“Thank you,” I reply to the waiter, completely distracted by the beautiful specimen at the bar.
I sip my margarita as I try to keep the goofy smile from my face, and I turn back to my emails to act uninterested.
Strawberries with hot chocolate; there’s no way to eat them without slurping them up and looking like an animal.
I smirk . . . maybe that’s what he wants?
Game on.
With my eyes locked onto my computer screen, I pick up a strawberry and dip it into the hot chocolate and lick it and then place it seductively in my mouth. I suck the chocolate and rub it back and forth over my lips.
I take a sip of my margarita and then repeat the move.
I smile to myself . . . what the actual hell am I doing? I’m in an airport bar when I’m not flying anywhere, pretending not to know someone while he watches me go down on a fucking strawberry. This really is beyond bizarre.
If Molly and Aaron could only see me now.
The waiter arrives with another margarita. “Compliments from your friend at the bar.”
“Thank you.” I keep my eyes down as I play the game and refuse to look at him.
Ten minutes later, I take the final sip of my margarita and allow my eyes to drift to the man at the bar; his dark eyes are on me, and heat blazes between us.
I know that look . . . I’m going to fuck you . . . so damn good.
I feel my arousal begin to thump, and with my eyes locked on his, I pick up a strawberry and lick it.
He stands as if summoned by my tongue. With our eyes locked, I suck, and he walks toward my table. “Mind if I take a seat?” his deep, sexy voice purrs.
“Not at all.” My eyes drop to the bulge in his pants, and I raise my eyebrow.
“Don’t judge.” He smiles as he falls into the bench seat beside me. “I just watched the best damn strawberry porn that I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?” I smirk. I feel the heat from his close proximity, and I have to fight not to lean toward him.
He holds out his hand. “I’m Jim.”
My heart free-falls from my chest, exactly like the first time. I take his hand, and electricity shoots up my arm like an electric shock. “Hi, Jim. I’m Emily.”
So we’re playing that game, are we? Pretending we don’t know each other. This really is like a stopover do-over. I’ll do whatever it takes to break the ice between us.
With his elbows resting on the table, he steeples his hands under his chin. His eyes dance with mischief. “Where are you flying to, Emily?”
“London.” I sip my drink. “You?”
“Dubai. My flight’s been delayed.”
“Mine too.”
With locked eyes, we both sip our drinks. The air is electric, and regardless of the love that I have for this man, there is no denying that the sexual chemistry we have is out of this world.
“Thanks for the drink.” I smile softly.
“You’re welcome.” His eyes are dark and hooded, and I can feel his arousal from here.
“What do you do for a living?” I ask.
“I’m a tour guide,” he replies without hesitation.
“Really? What kind of tours do you run?”
“Camping.”
I snort my drink up my nose as I giggle. “Oh.” I cough. “So . . . you’re the outdoor type?”
“Totally.” He sips his margarita. “I’m at one with nature.” He crosses his two fingers to show me just how close.
I try and fail to hide my broad smile. “That’s good to know. Cavemen are such a turn-on.”
His eyes dance with delight; he likes this game.
I do too.
“What do you do?” he asks.
“I’m a psychic.”
He bursts out laughing. Oh, it feels good to see him laugh again. “A psychic?” His eyes widen in surprise.
“Yes.”
“So . . . you read minds?”
“I do.”
“All right.” He looks around the bar and gestures to a woman with his drink. “Tell me what that woman’s saying over there.”
I look over and see an older woman who looks like she is scolding her husband as he drinks his beer. “She’s telling him that he had better hurry up and put on his compression socks before the flight and that he’s had enough. They won’t let him on the plane if he’s drunk.”
“Hmm.” He smirks as he looks around. “What about him?”
I look over to the man who is looking at his phone. “He’s googling prostitutes for his business trip.”