Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“I’m going to figure it out,” I tell her as Fernando pulls up to my terminal. “Just focus on school. Nothing is happening right now.”
“Okay,” she sighs. “Where are you?”
“I’m heading to Coral Bay for a meeting. I’ll see you on Sunday for dinner.”
We hang up, and with only my briefcase in hand since this is a day trip, I head into the airport, wondering if Matteo and I could get away with killing three of the most powerful men in Harbor Point.
Check-in is quick and painless, as is security. I spend the short time I have before the flight working in the airline’s designated lounge until business class is called.
Between dealing with my family, checking the books for discrepancies now that it’s been brought to my attention, and preparing for the business meeting I’m about to have in a few hours—and add to that, the screaming toddler, whose mom is trying and failing to soothe her child before we’ve even had a seat on the plane—my head is all over the place.
So, when I step onto the plane, I’m not paying attention when a woman appears out of nowhere. With both of us on a mission to get to where we’re going, our bodies collide. She shrieks, her hands flailing about as she attempts to right herself in the small space, and I reach out, trying to save her from falling.
But in doing so, instead of keeping her upright, I hit the plush cushion—thanks to the airline sparing no expense on the business-class accommodations—and she lands directly on my lap.
Before I can help her up, she scrambles off me. Her mortified eyes meet mine—emerald, like the gem, shiny and bright and filled with enchantment—and I’m instantly mesmerized by her green orbs.
Her skin looks like porcelain, similar to the dolls Brielle used to collect when she was little. She swore they were real, but Matteo used to tell her that nobody’s skin was that flawless. But this woman’s is, and it makes me want to reach out and touch her to find out if it’s as smooth as it looks.
Her hair, which is up in a tight ponytail, is fiery red and matches the color of her plump lips, which are shiny, like she recently applied lip gloss. Her makeup is done to perfection. Her cheeks are flushed, and her lashes are thick.
There’s a fine line between a woman who uses makeup to highlight her beauty and one who’s trying to create it. I have no doubt this woman is naturally gorgeous, and the makeup only enhances that.
My eyes trail down her face to her slim neck and then to her rounded breasts, which are accentuated by her formfitting button-down blouse. I continue my descent to her long, shapely legs and stop at her black heels, which I imagine her still wearing as I fuck her against the wall in the private restroom on the plane.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, quickly ending my fantasy and reminding me where I am—on a commercial flight.
I glance up, and her cheeks have turned a beautiful peach shade, the same color as the flowers my mom keeps all over the house.
Peaches and cream, she calls them—the bouquets filled with white and peach roses.
In our world, it’s easy to get sucked into the dark, so Mom fills the house with flowers, swearing they help keep the light in.
“Are you okay, Mr. …”
“Dominick.” I chuckle. “And I think I should be asking you that.”
She might be five foot eight, give or take an inch or two, but she’s got nothing on my six-foot-three self, especially since I have a good fifty pounds of muscle on her.
“I’m okay,” she breathes, stepping into the aisle. “I’m just so sorry.” She laughs, and the melodic sound—as enchanting as her eyes—goes straight to my cock.
“It’s all good,” I tell her, glancing up at the row designation and realizing we fell into my assigned seat. “I needed to sit anyway. And if one of the perks of flying commercial is having a beautiful woman fall into my lap, I might need to stop flying private.”
She snorts out a laugh and rolls her eyes. “I haven’t heard that pickup line before,” she says, narrowing her gaze at me. “So, I’ll give it an eight for originality and the fact that you came up with it so quickly.”
She moves to the side so the other passengers can get down the aisle and flips through the papers in her hand. “Dominick Antonov?” she asks, her tone all business.
When I raise a questioning brow, she says, “You said this is your seat, and since I have the seating chart for those in business class …”
It’s then I realize that the woman didn’t appear out of nowhere. She was coming out of the galley … because she’s a flight attendant.