“Where to?” I whisper in awe as I sip my drink.
“There’s a sex club down there,” he replies casually.
I frown . . . what? Oh, hell on a cracker . . . I didn’t think this through.
“Go on,” I mutter dryly.
“Masked men tie you up and you get to watch me have sex with copious other hot women.”
I choke on my drink and cough out loud. “What?”
He slaps me on the back. “But don’t worry, if you behave, I’ll let you clean me up when I’m finished with them.”
“Are you serious?” I laugh. Thank God he’s joking. “And how will I clean you up?”
“With your tongue, of course.” He sips his drink with a mischievous smile.
I lean closer to him. “But what you failed to read on the brochure, dear Ell, was that while you were having boring sex with mediocre women”—I sip my champagne—“I’m getting tag-teamed by the huge masked men, who, I may add, are allowed to”—I pause as I think of the right wording—“do their business inside of me . . . and it is you who gets to clean up their mess . . . with your tongue.” I smile and clink my glass to his.
He winces as if getting a vivid visual and then his lip curls in disgust.
The plane begins to hurtle down the runway and I grip the armrests and close my eyes.
“You’re a dirty girl, Landon,” he whispers as the plane lifts off the ground.
“I try my best,” I reply as I hang on for dear life.
“How come they get to come inside of you and I don’t?”
“Because they’re a fantasy,” I whisper with my eyes closed. “And you’re a real-life player who has probably had sex with ten million women.”
“It’s nine and a half million, don’t get carried away.”
I laugh out loud and so does he. Our eyes hold each other’s and he picks up my hand and kisses it with an unsaid affection. It’s not forced and it doesn’t feel wrong.
Elliot Miles is fun.
I like this game we’re playing . . . although I have no idea what it’s called or whether it has any rules.
All I know is that the playing field is in the Canary Islands and I’m going to have a good week. Probably the best.
I smile as I look out of the window, but sadly, I get the feeling Elliot is going to give me the hangover of all hangovers.
The high will be worth the fallout . . . I think.
“Would you like a top-up, sir?” the stewardess asks. I never did get her name. Although I must admit, with every glass of champagne her pining eyes over Elliot get a little more annoying.
He’s taken, bitch.
Okay, he’s not taken. But he is today and . . . for the next week, so back off already.
“No thank you, Clarise. We are going to retire,” he replies casually.
“Oh.” She nods as if taken aback. “Yes, of course.” She turns. “Call me if I can be of any service.” She walks into her room and closes the door behind her.
“I will.” His eyes return to me as amusement flashes across his face.
“Not funny,” I reply, deadpan. She will never be of any service; how dare he even joke about that.
He stands and holds his hand out for me.
I frown. “What are you doing?”
“Retiring.”