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Play with Me
Leslie Kelly
Pilot Amanda Bauer has always craved sexual adventure. Luckily for her, she’s currently getting her thrills by indulging in naughty games with hunky Reese Campbell! They get together every couple of months for days filled with fantasy and wild, no-strings sex.And nobody else knows about it. Nobody!It’s the perfect private indulgence… until they find themselves on the internet!



About the Author
LESLIE KELLY has written more than two dozen books and novellas for Blaze
and Temptation. Known for her sparkling dialogue, fun characters and depth of emotion, her books have been honoured with numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award, and three nominations for the RWA RITA
Award.
Leslie resides in Maryland with her own romantic hero, Bruce, and their three daughters. Visit her online at www.lesliekelly.com.
To loyal romance readers everywhere.
In this economy, I know it’s got to be really tough to indulge your reading habits. I sincerely appreciate each and every one of you who keeps buying books so that I can keep writing them.
Thank you so much.
Dear Reader,

After my title One Wild Wedding Night was released in 2008, I heard from a lot of readers. Most of them especially enjoyed Tony and Gloria’s story—the last one in the collection—about a married couple trying to recapture the sizzle by playing a little game of strangers-in-a-bar.
The idea of playing sexy games is definitely an exciting one. Years ago, I was one of those readers who snapped up 101 Nights of Grrreat Sex, the book where you tore open an envelope that suggested an entire sensual scenario for you and your partner (the things we do for research). And the concept of keeping things fresh by enacting role-playing fantasies never left my mind.
So when I got the chance to contribute to the popular Forbidden Fantasies series in the Blaze imprint, I wanted to do the theme justice. Having a secret affair and indulging in lots of sexy, role-playing games sounded both forbidden … and extremely sexy. Blazingly so, in fact.

I love hearing from readers. If you would like to let me know what you think of Play with Me, please drop me a line through my Web site, www.lesliekelly.com, or visit me on my blog, www.plotmonkeys.com.
Thanks and happy reading!

Leslie Kelly
Play With Me
Leslie Kelly


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#uaeefcf8c-a904-5db7-b860-3138aa8fc4fd)
About the Author (#u98d500c0-1bf9-56e6-ad76-c1abc587128c)
Title Page (#ud500dee4-32a3-5aea-898a-c041f7199c67)
Prologue (#u10096b85-fa1d-5c7e-8412-839fbfb21d8a)
Chapter One (#u837f6a2f-6c1a-5d53-abad-cede2d6dc8b5)
Chapter Two (#u3801c2e4-acf4-557e-861e-6d714d87cbb3)
Chapter Three (#u7a43a345-2902-5baa-bf24-aedcd82174bf)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue
Columbus Day
“DO YOU KNOW WHAT your problem is?”
Reese Campbell didn’t even look up as the door to his office burst open and the familiar voice of his extremely nosy, bossy great-aunt intruded on what had been a relatively quiet October morning. Because that was one hell of a loaded question.
Hmm. Problem? What problem? Did he have a problem?
Being thrust into a job he hadn’t been ready for, hadn’t planned on, hadn’t even wanted? That was kind of a problem.
Being thrust into that job because his father had died unexpectedly, at the age of fifty-five? Aside from being an utter tragedy, that was absolutely a problem.
Battling competitors who’d figured him to be a pushover when he’d stepped in to run a large brewery while only in his mid-twenties? Problem.
Dealing with longtime employees who didn’t like the changes he was implementing in the family business? Problem.
Ending a relationship because the woman didn’t appreciate that he—a good-time guy—now had so many responsibilities? Problem.
Walking a tightrope with family members who went from begging him to keep everything the way it was, to resenting his every effort to fill his father’s shoes? Big effing problem.
“Did you hear me?”
He finally gave his full attention to his great-aunt Jean, who had never seen a closed door she hadn’t wanted to fling wide open. He had to smile as he beheld her red hat and flashy sequined jacket. Going into old age gracefully had never entered his aunt’s mind. Keeping her opinions to herself hadn’t, either.
“I heard,” he replied.
“Well, do you know?”
What he didn’t know was why she was asking. Because she didn’t want an answer. Rhetorical questions like that one were always the opening volley in the elderly woman’s none-of-your-damn-business assaults on everyone else’s private life.
He leaned back in his chair. “Whatever it is, I am quite sure you’re about to tell me.”
“Cheeky,” she said, closing the door. “You’re bored.”
No kidding.
“You’re twenty-nine years old and you’re suffocating. For two years, you haven’t drawn one free, unencumbered breath.”
He remained still, silent. Wary. Because so far, his eccentric, opinionated great-aunt was absolutely, one hundred percent correct.
Suffocating. That was a good word to describe his life these days. An appropriate adjective for the frequent sensation that an unbearable weight had landed on his chest and was holding him in place, unable to move.
As Aunt Jean said, his breath had been stolen, his momentum stopped. All forward thought frozen in place, glued to that moment in time when a slick road and a blind curve had changed everything he and his family had known about their former lives.
“You need some excitement. An adventure. How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”
Reese coughed into his fist, the mouthful of air he’d just inhaled having lodged in his throat. “Aunt Jean …”
She grunted. “Oh, please, spare me. You need to get laid.”
“Jeez, can’t you bake or knit or something like a normal great-aunt?”
She ignored him. “Have you gotten any since that stupid Tate girl tried to get you to choose her over your family?” Not waiting for an answer, she continued. “You’ve got to do something more than deal with your sad mother, your squabbling sisters and your juvenile-delinquent brother.”
He stiffened, the reaction a reflexive one.
“Oh, don’t get indignant, you know it’s true,” she said. “I love them as much as you do, we’re family. But even apples from the same tree sometimes harbor an occasional worm.”
The woman did love her metaphors.
“So here’s what you do.”
“I knew you would get around to telling me eventually.”
She ignored him. “You simply must have an adventure.”
“Okay, got it. One adventure, coming right up,” he said with a deliberate eye roll. “Should I call 1-800-Wild Times or just go to letsgetcrazy.com?”
“You’re not so old I can’t box your ears.”
A grin tugged at his mouth. “The one time you boxed my ears as a kid, I put frogs in your punch bowl right before a party.”
An amused gleam lit her eyes. “So do it again.”
Reese’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”
“Be wild. Do something fun. Chuck this cautious-businessman gig and be the bad-ass rebel you once were.”
Bad-ass rebel? Him? The guy most recently voted Young Businessman of the Year? “Yeah, right.”
He didn’t know which sounded more strange—him being that person, or his elderly great-aunt using the term bad-ass rebel. Then again, she had just asked him when he’d last gotten laid—a question he didn’t even want to contemplate in his own mind.
She fixed a pointed stare at his face. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten who I had to bail out of jail one spring break. Which young fellow it was who ended up taking two girls to the prom. Or who hired a stripper to show up at the principal’s house.”
Oh. That bad-ass rebel. Reese had forgotten all about him.
“The world was your playground once. Go play in it again.”
Play? Be unencumbered, free from responsibilities?
Reese looked at the files on his desk. There was a mountain of order forms, requisitions, payroll checks, ad copy, legal paperwork—all needing his attention. His signature. His time.
Then there was his personal calendar, filled with family obligations, fixing his sister’s car, talking to his brother’s coach … doing father stuff that he hadn’t envisioned undertaking for another decade at least.
All his responsibility. Not in a decade. Now.
It wasn’t the life he’d envisioned for himself. But it was the life he had. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
“I’ve forgotten how,” he muttered.
She didn’t say anything for a long moment, then the elderly woman, whose energy level so belied her years, laughed softly. There was a note in that laugh, both secretive and sneaky.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking about doing, forget it.”
She feigned a look of hurt. “Me? What could I possibly do?”
He knew better than to be fooled by the nice-old-lady routine. She’d been playing that card for as long as he could remember and it had been the downfall of many a more gullible family member. “I’m going to leave a note that if I am kidnapped by a troupe of circus clowns, the police should talk to you.”
She tsked. “Oh, my boy, circus clowns? Is that the best you can come up with? I’m wounded—you’ve underestimated me.”
“Aunt Jean …”
Ignoring him, she turned toward the door. Before she exited, however, she glanced back. “I have the utmost confidence in you, dear. I have no doubt that when the right moment presents itself, you will rise to the occasion.”
With a quickly blown kiss and a jangle of expensive bracelets decorating her skinny arm, she slipped out. Reese was free to get back to work. But instead, he spent a few minutes thinking about what Great-Aunt Jean had said.
He didn’t doubt she was right about the fact that he was bored. Stifled. Suffocating. But her solution—to go a little crazy—wasn’t the answer. Not for the life he was living now. Not when so many people counted on him. His family. His employees. His late father.
Besides, it didn’t matter. No opportunity to play, as she put it, had come his way for a long time. Not in more than two years. The word wasn’t even in his vocabulary anymore.
And frankly, Reese didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

1
Halloween
IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN a routine flight.
Pittsburgh to Chicago was about as simple an itinerary as Clear-Blue Airlines ever flew. In the LearJet 60, travel time would be under an hour. The weather was perfect, the sky like something out of a kid’s Crayola artwork display. Blue as a robin’s egg, with a few puffy white clouds to set the scene and not a drop of moisture in the air. Crisp, not cold, it was about the most beautiful autumn day they’d had this year.
The guys in the tower were cheerful, the Lear impeccably maintained and a joy to handle. Amanda Bauer’s mood was good, especially since it was one of her favorite holidays. Halloween.
She should have known something was going to screw it up.
“What do you mean Mrs. Rush canceled?” she asked, frowning as she held the cell phone tightly to her ear. Standing in the shadow of the jet on the tarmac, she edged in beside the fold-down steps. She covered her other ear with her hand to drown out the noises of nearby aircraft. “Are you sure? She’s been talking about this trip for ages.”
“Sorry, kiddo, you’re going to have to do without your senior sisters meeting this month,” said Ginny Tate, the backbone of Clear-Blue. The middle-aged woman did everything from scheduling appointments, to bookkeeping, to ordering parts, to maintaining the company Web site. Ginny was just as good at arguing with airport honchos who wanted to obsess over every flight plan as she was at making sure Uncle Frank, who had founded the airline, took his cholesterol medication every day.
In short, Ginny was the one who kept the business running so all Amanda and Uncle Frank—now 60-40 partners in the airline—had to do was fly.
Which was just fine with them.
“Mrs. Rush said one of her friends has the flu and she doesn’t want to go away in case she comes down with it, too.”
“Oh, that bites,” Amanda muttered, really regretting the news. Because she had been looking forward to seeing the group of zany older women again. Mrs. Rush, an elderly widow and heir to a steel fortune, was one of her regular clients.
The wealthy woman and her “gal pals,” who ranged in age from fifty to eighty, took girls-weekend trips every couple of months. They always requested Amanda as their pilot, having almost adopted her into the group. She’d flown them to Vegas for some gambling. To Reno for some gambling. To the Caribbean for some gambling. With a few spa destinations thrown in between.
Amanda had no idea what the group had planned for Halloween in Chicago, but she was sure it would have been entertaining.
“She asked me to tell you she’s sorry, and says if she has to, she’ll invent a trip in a few weeks so you two can catch up.”
“You do realize she’s not kidding.”
“I know,” said Ginny. “Money doesn’t stand a chance in her wallet, does it? The hundred-dollar bills have springs attached—she puts them in and they start trying to bounce right out.”
Pretty accurate. Since losing her husband, the woman had made it her mission to go through as much of his fortune as possible. Mr. Rush hadn’t lived long enough to enjoy the full fruits of his labors, so in his memory, his widow was going to pluck every plum and wring every bit of juice she could out of the rest of her life. No regrets, that was her M.O.
Mrs. Rush was about as different from the people Amanda had grown up with as a person could be. Her own family back in Stubing, Ohio, epitomized the small-town, hard-work, wholesome, nose-to-the-grindston-’til-the-day-you-die mentality.
They had never quite known what to make of her.
Amanda had started rebelling by first grade, when she’d led a student revolt against lima beans in school lunches. Things had only gone downhill from there. By the time she hit seventh grade, her parents were looking into boarding schools … which they couldn’t possibly afford. And when she graduated high school with a disciplinary record matched only by a guy who’d ended up in prison, they’d pretty much given up on her for good.
She couldn’t say why she’d gone out of her way to find trouble. Maybe it was because trouble was such a bad word in her house. The forbidden path was always so much more exciting than the straight-and-narrow one.
There was only one member of the Bauer clan who was at all like her: Uncle Frank. His motto was Live ’til your fuel tank is in the red and then keep on going. You can rest during your long dirt nap when you finally slide off the runway of life.
Live to the extreme, take chances, go places, don’t wait for anything you want, go out and find it or make it happen. And never let anyone tie you down.
These were all lessons Amanda had taken to heart when growing up, hearing tales of her wild uncle Frank, her father’s brother, of whom everyone else in the family had so disapproved. They especially disliked that he seemed to have his own personal parking space in front of the nearest wedding chapel. He’d walked down the aisle four times.
Unfortunately, he’d also walked down the aisle of a divorce courtroom just as often.
He might not be lucky in love, but he was as loyal an uncle as had ever been born. Amanda had shown up on his Chicago doorstep three days after her high school graduation and never looked back. Nor had her parents ever hinted they wanted her to.
He’d welcomed her, adjusted his playboy lifestyle for her—though he needn’t have. Her father might hate his brother’s wild ways, but Amanda didn’t give a damn who he slept with.
From day one, he had assumed a somewhat-parental role and harassed her into going to college. He’d made sure she went home for obligatory visits to see the folks. But he’d also shown her the world. Opened her eyes so wide, she hadn’t wanted to close them even to sleep in those early days.
He’d given her the sky … and he’d given her wings to explore it by teaching her to fly. Eventually, he’d taken her in as a partner in his small regional charter airline and together they’d tripled its size and quadrupled its revenues.
Their success had come at a cost, of course. Neither of them had much of a social life. Even ladies’ man Uncle Frank had been pretty much all-work-and-no-play since they’d expanded their territory up and down the east coast two years ago.
As for Amanda, aside from having a vivid fantasy life, when she wasn’t in flight, she was as boring as a single twenty-nine-year-old could be. Evidence of that was her disappointment at not getting to spend a day with a group of old ladies who bitched about everything from their lazy kids to the hair growing out of their husbands’ ears. Well, except Mrs. Rush, who sharply reminded her friends to be thankful for their husbands’ ear hair while they still had husbandly ear hair to be thankful for.
“Well, so much for a fun Halloween,” she said with a sigh.
“Honey, if sitting in a plane listening to a bunch of rich old ladies kvetch about their latest collagen injections is the only thing you’ve got to look forward to …”
“I know, I know.” It did sound pathetic. And one of these days, she really needed to do something about that. Get working on a real social life again, rather than throwing herself into her job fourteen hours a day, and spending the other ten thinking about all the things she would do if she had the time.
Picturing those things, even.
She closed her eyes, willing that thought away. Her fantasy life might be a rich and vivid one. But it was definitely not suitable for work hours.
Problem was, ever since she’d realized just how dangerous she was to men’s hearts, she really hadn’t felt like going after their bodies.
Her last relationship had ended badly. Very badly. And she still hadn’t quite gotten over the regret of it.
“What a shame. Mrs. Rush would have loved your costume.”
“Oh, God, don’t remind me,” Amanda said with a groan.
It was for the benefit of the ladies that she’d worn it. Mrs. Rush had ordered her to let loose on this one holiday trip.
Gulping, Amanda glanced around, hoping nobody was close enough to see her getup. She needed to dart up into the plane and change because while the old-fashioned outfit would have made her passengers cackle with glee, she didn’t particularly want to be seen by any of the workers or baggage handlers on the tarmac. Not to mention the fact that, even though the weather was great, it was October and she was freezing her butt off.
The Clear-Blue uniform she usually wore was tailored and businesslike, no-nonsense. Navy blue pants, crisp white blouse, meant to inspire confidence and get the customer to forget their pilot was only in her late twenties. Most customers liked that. However, the older women in the senior-gal group always harassed Amanda about her fashion sense. They insisted she would be one hot tamale if she’d lose the man-clothes and get girly.
She glanced down at herself again and had to smile. You couldn’t get much more girly than this ancient stewardess costume, complete with white patent-leather go-go boots and hot pants that clung to her butt and skimmed the tops of her thighs.
She looked like she’d stepped out of a 1972 commercial for Southwest Airlines.
As costumes went, it wasn’t bad, if she did say so herself. Shopping for vintage clothes on e-bay, she’d truly lucked out. The psychedelic blouse was a bit tight, even though she wasn’t especially blessed in the boob department, and she couldn’t button the polyester vest that went over it. But the satiny short-shorts fit perfectly, and the boots were so kick-ass she knew she would have to wear them again without the costume.
“Now, before you go worrying that your day is a total wash,” Ginny said, sounding businesslike again, “I wanted to let you know that the trip was not in vain. I’ve got you a paying passenger back to Chicago who’ll make it worth your while.”
“Seriously? A sudden passenger from Pittsburgh, on a Saturday?” she asked. This wasn’t exactly a hotbed destination like Orlando or Hartsfield International. Mrs. Rush was the only customer they picked up regularly in this part of Pennsylvania and most business types didn’t charter flights on weekends.
“Yes. When Mrs. Rush called to cancel, she told me a local businessman needed a last-minute ride to Chicago. She put him in touch with us, hoping you could help him. I told him you were there and would have no problem bringing him back with you.”
Perfect. A paying gig, and she could make it home in time to attend her best friend Jazz’s annual Halloween party.
Then she reconsidered. Honestly, it was far more likely she would end up staying home, devouring a bag of Dots and Tootsie Rolls while watching old horror films on AMC. Because Jazz—Jocelyn Wilkes, their lead mechanic at Clear-Blue and the closest friend Amanda had ever had—was a wild one whose parties always got crashed and sometimes got raided. Amanda just wasn’t in the mood for a big, wild house party with a ton of strangers.
Being honest, she’d much prefer a small, wild bedroom one—with only two guests. It was just too bad for her that, lately, the only guest in her bedroom had come with batteries and a scarily illustrated instruction manual written in Korean.
“Manda? Everything okay?”
“Absolutely,” she said, shaking the crazy thoughts out of her head. “Glad I get to earn my keep today.”
Ginny laughed softly into the phone. “You earn your keep every day, kiddo. I don’t know what Frank would do without you.”
“The feeling is most definitely mutual.”
She meant that. Amanda hated to even think of what her life might be like if she hadn’t escaped the small, closed-in, claustrophobic world she’d lived in with the family who had so disapproved of her and tried so hard to change her.
She had about as much in common with her cold, repressed parents and her completely subservient sister as she did with … well, with the swinging 1970s flower-power stewardess who’d probably once worn this uniform. When she’d stood in line to get doused in the gene pool, she’d gotten far more of her uncle Frank’s reckless, free-wheeling, never-can-stand-to-be-tied-down genes than her parents’ staid, conservative ones.
She had several exes who would testify to that. One still drunk-dialed her occasionally just to remind her she’d broken his heart. Yeah. Thanks. Good to know.
Even that, though, was better than thinking about the last guy she’d gotten involved with. He’d fallen in love. She’d fallen in “this is better than sleeping alone.” Upon figuring that out, he’d tried to make her feel something more by staging a bogus overdose. She’d been terrified, stricken with guilt—and then, when he’d admitted what he’d done and why, absolutely furious rather than sympathetic.
Making things worse, he’d had the nerve to paint her as the bad guy. Her ears still rang with his accusations about just what a cold, heartless bitch she was.
Better cold and heartless than a lying, manipulative psycho. But it was also better to stay alone than to risk getting tangled up with another one.
So her Korean vibrator it was.
Some people were meant for commitment, family, all that stuff. Some, like her uncle Frank, weren’t. Amanda was just like him; everybody said so. Including Uncle Frank.
“You’d better go. Your passenger should be there soon.”
“Yeah. I definitely need to change my clothes before some groovy, foxy guy asks me if I want to go get high and make love not war at the peace rally,” Amanda replied.
“Please don’t on my account.”
That hadn’t come from Ginny.
Amanda froze, the phone against her face. It took a second to process, but her brain finally caught up with her ears and she realized she had indeed heard a strange voice.
It had been male. Deep, husky. And close.
“I gotta go,” she muttered into the phone, sliding it closed before Ginny could respond.
Then she shifted her eyes, spying a pair of men’s shoes not two feet from where she stood in the shadow of the Lear. Inside those shoes was a man wearing dark gray pants. Wearing them nicely, she had to acknowledge when she lifted her gaze and saw the long legs, the lean hips, the flat stomach.
Damn, he was well-made. Her throat tightened, her mouth going dry. She forced herself to swallow and kept on looking.
White dress shirt, unbuttoned at the strong throat. Thick arms flexing against the fabric that confined them. Broad shoulders, one of which was draped with a slung-over suit jacket that hung loosely from his masculine fingers.
Then the face. Oh, what a face. Square-jawed, hollow-cheeked. His brow was high, his golden-brown hair blown back by the light autumn breeze tunneling beneath the plane. And he had an unbelievably great mouth curved into a smile. A wide one that hinted at unspilled laughter lurking behind those sensual lips. She suspected that behind his dark sunglasses, his eyes were laughing, too.
Laughing at her.
Wonderful. One of the most handsome men she had ever seen in her entire life had just heard her muttering about groovy dudes and free love. All while she looked like Marcia Brady before a big cheerleading tryout.
“Guess I should have worn my bell-bottoms and tie-dyed, peace-sign shirt,” he said.
She feigned a disapproving frown. “Your hair’s much too short, and not nearly stringy enough.” Tsking, she added, “And no mustache?”
The sexy smile was companion to a sexy laugh. Double trouble, either way you sliced it. “I hate to admit it, but I’m not a Bob Dylan fan, either. I guess I really can’t turn on, tune in and drop out.”
“What a drag! If you say you can’t play ‘Blowin’ in the Wind’ on the guitar, I’m afraid I’m going to have to shove you into the engines of that 747 over there.”
He held both hands up, palms out. “Peace! I really do dig the threads, sister,” he said. “They’re pretty groovalicious.”
“Ooh, how very Austin Powers of you.”
Wincing as if she’d hit him, he muttered, “Do chicks really go for dudes with bear pelts on their chests?”
“Not this one,” she admitted with a laugh, liking this stranger already, despite her initial embarrassment. “Obviously, if you own a calendar, you know today’s Halloween.”
“Yeah, I heard that somewhere. That could explain why I passed a group of Hannah Montanas and Sponge-Bobs walking down the street on my way here.”
“I don’t know whether to be more sad that kids have to trick-or-treat in the daytime, or that you know who Hannah Montana and SpongeBob are.”
“Nieces and nephews,” he explained.
The affectionate way he said the words made her suspect he liked kids, which usually indicated a good nature. One point for the hot guy.
Correction, one more point for the hot guy. He’d already scored about a million for being so damned hot.
She also noted that he’d said nieces and nephews … not kids of his own. Single?
He glanced around at the other small planes nearby, and the few airport employees scurrying around doing the luggage-shuffle waltz. “So, nobody else got the invite to the costume party?”
Just her. Wasn’t she the lucky one? “I was supposed to be picking up a regular passenger and she made me promise to dress up. This is definitely not my usual workplace attire.”
“Rats. Here I was thinking I’d suddenly been let in the super-secret club. The true reason charter flights are so popular. You’re saying it really is just to miss the long lines at security, and have some travel flexibility? It’s not the hot pants and go-go boots?”
She shook her head. “‘Fraid not. But don’t forget, you also get to drink more than a half-cup of warm Coke and eat more than four pretzels.”
“Well, okay then, we’re on.”
Amanda suddenly sighed, acknowledging what she’d managed to overlook. For just a minute or two, she had been able to convince herself that some sexy, passing stranger had noticed her and come over.
Passing by on a private, secured tarmac? Don’t think so.
He wasn’t some random passerby, she just knew it.
“Oh, hell. You’re my passenger.”
“If you’re headed for Chicago, I think I am.” He stuck out his hand. “Reese Campbell.”
Cursing Mrs. Rush and Halloween and that stupid vintage clothing store on eBay, she put her hand in his. “Amanda Bauer.”
Their first touch brought a flush of warmth, a flash of pleasure that was unexpected and a little surprising. The handshake lasted a second too long, was perhaps a hint more than a casual greeting among strangers. And while the exchange was entirely appropriate, she suddenly found herself thinking of all the touches she hadn’t had for so long, all the inappropriate ways that strong, masculine hand could slide over her body.
Instant lust. It was real. Who knew?
She stared at him, trying to see the eyes behind the sunglasses, wondering if they had darkened with immediate interest the way hers probably had. Wondering what she might do about it if he returned that interest.
Get a grip.
Amanda regretfully tugged her hand away, pushing it down to her side and sliding it over her satin-covered hip. Her fingertips quivered as they brushed against the bare skin of her upper thigh and she suspected her palms were damp.
Forcing herself to take a deep, calming breath, she managed a smile. “Well, thanks for choosing Clear-Blue Air. We …”
“Love to fly, and it shows?”
It took her a second, then she placed the old Delta slogan. Her smile faded. The guy was way too hot to also be quick-witted and flirtatious. She could handle one at a time—it just became a little more distracting when they were all wrapped up in one extremely sexy package.
You can handle him. No sweat. Just stay professional.
Professional. While she was dressed for a love-in with the local beatnik crowd and this guy was both gorgeous and freaking adorable. Right.
“It’ll be a quick trip,” she said, gesturing toward the steps and moving back so he could ascend them ahead of her.
No way was she going in first, not with the length of the damn hot pants. Her cheeks were pretty well covered as long as she remained still. If she walked up the steps with him behind her, however, all bets would be off. He’d get an eyeful, and it wouldn’t be of London, or France. Because the stupid shorts were too form-fitting to wear even the most skimpy of underpants, unless they were ass-flossers, which she didn’t even own.
“Wait,” he said, pausing on the bottom step. “Aren’t you going to say ‘Fly me’ or at least ‘Welcome aboard’?”
She didn’t. The softly muttered word that came out of her mouth was a lot less welcoming. And had fewer letters—four to be precise.
He shook his head and tsked. “Not exactly the friendly skies. Haven’t caught the spirit yet this morning?”
“Make one more airline slogan crack and you’ll be walking to Chicago,” she said.
He nodded once, then pushed his sunglasses up onto the top of his tousled hair. The move revealed blue eyes that matched the sky above. And yeah. They were twinkling. Damn it.
“Understood. Just, uh, promise me you’ll say ‘Coffee, tea, or me’ at least once, okay? Please?”
Amanda tried to glare, but that twinkle sucked the annoyance right out of her. Something irrepressible deep inside made her smirk and order, “Stop flirting. Start traveling.”
He immediately got the vague Southwest Airlines reference. “Gotcha.” With a grin, he added, “I’m starting to suspect I’m going to experience something pretty special in the air.”
She groaned. “You do realize you’re a total nerd for knowing all these old slogans.”
The insult bounced right off him. “Nerd, huh?” Then he threw his head back and laughed. Innate good humor flowed off this sexy man who, though dressed like a businessman, wasn’t like anyone she’d ever shuttled before. “Something tells me this is going to be a trip I won’t soon forget,” he said, something warm and knowing appearing in those deep blue eyes.
She could only draw in a slow breath as he climbed into the plane, thinking about that laughter and that twinkle, wondering why both of them made her insides all soft. As she watched her passenger disappear into the small jet, she also had to wonder about the trip she was about to take.
Coffee and tea they had, and he was welcome to them. But her? Well, she’d never even considered making a move on a customer before. Talk about unprofessional. Even the original hound dog himself Uncle Frank would kill her. He swore he never mixed business with pleasure.
And yet, how often was it that she actually met someone new, someone sexy and funny and entertaining? Considering her moratorium on anything that resembled dating, maybe a one-night stand with somebody from out of town, somebody she would never see again, was the perfect way to go.
Something inside her suddenly wanted to take a chance, to be a little outrageous. Maybe it was the playful, dangerous holiday—she’d always loved Halloween. It could have been the fortuitous change in passengers from wild old ladies to supremely sexy young man. Maybe it was the costume. The damned hot pants were hugging her open-and-alert-and-ready-for-business sex, the seam doing indecent things to her suddenly throbbing girl bits.
How long since she had done indecent things—or decent ones, for that matter—with a sexy man? Not since before they’d thrown all their energies into expanding Clear-Blue Air, at least. She hadn’t had time for a lunch date, much less anything like the lust-fests she’d enjoyed in her younger years. The kind that lasted for entire weekends and involved not leaving a bed except to grab some sort of sensuous food that could be smeared onto—and eaten off of—someone else’s hot, naked, sweat-tinged body.
She closed her eyes, her hand clenching tight on the railing. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she tried to make herself move. But she couldn’t—not climbing up, but not backing away, either. Not physically, and not in her head.
Was she really considering this? God, she hadn’t even looked at Reese Campbell’s left hand to make sure he was available. She had no idea if he was actually attracted to her or just an irrepressible flirt. Yet something inside was telling her to take a shot with this complete stranger.
It was crazy, something she’d never considered. Yet right now, at this moment, she was definitely considering it. If he was available … could she do it? Seduce a stranger? Have an anonymous fling with a random man, like something out of a blue movie on late-night cable?
She didn’t know, but it sounded good. Given the current craziness of her life—her work schedule, travel, commitment to her uncle and his company, plus her aversion to anything that even resembled “settling down” as she’d always known it, this whole fling idea sounded damn good.
The trip to Chicago was a short one, so she had to decide quickly. Really, though, she suspected the decision was already made. And as she put her foot on the bottom step and began to climb up, Amanda suddenly had the feeling she was about to embark on the ride of her life.

2
PITTSBURGH TO CHICAGO was a short, easy trip even on a bad day. Fortunately, aside from the fact that he was taking his first flight in a vehicle that didn’t look much bigger than his SUV, today was shaping up to be a very good one. And he wasn’t just thinking about the weather, which was cool, crisp and clear.
As they took off, Reese went over the situation again in his mind. One hour in the air—that was good. For a mere sixty minutes, he could trick his brain into believing he wasn’t really sitting inside an oversize tin can, hurtling across a couple of states.
After that, he faced a short taxi ride to the newest location of a brew-pub chain owned by a wealthy Chicago family, the Braddocks. They had recently agreed to offer Campbell’s Lager as a house beer in a couple of their bars. It was a foot in the door, and Reese hoped to grow the account and get them to expand their order to include every one of their establishments. So he couldn’t refuse when he got a call from old Mr. Braddock himself this morning, asking him to come to put in an appearance at tonight’s opening.
He wouldn’t have to stay long—just had to shake a few hands and say a few thank-yous. He should be in and out in under an hour.
And after that … what?
He had intended to hop a commercial flight back to Pittsburgh tonight. The trip had been too impromptu to fly that way this afternoon, but there was one regional jet leaving at 10:00 p.m. that he could undoubtedly find a seat on. If he wanted to.
But ever since he had walked across the tarmac toward the small private plane and seen the woman standing at the base of the steps, he hadn’t wanted to. Because one look at her and he’d been interested. One word and he’d been intrigued. And one brief conversation and he’d been utterly hooked.
It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. He knew better than to think beauty was ever more than a surface pleasantry. Besides, he was no chauvinist. He had four sisters, three of them unmarried and living at home, the fourth a divorced single mom. Since his brother was only in his early teens, Reese bore the full brunt of female judgment against his sex. The only other adult male in close proximity was Ralph, his black lab, who had lost his claim to maleness at the hands of a ruthless vet when he was just six months old. A female vet.
So, yeah, Reese knew better than to ever judge a woman solely on appearance.
Amanda Bauer’s amazing body, her thick reddish-brown hair that hung past her shoulders and her damn-near-perfect face might have stilled his heart for a moment or two. But her smile, her husky voice, the shininess of her green eyes and the snappy humor had brought about the full stop.
So what are you going to do about it?
He needed to decide. And he now had only about forty-five minutes in which to do it.
In any other situation—if they’d met at a business meeting or a local bar—he might not have considered it. He’d been living in a fishbowl for the past two years, with his every move analyzed and dissected by his family. Bringing a woman into the picture was just inviting the kind of microscopic commentary he did not want.
But this was totally different. His pilot was someone he’d never seen before and, after today, probably would never see again. The thought made him suddenly wonder about the ways in which they could spend that day.
Fortunately, thinking about all those things had distracted him from the whole terrifying takeoff business. They’d chatted while she’d prepared for flight, but since the minute the tires had started rolling down the runway, Reese’s throat had been too tight to push any words out.
He forced himself to swallow. “So, a full-time pilot, huh?” he asked, knowing the question was an inane one. But it was better than the silence that had fallen between them while she’d been occupied getting them up into the air.
It also beat looking out the window at either the ground, which was getting farther away by the minute, or the wing of the plane, which looked far too small to be the only thing keeping him from a twenty-thousand-foot crash back to mother earth.
He looked away.
“Yep.”
“Must be pretty interesting.”
“It beats being a kindergarten teacher, which was what my folks wanted me to do.”
He barked a laugh. Her. A kindergarten teacher. Right. In his mental list of other careers this woman could have, being a sedate, demure teacher wasn’t even in the top gajillion.
Actress. Seductive spy. Rock star. Designer. Sex goddess. Yeah, those he could see. But definitely not teacher.
She glanced back, one brow up, though her tiny smile told him she wasn’t truly offended. Reese sat in the first passenger seat on the opposite side of the cabin and their stares locked for just a moment before she faced forward again. “What? You think I couldn’t be a teacher?”
“Uh-uh.” He quickly held up a defensive hand. “Not that I don’t think you’re smart enough. You just don’t seem the type who’d like working with children.”
She did, however, seem the type to be fabulous at the physical act that led to children. Not that he was going to say that to a woman he’d known for less than an hour.
That’d take two, minimum.
“I’m good with kids, I’ll have you know,” she insisted. “My friends’ and cousins’ kids love me.”
He didn’t doubt it. “Because you bring them cool stuff from your travels and you fly an airplane?”
She shrugged, not denying it. Nor did she turn around, keeping her eyes on the sky ahead of her. Which was good. He much preferred his pilot to be on the lookout for any random high-flying helicopters or low-flying space shuttles.
“I’m not knocking it,” he said. “I’m the king of doling out loud toys to my sister’s kids. I know the gifts will drive her crazy long after I’m gone.”
She laughed, low and long, as if reminiscing at some personal memory. Amanda Bauer’s warm chuckle seemed to ride across the air inside the cabin and brush against him like a soft breeze on a summer day. He could almost feel it.
Reese shifted in his seat, trying to keep focused on small talk and chitchat. Not on how much he wanted to feel her laughter against his lips so he could inhale the very air she breathed.
“Believe it or not, I think I’d have been a hell of a good teacher.”
“Uh-huh. I can hear five-year-old Brittany coming home to tell Mommy she had a hell of a good time learning her ABCs that day.”
She still didn’t turn around. She didn’t have to. Her reaction was made plain by the casual lift of her right hand and the quick flash of her middle finger.
“Hey, both hands on the steering wheel, lady,” he said, his shoulders shaking in amusement. His sexy, private pilot had just flipped him off. Damn, he liked this woman. He took no offense. In fact, he was more grateful than anything else that she had already grown so comfortable with him.
It was strange, since they’d just met, but he felt the same way. Oh, not with the fact that he was in a tiny plane far above the ground … but with her. Like he could say just about anything and it would roll off her back. She had such an easygoing way about her. It went well with the adventurous spirit that put her in the cockpit of a plane wearing go-go boots and booty shorts.
Personally, he had the feeling they were going to get along tremendously. He felt more relaxed with her than he had with anyone—including just himself—in months.
Except for the whole being-in-a-small-plane thing. Which he was trying to forget.
“Okay, I apologize,” he said. “I’m sure you would have been great. But I think any mother with a brain cell in her head would insist her kid be moved out of your class before the father attended his first parent-teacher conference.”
She didn’t respond. But the middle finger didn’t come up, either.
“Now, back to the subject. Your job. I guess you like to fly, huh?”
Before she could answer, the plane rose suddenly, then dropped hard, though not far, just like a kite being lifted and gently tossed by an unexpected gust. “Jesus …”
“Don’t worry, it was just an air pocket. It’s completely normal. In a jet this size, we just feel the turbulence a bit more than you’re used to.”
Why one little pocket of air was any different than the rest of the big, vast atmosphere, he had no idea. He just knew he didn’t like it. “Okay, uh, stay away from those pockets, would you please?”
“Sure,” she said with a snort and, though he couldn’t see it, probably an eye roll. “I’ll just watch for the yellow hazard signs and steer around them.”
“Your empathy would have been a real help in a job teaching young children.”
Instead of being insulted, she snickered, a cute, self-deprecating sound. “Sorry.” Then, though she didn’t turn completely around, her eyes shifted slightly. Enough to catch a glimpse at his probably tense face. “I like flying better than you, I take it?”
“It’s not my favorite thing to do.”
“And I bet it’s even worse when you’re not tucked inside the belly of a huge 747, trying not to catch the mood of all the other nervous flyers who are envisioning the worst?”
“Exactly.”
She nodded once, then offered, “Doesn’t it help to think something smaller would be easier to keep aloft than some big, monstrous commercial airliner? Just like a feather on the breeze?”
“No,” he admitted. “Actually, all I keep thinking about is the whole man/wings thing.”
“Relax. I haven’t crashed in, oh, a good month at least.”
Not appreciating the joke, he stared, his eyes narrowed. “My luck, I get the comedian in hot pants for the pilot.”
“Sorry. Just figured if you laugh a little, you might relax.”
“Say something that’s actually funny and I might.” Though, he doubted it. A tranquilizer or a shot of gin might help him calm down. Or this woman’s hands. Then again, if this woman’s hands ever did land on him, calm almost certainly would not describe his mood.
“Why don’t you try closing your eyes and just pretending you’re somewhere else?”
“Pretend?”
“You know. Fantasize.” Her voice melodic, as if she were a hypnotist, she provided a fantasy. “You’re in a safe, solid car driving up a mountain pass toward a beautiful old hotel.”
“Okay, this isn’t helping. I’m thinking Jack Nicholson heading toward that hotel in The Shining.”
She huffed out a breath. “It’s an exclusive ski lodge, glamorous, not haunted. Around you is nothing but pristine, white snow, blue sky, clear air.”
“Guys with axes …”
“Don’t make me come back there!”
“Okay, okay,” he said with a grimace.
Reese closed his eyes and tried to see it. He really did. But he could conjure up no mountain pass. No car. No ski lodge.
A curvy snow-bunny wearing a fluffy hat, skimpy shorts and skis … that was about as close as he could get.
He sighed. Not necessarily because it was a bad thing, but because the vision was so damn hot, it had him a little dizzy.
“Don’t use your imagination much, I guess. I should have known.”
His eyes flew open. “I have an imagination.”
“Uh-huh. Let me guess, most of the time what you imagine is getting through the next sales meeting or closing some big business deal.”
Reese shifted a little, not answering. Up until he’d walked up to her on the tarmac, that had been pretty accurate. Since then, though, he’d been imagining a few other things. But to tell her she was wrong meant to spill those thoughts, which he wasn’t about to do—again, at least not after a one-hour acquaintance.
Though, two was looking better all the time.
The plane bounced again, quickly, up and down. Reese’s stomach bounced with it—at least, on the way up. It didn’t go all the way down and settle back into place.
He felt the blood drain from his cheeks. “I think we just ran over a moose. Or a lost skier.”
“There’s a small fridge between the seats. You look like you could use a drink.” She chuckled. “Or a Valium.”
“Wow. That is first-class service.”
“Kidding.”
“Yeah. I figured that,” he said, ignoring the offer. He didn’t need a drink. He just needed a distraction.
Fortunately, one of the sexiest ones he had ever seen was sitting just a few feet away. As long as he didn’t humiliate himself by losing his lunch on the floor of her pristine jet, he fully intended to enjoy spending this flight in her company.
And maybe more than that.
After all, why shouldn’t he? He already liked her sense of humor, the competent way she handled the controls, the low laughter. There was a lot to like about this woman beyond her killer legs. Not to mention the rest of the physical package. She was quick and witty, sharp, smart. Lots to like. Lots to want.
And he could like her, want her … maybe even have her, without any of the complications that would arise if he were within fifty miles of home. There, he never felt free to do something for no other reason than the fact that he wanted to. The idea of heaving aside all that responsibility for a little while, of grabbing on to a good thing and enjoying the hell out of it just because he could, was incredibly appealing.
“Is this your first time chartering?” she asked.
The plane jiggled the tiniest bit and he instinctively clutched the armrests. “That obvious, huh?”
“You have that first-timers glow.”
Huh. Did vampires glow? Because he figured his face was probably as white as one.
“Must be a pretty important trip.”
He shook his head. “You’d think so, right? But I’m actually headed to a Halloween party.”
She glanced over her shoulder in surprise. Reese waved toward the front, “Keep your eyes on the road, please.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not about to drive into the back of a slow-moving semi doing fifty during rush hour.”
He’d just be happy if she didn’t drive into the back of a slow-flying goose. A big Canadian one.
Oh, God, one of those had brought down a huge airliner, hadn’t it?
Stop thinking about it.
Right. He had much better things to think about. The way his family business was booming under his management, even in this bad economy. The success of their first nationwide marketing campaign. The house he’d just finished remodeling and considered his private fortress in the middle of his crazy world. The sexy pilot in hot pants whom he now kept picturing on skis, and whose downhill slopes he would very much like to explore. Much better things.
“So, Halloween party, huh?” she said. “If this is you dressing up, what do you regularly look like? I mean, in your real life, are you a biker-dude who usually wears black leather and chains? Only for the occasion, you’re dressing up as a boring businessman?”
Reese leaned forward, dropping his elbows onto his knees, and stared at the back of her silky-haired head. “Ahem. Boring?”
“It was a joke. I was just trying to distract you.”
Maybe. Or maybe she really did think he looked boring.
He should have felt a little insulted. Reese had been fending off most of the single women in his small hometown since his high school days. Most of them. He definitely hadn’t fended off all, at least not before two years ago when his life had gotten so out of whack. And he had enjoyed his share of discreet flings through the years. Could’ve had enough to qualify as a half-dozen guys’ shares if he’d felt like it. His sisters were forever cackling over some of the ways in which the hungry local females tried to get his attention.
True, the females in question were no longer the twentysomething party girls who’d gone through his revolving bedroom door a few years ago. They were now career women who saw the steady businessman with a nice income and a reputation as being a great guy who stepped up for his family. But there were still quite a few of them and they definitely wouldn’t say no if he ever started asking again.
He wasn’t the hottest dude in the known universe, and he suspected the money that flowed from his family’s successful brewery was partially responsible for the attention. But nobody had ever called him boring before, that was for sure.
Damn, that was harsh.
And damn, she was right. To hell with all the mental pumping about how great business was, and how many women had made plays for him. His personal life was exactly what this beautiful woman imagined it to be.
Boring.
Boiled in mediocrity and steeped in sameness, he’d allowed himself to disappear into a daily life that wasn’t ever what he’d imagined for himself. Ennui had grabbed him by the lapels of his stuffy suit and forced him to remain in his small box of family, business, responsibility. He hadn’t even tried to step outside that box in a long time.
Maybe it was time. Maybe he should heed his great-aunt Jean’s advice: live, go a little wild, have an adventure.
It had sounded crazy, impossible a few weeks ago when she’d burst into his office. Now? Not so much. Especially because he’d suddenly found someone he wanted to go a little wild with.
There was, of course, one obstacle.
“Are you single?” he asked, direct and to the point.
Her shoulders stiffened the tiniest bit and she hesitated. Then, with a small, shaky exhalation he could hear from back here—as if she’d made some decision—she nodded once.
“Yes. Completely unattached. You?”
“The same.”
He didn’t give it any more thought. She might have thrown the word boring at him, but he had seen the look of interest in her eyes before they’d gotten aboard the plane. The tiny hitch in her breath just now, and the sudden tension that had her curvy body sitting so stiffly in her seat told him her thoughts had gone in the same direction as his.
Have an adventure.
Sounded like a good idea to him.
“So how do you like Halloween parties?”
AMANDA HAD TO ADMIT IT … Reese Campbell made one hot-as-blazes 1970s-era airline pilot. Eyeing him from the other side of the backseat of the taxicab, she wondered what strange whim of fortune had sent such a sexy, charming, single man across her path right when she needed one most.
And she definitely needed one. It had been a long time since she’d felt so sure of herself as a woman, so in tune to the sensations coursing through her body. All the late-night blue movies that had played in her mind lately, replacing any semblance of a real love life, had been mere placeholders, no substitute for the great sex she wasn’t having.
Those mental movies were going to have a new leading man in them after tonight. Because she had the feeling that before the night was over, she was going to be saying, “Welcome aboard,” and “Fly me,” and meaning exactly what those old ad execs had wanted passengers to think the sexy stewardesses meant.
She wanted Reese. He wanted her. It was a wild, reckless Halloween night and they were both single and interested.
So why not?
Okay, so she’d never done the one-night-stand-with-an-utter-stranger thing. But her best friend, Jazz, had. She hadn’t ended up with a scarlet A branded on her chest or any nasty diseases, nor had she needed therapy to get rid of some nonexistent guilt.
Considering she sometimes thought Jazz was the only woman her age in the world who was the least bit like her, or who completely understood her, she didn’t figure the example was a bad one to follow.
Besides, Amanda had indulged in short-term affairs before. In fact, considering how badly her last few relationships had ended, a one-night stand sounded just about perfect.
She liked sex. She liked it a lot. This time, she’d just be having it without the two requisite dates—drinks, then dinner—first. Or the worrying about a phone call the next day. Reese would go back to his life in Pittsburgh, she’d stay here, and they’d both smile whenever they thought of the night they’d gotten a little down-and-dirty with a stranger in Chicago.
Best of all … there’d be no crazy fake suicide attempts. No drunk-dialing complaints that she was a feckless bitch who enjoyed breaking guys’ hearts. And Reese wouldn’t become the newest member of the Facebook group “Dumped by Amanda Bauer,” which had actually been set up by a guy she’d dated during her junior year of college.
God, men could be such fricking babies.
Back to the subject: one-night stand.
Okay. Sounded good. She just had to feel her way around to make sure Reese was on board with it. Judging by the way he’d been devouring her with his eyes since the minute they’d met, she had a feeling that was a big, fat yeah.
“How in God’s name did they breathe in these things?” he muttered as he tugged at the too-tight collar of his shirt. “I can’t believe there weren’t crashes due to lack of oxygen in the pilots’ brains.”
“It’s only a suit, for heaven’s sake,” she said, rolling her eyes at the typical male grumbling. “It just happens to be too small for you.”
They’d found the antique uniform Reese was using as a costume at the airport after landing in Chicago. It hadn’t been difficult. Lots of the companies at O’Hare had been around for decades, and Amanda had friends at just about all of them. A few inquiries had put her in the office of a guy who’d worked as a baggage handler since the days when there’d been a Pan in front of American. He’d known where lots of interesting old stuff was kept and had put an only-slightly-musty uniform, complete with jaunty pilot’s cap, in her hands within an hour of landing.
It was too tight across Reese Campbell’s broad shoulders, but loose around the lean hips and tight buns. Whoever Captain Reliable from the 1970s had been, he definitely hadn’t had Reese’s mouthwatering build.
“You’re going to rip it,” she said as he continued to tug. “The thing is flimsy enough.”
Brushing his hands away, Amanda reached up to his strong throat, her fingers brushing against the warm, supple skin. A low, deep breath eased in through her nearly closed lips and she suddenly felt a little light-headed. There was such unexpected strength in him, tone and musculature more suited to an athlete than to the boring businessman she’d accused him of being.
Not that she’d meant it. Not at all. The clothes he’d been wearing might have been conservative, but the look in those eyes, the sexy twist to his lips, the suggestive tone of his conversation … none of those things had indicated anything but exciting, intriguing male.
A thin sheen of sweat moistened the throat where the shirt had cut into the cords of muscle. She had to suck her bottom lip into her mouth just to make sure she didn’t do something crazy like lean closer and taste that moisture, sample that skin. She ignored the sudden mental command to just do it, focusing instead on unfastening the top button and loosening his tie.
Reese said nothing, just stared at her, his expression hard to read in the low lighting of the cab.
When she was finished, she dropped her hands to her lap, twisting her fingers together on top of her long winter coat. It didn’t quite match the costume, but despite the mild autumn they’d been having, it had become freaking cold out when the sun went down. She honestly didn’t know how the hippest 1970s chicks had stood it.
“So, this client of yours, he’s not going to mind you showing up with a …” She considered her words, decided against saying date and concluded, “… guest?”
“It’s a pub,” Reese replied, his sensual lips curving up a little at the corners. “I think they can handle one extra.”
“That’s some job you’ve got, having to go to pubs for Halloween parties,” she said, trying to think about something other than his mouth. How much she wanted that mouth. And where she wanted that mouth.
“I don’t think it quite stacks up to yours—having to jet off to the Caribbean to ferry the rich around to their sinfully expensive vacations.”
“I usually ferry obnoxious, spoiled executives to their sinfully expensive corporate retreats.”
He tsked. “I’m sure they consider it bailout money well spent.” He hesitated for a split second, then added, “So I guess I should be glad you called me boring rather than obnoxious and spoiled?”
“Not obnoxious,” she immediately replied.
A brow went up. “Spoiled?”
Amanda tapped her fingertip on her chin, pretending to think about it. She didn’t suspect this man was spoiled in the way some of her clients were. He didn’t come off as rich, used to everyone bowing down before him at the first request. And he definitely wasn’t the kind of guy who expected a woman to spread her legs at the first mention of something sparkly.
Yeah, she’d met a bunch of those guys. Amanda had always been left wondering what kind of woman would trade a night beneath a sweating, out-of-shape, pasty old man for a pair of diamond earrings.
Reese wasn’t like those men, not physically, not mentally. She had the feeling he was successful but he was not financially spoiled.
Spoiled in other ways? Maybe. Something about his self-confidence, his half smile when he’d asked if she was single, told her he was used to getting what he wanted when it came to women. The way he sat just a few inches away—casual and comfortable when she, herself, was tingling with excitement at his nearness—said he was sure of what he wanted to happen and his ability to make it happen.
Sexually confident, yeah. But spoiled? No. The guy who’d looked like he was going to lose his lunch during the flight had been adorably sexy and vulnerable. Not one creepy, jerky, I’m-good-and-I-know-it thing about him.
“Not spoiled,” she admitted.
“I should hope not. As the oldest of six kids, I learned at a very young age not to count on anything I owned remaining unbroken, unborrowed or unlost.”
“Six kids!” The very idea horrified her. One sibling—one perfect, good, just-like-their-parents sibling who did exactly what was expected of her and never stepped off the approved path—was quite enough for Amanda, thank you very much.
“My God. Six. I can’t even imagine it,” she muttered.
“Oh yeah.” A small chuckle emerged from his mouth as he added, “It was never boring.”
Amanda nibbled her bottom lip before replying, a bit sheepishly, “Sorry I said that earlier. I was just trying to get you to relax.”
Reese might dress the part of executive, but no man with those looks, that mouth and that gleam of interest in his eyes could possibly be called boring.
“So how’s that strategy work for you?”
Confused, she asked, “What strategy?”
“Throwing insults at guys to relax them. Working out okay?”
Hearing the laughter in his tone—knowing he was laughing at himself, too—she had to admit, she liked Reese Campbell.
Wanted him. Liked him. Two points checked off her mental I’m-no-slut-and-don’t-have-one-night-stands list.
Tonight was looking better by the minute.
“It worked on me, by the way.” He leaned back farther in the seat, turning a little to stare at her. The dim reflections from streetlights they passed striped his handsome features in light and shadow. His breaths created tiny vapors in the chilly air that couldn’t be banished by the car’s weakly blowing heater. His voice was low, thick as he promised, “Because I’m looking forward to proving you wrong, Amanda.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Just one. Something about the way her name rode softly, smoothly, on his exhalation, thrilled her. But she managed to keep her own breaths even. “Oh?”
He nodded. “There’s nothing boring about what’s going to happen between us.”
A shiver of excitement coursed through her. It started with her lips, which quivered and parted, then moved down her entire body, which suddenly felt so much more … alert, somehow. The cold was more biting, the coat scratchy against her bare thighs. Her breasts tingled under the slick, polyester fabric of her blouse, the sensation sensual against her tight nipples.
Excitement had awakened every inch of her. It had been there, sparking right beneath the surface, for hours, since she’d first spied him on that tarmac back in Pittsburgh. Now the spark had caught and spread into a wildfire of interest and arousal, even though he hadn’t touched her.
He knew. He had to know. The very air seemed thick with her sudden certainty of just how much she wanted the man. That certainty must have communicated itself to him with her shallow, audible breaths, the almost imperceptible way she leaned closer to him, irresistibly drawn to his heat. His size. His scent.
The big, strong hand sliding into her hair and cupping her head came as no surprise. She smiled in anticipation as he turned her face, tilted her chin up, then bent toward her. Their breaths mingled in the cold evening air and an almost tangible sizzle of excitement preceded the initial meeting of their lips.
A heartbeat later, the cold air disappeared. Nothing separated them at all.
Their first kiss was no tentative brush of lip on lip, nor was there any hesitation, or even a gasp at the thrill of it. It was instead strong and wet. Sensuous. Confident and hungry, Reese parted his lips and slid his tongue against hers, tasting deeply, thoroughly, with enjoyment but not desperation.
Enjoyment could easily lead to desperation, she had no doubt. But despite the fact that they were in the backseat of a random cab, and had a one-man audience, courtesy of the rearview mirror, Amanda didn’t care.
She wanted this. Craved it. So she didn’t resist or even hesitate. Instead, she reacted with pure instinct, wrapping her arms around his neck. Tilting her head to the side, she silently invited him deeper. She moaned at the delights provided by his soft tongue, tasting him and exploring the inside of his mouth.
He was warm and solid, the spicy, masculine smell of him filling her head even as his heat against her body chased away any last remnants of chill.
Finally, he ended the kiss, slowly pulling away far enough to stare down into her eyes. She saw want there. And something else—excitement. Pleasure.
His lips quirked. And she saw even more: self-confidence. He confirmed it with a broad, satisfied smile.
“This is going to be so much fun.”
“The party?”
He shook his head. “You and me.”

3
ALMOST FROM THE MOMENT they’d met, Reese had known he was heading in one direction: toward Amanda Bauer’s bed.
They were going to have sex. Soon.
Reese knew it. Amanda knew it. The two of them were savoring that knowledge, building the anticipation as the evening wore on.
He’d done his bit for the business. Then, when old Mr. Braddock and his family had left for the night, he’d taken off his official Campbell’s Lager title and gone back to being Reese, the man who’d picked up his sexy personal pilot.
Every look asked and answered the same question. Every smile was a seduction, each casual word a hidden code and every brief brush of hand on hand had become the most sensual foreplay. The way they intentionally tried not to touch more intimately increased the incredible tension, each non-caress promised unimaginable pleasure when they finally did come together.
Reese couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d been more excited by a woman. He just knew, as he stared at her across the crowded bar, that he’d never desired one more.
They hadn’t kissed again since that brief encounter in the cab. They hadn’t needed to. The want they were both feeling had been building by the minute.
When they’d danced, and his hand cupped her hip, or her thigh slid against his, the anticipation of how this night was going to end had nearly sent him out of his mind.
It had also sent him in search of something to try to calm down his body’s heated reactions.
“So, are you supposed to be, like, the president or something?”
Reese didn’t bother glancing over at the vapid little redhead dressed as a sex kitten—one of at least a dozen in the packed-to-bursting bar. She’d been trying to engage him in conversation for a full minute, but he was busy focusing on the dance floor. And frowning.
Because there, in the middle of a writhing crowd full of zombies and witches, mad scientists and vampy angels, was his sexy stewardess … dancing with another guy. He’d made his move when Reese had gone in search of a cold shower, but had had to make do with a cold glass of water.
“Or, like, a James Bond spy?”
Right. ’Cause James Bond always wore stupid navy blue uniforms and captain’s wings on his lapel.
“You’re way too hot to be an accountant or something.”
“Pilot,” he mumbled, barely paying attention. All his attention was focused on Amanda.
She looked better than any woman in the place as she shook her stuff with a man Reese recognized as one of Braddock’s low-level employees. Steve something or other.
Reese had never had a problem with him—at least not until he’d realized Steve was seriously moving in on his date.
Steve hadn’t been able to keep his covetous eyes off Amanda since the minute they’d arrived. Reese had figured the hands-off-she’s-here-with-someone-else code would prevent the other man from actually doing anything about it. But when Steve’s hand accidentally brushed Amanda’s luscious ass for a second time, Reese realized he was either too drunk, or too hot for her, to even remember the code.
He tensed, ready to stride out there and do something that could cost his company a major customer, depending on how much Mr. Braddock liked Steve, even as he wondered what this crazy, unfamiliar jealousy was all about. But before he could do anything, the redheaded feline jiggled around in front of him, purring, “Dance with me?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just grabbed his arm and tugged him forward. He wasn’t the first man she’d been gyrating up against tonight. An hour ago, she’d been wrapped around some guy dressed as a caveman, complete with fur loincloth. Captain Caveman was now groping a woman in a Little Red Riding Hood costume cut so low it barely covered her nipples.
Was there a law somewhere that said Halloween costumes for twenty-something-year-old women had to be slutty? God, he hated parties like this. How could he possibly have forgotten?
The only good thing about tonight’s was the moment he and Amanda had hit the dance floor themselves. After he’d officially gone “off duty” they’d had a couple of drinks. Drifting into the crowd, they’d danced not to the loud music, but to the intimate, primal beat that had been thrumming between them for hours.
He should never have left her alone. He should have just lived with the hard-on, trusting that the crowd on the dance floor would ensure nobody else knew he was dying to rip his date’s hot pants off and screw her into incoherence.
“C’mon, it’s a party, in case ya haven’t noticed!”
The redhead was the one who wasn’t too observant. She obviously didn’t notice that every ounce of his attention was focused on another woman. Or else she just didn’t care. He figured that was it because she had dragged him to within a few feet of Amanda and Steve, then proceeded to pole dance against his thigh, rubbing so hard he could feel the heat of her crotch through both sets of their clothes.
Nasty.
Grabbing her shoulders to push her off, he grimaced when she reached up and clasped onto his hand. Holding tight, she then turned her head and tried to suck his thumb into her mouth.
Repeat: You hate Halloween parties. And he was so far over the bar scene, he honestly couldn’t remember why he’d once enjoyed it.
Before he could disentangle himself, he glanced over and met Amanda’s stare. Her eyes narrowed and hardened. Her pretty lips compressed as she saw the strange young woman practically riding him, the pouty suction-cup mouth trying to simulate a sex act on his thumb.
He knew how it must look—as if he was pulling the bimbo closer rather than pushing her away. Amanda obviously saw it that way, because she rolled her eyes and grimaced, her jaw rock-hard and her slim form straight and tense. Considering she had been fending off the groping hands of one of Reese’s customers, she had every right to be angry as hell.
Reese was on the verge of just sacrificing his thumb to death-by-the-jaws-of-drunk-ho and pushing over to Amanda’s side. He needed to explain, and to get her the hell out of there. But she suddenly changed the game. With a look that verged between anger and challenge, she wrapped her arms around Steve’s neck. She slid closer to him, swaying slowly to the pounding music that had everyone else gyrating and bouncing. Steve all but stumbled as her beautiful mouth came close to his neck. Over the other man’s shoulder, her stare sought out Reese’s and she lifted one brow in a deliberate taunt.
Damn. She was tormenting him. His sexy pilot had claws much sharper than this intoxicated little cat who was still trying to use his thigh as a scratching post and, now, his neck as a lump of catnip.
He should have been annoyed—he’d never liked women who played games. But somehow, as his heart started thudding hard against his rib cage and all his blood again rushed to his cock, he realized he was incredibly excited by Amanda Bauer instead.
Their stares locked, intense and hot. She licked her lips, and Steve tugged her closer, as if he’d almost felt that sweet, wet tongue. But her attention wasn’t on Steve, it was entirely on Reese. Her eyes sparkled, as if she knew he was torn between wanting to laugh at her for trying to make him jealous or pick her up, throw her over his shoulder and out-caveman the guy in the loincloth.
Reese lifted a questioning brow, silently asking her how far she was going to take this. In response, she leaned toward Steve’s ear and whispered something. The other man froze, dropping his arms and watching as Amanda turned away from him. She eased through the crowd, winding a path across the dance floor, heading toward a back hallway that led to the restrooms. A number of men turned to watch her go, and she earned more than a few glares from their dates. Just before she slipped down the short hallway, she cast one more glance over her shoulder. Her half smile taunted Reese, daring him to follow.
Reese spun the horny little cat around and pushed her toward the still-frozen Steve, who appeared almost shell-shocked. When he met Reese’s eyes, he flushed, then mumbled, “Sorry, man.”

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