waited until she’d boarded before
following at a sedate pace. As he handed over his boarding pass, walked along the
air-bridge, and smiled at the flight attendant welcoming him aboard, he wished he’d
had time to make a stop at the pharmacy.
That one condom in his wallet wouldn’t be nearly enough for an eight-hour flight and
what he wanted to do with Allegra.
…
Allegra relaxed into the butter-soft cream leather of her first-class seat and sighed.
She often traveled business class for work, but the compartment Flint had booked on
this commercial flight made that look like coach on a budget airline.
She loved the wide armchair, with enough legroom to stretch, wiggle her toes, and
hit nothing. And a flat-screen TV promised a host of nonstop, top-notch entertainment
for the flight. But the best feature was a sliding door, ensuring privacy from the
rest of the privileged passengers.
The only thing she didn’t like was the matching empty seat beside her.
She’d heard about these first-class compartments on the latest whiz-bang planes. Privacy
assured, with seats that converted into a queen-size bed. No surprise that Flint had
booked it for their honeymoon. It fit with his high profile: everything done with
practiced extravagance.
A sliver of sorrow pierced her pragmatism as she wondered what it would be like to
share this intimate space with someone important. She’d thought that person would
be Flint, but it wasn’t to be. Guess she should be grateful he hadn’t canceled the
seat before the devastating call from her farm client had come through and she’d had
to utilize it anyway.
“Champagne, madam?”
Allegra smiled her thanks at the flight attendant as she accepted a flute. “Yes, please.”
She needed a drink. Fast. Needed something to take the edge off. Sadly, as she sipped
the expensive champagne and the bubbles tickled her throat, she knew an alcohol injection
wouldn’t ease what was bugging her.
Damn that cocky Aussie.
Even now, fifteen minutes since she’d walked away from him and boarded the plane,
she couldn’t forget the buzz. The way he’d teased her. Held her. Kissed her. Damn,
she wanted more. With a ferocity that defied logic.
Sex with Flint had been nice. Yet in less than five minutes at that bar, Jett had
made her want to rip her clothes off, shove him against the nearest wall, and clamber
all over him.
Which made her wonder. Had she sold herself short in accepting a lackluster sex life
in exchange for a stable relationship with infinite business possibilities? At the
time she’d thought it had been sensible to marry for friendship and work. Had pretended
Flint’s staid, bordering-on-repressed antics in the bedroom didn’t bother her. Lights
out, missionary position, once a week like clockwork, had seemed a small price to
pay for a Hollywood marriage made in heaven.
But that kiss with Jett had proved she’d been delusional, her tingling skin from rubbing
against Jett’s deliciously hard body taunting her to admit the truth: that putting
her business first may be financially and professionally rewarding, but it made for
a lousy bedfellow.
What she wouldn’t have given to have half an hour in bed with Jett…
Maybe she should’ve given him her number for a little of that phone sex action he’d
mentioned after all?
She downed the rest of her champagne in three gulps at the thought.
This crazy, out-of-control feeling had to be a result of stress, and as she glanced
at the empty first-class seat in the exclusive cabin Flint had booked, guilt pierced
her faint alcohol buzz.
She should be more upset their wedding had been called off. She shouldn’t be lusting
after a stranger she’d had a chance encounter with. Yet here she was, not particularly
heartbroken that her ex-fiancé wasn’t accompanying her to the luxurious Palm Bay,
and still unable to get Jett out of her head.
Had her priorities been so screwed up that even at this point, she was more concerned
about scoring an opportunity to present her pitch to Kai Kaluna than what her friends
and family would think about her aborted wedding?
Flint had said he’d take care of everything. And he had, issuing a press release to
all the major Hollywood gossip mags this morning, accompanied by a trumped-up photo
of him and a voluptuous brunette cozying up at a recent film premiere. Along with
a brief statement that his engagement to
prominent, successful advertising guru Allegra Wilks
was over.
The paparazzi had gone wild.
“Hollywood Heartbreak” and “Producer on the Prowl” had been some of the tamer headlines.
Flint had laughed over the wildly inaccurate speculation in the press when they’d
chatted on the phone and she’d berated him for deliberately taking the fall.
It shouldn’t have surprised her. Flint was old-school Hollywood, a gentleman through
and through. The only people who knew the truth were her parents. No way would she
be responsible for their long-standing friendship suffering, so she’d sat down with
them and Flint an hour after he’d called off the wedding and explained.
Daphne and Ross Wilks, Beverly Hills royalty, hadn’t been impressed. Yet they’d cheered
up pretty damn quick when they heard Flint would foot the exorbitant cancellation
fees and take care of everything else.
Not once did her parents ask how she was feeling. Not once did her mom commiserate
or offer chocolate or a hug. Not once did they ask if she needed anything.
When was the last time they acknowledged her anyway? At birth? When she was a five-year-old
being shipped off to boarding school? When they air-kissed her at graduation before
leaving immediately after the ceremony to attend some gallery opening? Not surprising
she overcompensated by offering assistance to everyone, whether they needed it or
not.
She’d accepted their narcissistic parenting a long time ago, had learned to don a
nonchalant mask as if nothing they did or said bothered her. But it did, and her blasé
attitude soon spilled into all areas of her life. She’d heard what employees said
about her behind her back: detached, cool, Ice Queen.
She didn’t care. Being a boss—and a damn generous one at that—demanded that she maintain
a distance from her workers. Made for better production, rather than being buddy-buddy,
knowing their firstborn’s name or which basketball team they supported.
Oddly enough, it was the descriptions of her in the media during her engagement that
bothered her most:
indifferent, dispassionate, apathetic.
They’d made her sound cold and heartless, criticizing everything from her clothes
to her hair, when all she’d ever done was try to appear elegant and cool in public
because of Flint’s high profile. Flint had insisted it was par for the course, that
everyone in the Hollywood limelight copped it. She’d accepted it, but she hadn’t liked
it. Liked less the fact that there was an element of truth in the crap they printed.
She did feel cold inside. Untouchable. Like no one could broach the brittle veneer
she’d constructed to protect herself a long time ago.
Yet in fifteen minutes, Jett Halcott, with a wicked twinkle in his eyes and a decadent
smile, had warmed her in a way she’d never thought possible.
“Is this seat available?”
The champagne flute slipped from her fingers and fell to the carpet as she stared
in disbelief at the guy she’d been fantasizing about.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He sat and grinned at her like it was the most natural
thing in the world for him to be here. “Miss me?”
Wishing she hadn’t had the champagne to cloud her brain, she shook her head and immediately
regretted it when everything in her orbit spun. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“And you didn’t answer mine.” His forearm brushed hers on the armrest and she jumped.
“I guess you just did.”
“I’d have to care to miss you,” she said, tilting her nose a fraction in the air,
spoiling her act when his fingers deliberately grazed her wrist and she sighed.
“You care,” he said, tracing a circle over her pulse point and sending a shudder of
longing through her. “I intend to prove how much by the end of this flight.”
She snatched her hand away and tried to drag up some righteous indignation. “You knew
you were on this flight and you didn’t tell me?”
He shrugged, infuriatingly smug. “What’s there to tell? We shared a drink at the bar,
now we’ll share…a few more here.”
His deliberate pause led her to believe he wanted to share a lot more besides drinks.
Oh no…that’s the moment she remembered the very last thing she’d said to him. A feisty
challenge thrown out in the heat of the moment to a stranger she’d never see again.
You and me. Naked. Having hot and sweaty, unforgettable, wild, climb-the-walls sex.
By the lascivious gleam in his green-eyed gaze, she wasn’t the only one who remembered.
She was so busted.
“We’ll be taking off soon.” She gestured at the other first-class compartments. “Shouldn’t
you get back to your seat?”
She knew his response before he spoke, as his lips curved into a taunting smirk.
“This is my seat.”
Eight hours in a private compartment with
him
?
Allegra didn’t know whether to punch him for orchestrating this, or jump him.
“
Your
seat shouldn’t have been available.” She glared at him through narrowed eyes, reverting
to type, not wanting him to see how seriously rattled she was by his appearance. And
the fact that these seats could convert to a big bed when the lights turned down.
“How did you do it?”
He smirked. “You know that thing you have for my accent? Maybe the check-in girls
weren’t so immune to it, either.”
She snorted. “Insufferable and cocky. Could there be a worse combination?”
“Vegemite and pavlova.”
She bit back the urge to laugh at his humor. “What?”
“You have heard of Vegemite and pav, right? Aussie icon foods?”
She had, but he was having so much fun in his righteous smugness she’d let him run
with it. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Heathen,” he said, his teasing smile doing weird things to her pulse. “Imagine a
black, salty yeast paste. That’s Vegemite.”
She screwed up her nose, when in fact she’d tried it at a post-Oscars party once and
loved it.
“And pavlova is a meringue-based, cream-filled dessert topped with fresh fruit or
chocolate crumbs.”
Yum.
“Your point?”
“You asked about bad combinations, I just gave you one.” He winked. “Pity. I thought
you were more than just a pretty face.”
She would’ve puffed up in outrage, considering that he’d implied she was stupid, if
she hadn’t seen the amusement deepening his eyes to moss, and a hint of something
more. Uncertainty.
For all his bluster, the Aussie hadn’t been sure of his reception. Had maybe expected
her to be pissed off he hadn’t told her his destination when they’d had a drink earlier.
And damn, if that glimmer of doubt didn’t make her like him all the more.
“Don’t be obtuse,” she said, with a toss of her hair, enjoying the instant flare of
heat in his eyes as a few strands brushed his arm.
“Don’t use big words,” he said, snagging the strands, rubbing them between his fingers,
before winding them around his index finger and tugging gently.
Her scalp prickled at the delicious sensation as she clamped down on the urge to grab
his hand and shove a whole fistful of her hair into it.
“Must add deprecating to your many talents,” she said, her dry response garnering
another gentle tug as he wound her hair tighter.
“You have no idea how talented I really am.” With one more wind his hand reached her
head, his fingertips gliding along her scalp in a slow caress that made her melt in
a puddle of longing.
She should rebuke him, should set the record straight about that flyaway sex remark
before she’d boarded. But she couldn’t think, not with his fingers delving through
her hair. How could a simple scalp massage be so damn erotic?
Her eyelids fluttered shut and her head lolled back as she savored the incredible
sensation of having a guy who wasn’t her hairdresser play with her hair.
“Excuse me, we’re taking off shortly.” The flight attendant cleared her throat. “Can
I have your empty glass, please?”
Allegra’s eyelids snapped open to find the flight attendant regarding her with open
envy as Jett brushed his knuckles against her cheek before straightening.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” Allegra handed over the glass, not surprised her hand trembled.
“Thanks.”
“I’m sure you’ll both have a pleasant flight,” the flight attendant said, beaming
before she moved on to the next compartment.
“I’m sure we will, too.” Jett’s heated gaze locked on hers, daring her to disagree.
Allegra couldn’t. Not when her scalp still tingled and her body was burning up from
the inside out.
Eight hours on a plane, in a private compartment, with a sexy Aussie.
Nope, she wouldn’t dare disagree.
Chapter Two
Jett paced the first-class bar area, wondering what was it about Allegra that brought
out his inner smart-ass in a big way. Whenever he opened his mouth around her, he
let fly with a quip or a barb designed to make her react.
If he analyzed it fully, it probably had something to do with that ice-cool gaze of
hers turning to blue fire before she lobbed a return zinger his way.
Major turn-on.
Which is why he’d spent the first fifteen minutes of this flight downing a whiskey
at the bar and walking around, trying to tamp down the urge to make that mile-high
fantasy come true.
No way would he have his first encounter with a woman like Allegra in a plane’s restroom.
Uh-uh. If he had one frigging condom he was going to make it count, and that meant
waiting another ninety minutes until they served supper and then made up the beds
for the rest of the night flight.
He’d made an educated guess that her ex would’ve booked a private compartment for
their honeymoon and it had paid off. Once he’d appealed to the airline’s booking staff’s
softer side, not only had he secured the seat next to Allegra but had organized a
romantic package, too. A package designed to seduce and ensure they joined the mile-high
club in style.
Rose petals and chilled champagne weren’t his usual style, but Allegra deserved it.
The way she strutted ensured she had an invisible
C
for classy tattooed on her forehead, and he wanted to do this right. Especially considering
that she should’ve been on this flight with her husband.
What kind of a schmuck ditched a woman like Allegra? Sure, he could surmise she may
be wound a little tight, but she was stunning, intelligent, and witty.
Unless that coolness extended to the bedroom—he dismissed the thought in a second.
The way she’d kissed him. The sounds she’d made. What she’d said to him. Nah, a woman
that confident in her sexuality, who blurted out that she wanted hot sex with a stranger,
would be a firecracker between the sheets.
Something he had every intention of seeing for himself.
“We have to stop meeting in bars like this.” Allegra’s hand lingered on his shoulder
for a moment before she stepped around him and ordered a sparkling water with lemon.
“I’m beginning to think you have a drinking problem.”
“Don’t believe every Aussie stereotype you hear.” He raised his glass in her direction
and downed the remainder of his whiskey. “Bottoms up.”
She blushed and it made him want to ravish her on the spot.
Leaning in close to place his glass on the bar, he said, “Did anyone ever tell you
you have a filthy mind?”
She stiffened before deliberately stepping away. “You’re the one twisting things,
not me.”
He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I wasn’t the one who wanted to have
hot, climb-the-walls sex
.”
“Shh, someone might hear you,” she hissed, the pink on her cheeks deepening to crimson.
“Actually, I stand corrected.” He snapped his fingers. “I do want to have hot sex
with you, but I wasn’t the one who said it first.”
“Forget I ever said that.” She picked up her drink, avoided his gaze by staring into
it, and jabbed at the floating lemon wedge with a straw. “Surely you’ve said something
in the spur of the moment and regretted it later?”
“You regret wanting to have sex with me?” He shook his head, mustering a hangdog wounded
expression. “Because I could give you a plethora of glowing recommendations.”
Her lips curved into a devastating smile that illuminated her eyes. “You’ve got a
smart mouth.”
“Matches the rest of me.” He lowered his voice and crooked his finger. “You can call
me Einstein.”
She swatted him away as laughter spilled from the mouth he’d like to ravage.
“Look, I’m not usually that forward. The kiss, what I said…” She waved her hand around.
Yeah, like that would erase the scintillating encounter. “It’s not me.”
“Then why did you do it?”
He wanted her to say because she couldn’t help it, because she got caught up in the
moment, because she couldn’t fight the sexual attraction simmering between them.
She gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment before straightening, as if coming to a
momentous decision. “Honestly?”
“Works for me.” He preferred honesty any day of the week over subterfuge and cunning
and lies, three things Reeve had been a master at, considering what the scheming bastard
had done to their agency.
She sighed. “There’s something about you that made me ignore the rules of a lifetime.”
Impressed by her candor, he said, “What rules?”
Her gaze met his reluctantly, the depth of her uncertainty surprising him. For a woman
who strode rather than walked, and held her head high, she appeared vulnerable.
“I never, ever lose control.” She sucked in a breath, as if she expected him to laugh.
“And that’s what being around you makes me feel.” She exhaled on a long sigh. “Like
I could lose control and enjoy it.”
In his world, not many people were that blunt, and her honesty made him want her all
the more. He had two options: resort to his usual teasing banter or accept her admission
for what it was—a truth that could make them both go a little crazy.
“Losing control isn’t so bad,” he said, touching her hand, knowing from her sharp
intake of breath that she acknowledged that this attraction between them was potent.
“In fact, it can be pretty damn amazing.”
“Spoken like the voice of experience.” Her response held bite but she didn’t move
her hand away. “So how many women have you picked up at airports and lost control
with?”
He screwed up his eyes, pretending to think. “Including today? One.”
Taking a chance, he entwined his fingers with hers. She didn’t disengage. “And from
a dumbass guy’s point of view? It’s pretty damn incredible when a woman voices exactly
what she wants.”
He tugged on her hand and pulled her close to murmur in her ear. “Major turn-on to
know you want to fuck me as badly as I want to fuck you.”
An odd little strangled sound escaped her throat and she eased away to look at him.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said, the faintest quiver in her voice alerting him
to just how out of her depth she was.
“Say yes.”
Her eyes widened until he could see minute indigo flecks in a sea of pale blue. “Proposing
an island fling is very cliché.”
“Who said anything about waiting ’til we get to the island?”
…
Allegra went through the motions of eating supper but she hadn’t tasted a thing. The
grilled Atlantic salmon salad with garlic-infused lime dressing could’ve been cardboard
for how much attention she’d paid to her meal. And when she barely spooned tiramisu,
her favorite dessert, into her mouth, she knew she was in trouble. Trouble of the
irresistible kind.
That’s what Jett was. Irresistible trouble.
“How’s your dessert?” He scooped a huge spoon of double-fudge chocolate mousse, his
selection from the amazing menu, and popped it into his mouth.
That mouth
… When it wasn’t zapping speedy one-liners her way, it resurrected memories of how
it had kissed. And reinforced how much she’d like to do it again.
On this plane, if he had any say in it.
She’d been saved from responding to his bold declaration to join the mile-high club
by the timely arrival of the flight attendant ushering them to their seats to serve
supper.
He hadn’t said anything further, but his proposal hung in the air between them, outrageous
and bold and tempting. Oh so tempting…
Sex was as controlled as the rest of her life: something pleasant she’d enjoyed but
not particularly earth-shattering. She’d lost her virginity in college—late bloomer—and
had two or three short-term relationships with guys as forgettable as their prowess.
Before Flint and their perfunctory bedroom antics.
So what was it about Jett Halcott that had her so turned on she could barely eat?
“You’re staring at my mouth like you want it for dessert.” He scooped up another spoon
of mousse, turned it upside down, and licked it off with a slow sweep of his tongue.
She almost came.
All too aware of her reaction, he repeated the action, swirling his tongue through
the rich chocolate in a decidedly obscene way that had her thighs clenching together.
“Sooo good,” he said, placing his spoon on the tray, snagging a napkin and dabbing
at his mouth. “You should try it.”
They both knew he wasn’t talking about the mousse.
“Maybe I will,” she choked out, taking giant gulps of water to ease the dryness in
her throat.
“Is that a promise?” He winked, his roguish charm as compelling as his sexual magnetism.
“Because I guarantee one hundred percent satisfaction.”
“You’re incorrigible,” she said, unable to erase the erotic visual of him licking
mousse off the spoon out of her mind. And imagining him licking her in the same way,
like he couldn’t get enough.
“But you want me anyway.”
He laughed when she poked out her tongue at him.
“You’re insufferably overconfident. Cocky. And too full of yourself.” She jabbed a
finger in his direction. “And no more talk of sex.”
He shrugged, the teasing quirk of his lips indicating an incoming zinger. “Agreed.
Less talk, more action.”
She rolled her eyes. “Can’t believe I’m even considering sleeping with you,” she said,
picking up her fork and stabbing at a grape on the mini fruit platter.
“Pardon?” He cupped his ear and leaned toward her. “For a minute there I thought you
said you were
considering
sleeping with me? Once I romance you in style, you won’t stand a chance.”
She found his smug grin endearing and cute rather than annoyingly condescending. Yep,
she was in trouble. In way over her head with this one.
She made a zipping motion over her mouth. “Shut it.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Okay then, no sex talk. Which leaves the weather or
work.”
Neither appealed to her, but anything had to be better than his sexy quips whipping
her into a frenzy.
“Is that why you’re heading to Palm Bay? Work?”
For the first moment since she’d met him, darkness clouded his eyes. “Yeah. Meeting
with a resort owner.”
“You’re in the hotelier business?”
“Something like that.” His sudden interest in the cheese platter next to the fruit
spoke volumes. “I had to sort out a few things in LA for work, and had planned on
heading home to Sydney when this opportunity at Palm Bay came up.”
Wondering what it was about his work that had him so recalcitrant, she continued.
“You’re based in Sydney?”
He nodded. “Born and bred Bondi boy.”
“You surf?”
“Absolutely.” He made a hang-ten sign with his thumb and pinkie extended, the rest
of his fingers curled into his palm. “Best way to blow off steam.” He shot her a sideways
glance. “Besides sex—” His hand flew to his mouth. “Silly me. Not supposed to use
the S-word, right?”
“Right.” Though a small part of her kinda liked how he had one thing on the brain.
Matched her thoughts at the moment. “Tell me more about your work.”
Once again, the spark dimmed in his eyes. “I went into business with my best mate
from school. Took Sydney by storm. Built a stellar reputation. Business boomed.”
He still hadn’t told her what he did for work, had danced around her question, and
for someone who had been surprisingly straight shooting since they met, it intrigued
her.
“And?”
“And I’m sick of talking about my boring job.” He folded his arms and fixed her with
a probing stare. “Tell me this. Why were you about to marry a guy you’re obviously
not heartbroken over losing?”
Allegra hated discussing her private life with anyone, but she’d put Jett on the spot
about his business; the least she could do was give him a trite answer or two.
“Flint was an old family friend. We had an easygoing relationship.” She shrugged.
“Marriage seemed like a natural step.”
His eyebrows shot heavenward. “Sounds like you’re discussing folding laundry.”
Sadly, “boring” summed up her engagement to Flint, not that she’d tell Jett.
“Was he a dud root?”
Confused, her nose crinkled. “What’s Flint got to do with trees?”
He laughed out loud. “Root is Aussie speak for the S-word. Dud means bad.”
She tried to muster sufficient indignation. “Flint wasn’t bad in bed.”
“Not too good, either, by that bored expression on your face.” He screwed up his face
in imitation and she bit back a grin. “Explains a lot.”
“What does?”
He hesitated, as if weighing his words carefully. That’d be a first.
“Women who’ve been dumped before the big day don’t act like you are.” He tilted his
head to one side, studying her. “They’re not cool and calm and ready for a rebound
fling.”
“I’m not—”
“Sure you are, Rebound Girl.”
She wanted to tell him to shut the hell up, but she wasn’t angry at Jett. Not really.
Not when he’d articulated the truth.
She should’ve been more upset when Flint called off the wedding, and the fact that
she wasn’t merely reinforced what she’d known all along. That she was incapable of
love.
Simply, she’d never learned how. Certainly not from her parents, who couldn’t wait
to shunt her off to boarding school while continuing the social dervish that was their
life in Beverly Hills. And not from her brief relationships that never lasted.
Thirty years old and she’d never been in love. Allegra didn’t know whether to laugh
or wallow in self-pity.
Love didn’t fit into her life plans. Love made people do crazy things, like get overly
emotional and lose control. Two things she never did and had no intention of ever
doing.
“Rebound Girl? Seriously?”
“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” He nudged her with his elbow. “Only interested in
me for one thing.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Go on, admit it. You only
want to use me for S-E-X.”