Читать книгу Crave - Jessa James - Страница 10

Smith sat in his seat to the rear of the Calloway private jet, looking out at the clouds and brooding. He refused to look at Cameron, who was sitting in a rear-facing seat closer to the front, reading a Parisian guidebook and pointedly ignoring him.

He’d arrived on the tarmac hoping that she might rethink her argument, that she might not show up at all. Yet as soon as he had climbed the stairs of the private jet, he’d seen her putting her personal things in the overhead bin.

She was wearing the same kind of outfit that would fit in at the office, a modest light blue dress with little triangles printed all over it. And of course she was wearing stockings with garters, which he saw when she checked the overhead bin for a blanket.

He’d trudged on the plane without a word. He could feel her eyes on him. He imagined she was probably disgruntled about the fact that she was all dressed up while he wore jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. Nobody said that she needed to dress up, though.

Now that they were airborne, he was staring out the window and wondering what to do with her. It wasn’t as if he was a creep who always fantasized about his secretaries. No, it was her specifically.

The problem, essentially, was that every time she opened her mouth, he kept thinking of how her skin tasted, of how she'd cried out as he'd fucked her. She might be asking him if he wanted some coffee, but his brain was flashing images of her underneath his body, of the way her fantastic ass jiggled a little as he’d fucked her from behind.

Or had he even done that? He leaned his face against the window and closed his eyes. He was fairly certain that image was just a projection of what he wanted to do to her.

And of course she was right yesterday when she said that he wanted her gone because the close quarters would make him uncomfortable. Well, not exactly uncomfortable, but he’d spend every waking moment reliving the precise manner in which she’d made him cum.

She was right about the fact that he wasn’t being fair, at least.

The flight attendant came by, asking if he wanted something to drink. He smiled and asked for a bourbon, neat. She flushed when she took his order, biting her lip.

Apparently the pretty blonde flight attendant found him attractive. His attractiveness usually wasn’t something he cared about, but she was pretty obvious about swinging her hips as she walked away.

He looked her up and down as she headed to ask Cameron the same thing, thinking. He couldn’t in good conscience fire Cameron, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t drive her away.

And what better way than to chat up the stewardess? Even though he wasn’t genuinely interested in her, it might make Cameron angry. If it worked, he’d just act the same way with every woman he came into contact with until Cameron threw up her hands and quit.

It wasn’t the classiest thing he could do, but it wasn’t the sleaziest either.

The stewardess came back by with his bourbon, hips swiveling as she walked. Smith turned on the charm, grinning as she handed it to him.

“Thank you, love,” he said. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Andrea,” she said, turning red.

“Andrea,” he said. “You’re very fit. Has anyone ever told you that?”

She went even redder. “No, sir.”

“Please, call me Smith. Do you mind sitting with me for a minute?” he said, giving her puppy dog eyes. No woman could resist those.

“Well…” she said, looking up toward the closed cockpit door. “Just for a minute.”

Cameron noticed when she sat down. She put her book down and frowned. Good.

“Tell me, Andrea. Do you like being a flight attendant?”

“Oh, it’s great!” the blonde told him. “I get to go all over the place.”

“Is that right?” he said, moving closer. “So Paris is no big deal to you.”

Andrea smiled. “Well, I haven’t really seen all the sights. I try to see something new every time I visit.”

Smith noticed her watch. He reached out, caressing her wrist. “This is nice. Where is it from?”

“I got it when I was in New York,” she said, biting her lip. Her eyes traveled down to his lips, which made him smile. His attractiveness really did suit him, at times.

“It’s exquisite,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “Just like its owner.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but one of the pilots poked their head through the galley door.

“Andrea?” the pilot said, looking a little confused.

She jumped up, looking like someone had just caught them in bed together.

“I have to go get him what he needs,” she said apologetically, rushing off.

When the door closed behind her, Cameron raised her guidebook, but he didn’t miss her smile.

“Does something amuse you?” he asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Me? No, definitely not,” she said, trying to suppress her smile.

“You’re smirking,” he said.

She looked at the book in her hands, lifting a shoulder casually.

“It’s just… it’s nice to see that even gorgeous people get shut down now and then,” she said, flipping a few pages of her guidebook.

“I’m gorgeous, am I?” he goaded her.

She flushed, closing her book and standing up. “You know, I think the stewardess forgot my drink.”

He watched as she let herself into the galley. She came back a few minutes later with her drink and a pair of headphones. Before he could say anything, she plugged her headphones into an iPod and closed her eyes.

She reclined her seat, making it plain that she didn’t want to banter with Smith any further.

He sighed, sipping his whiskey, and watched her. Her blue dress rode up her thigh on one side, giving him a glimpse of creamy skin. He shouldn’t be looking, shouldn’t even be noticing, but he couldn’t help himself.

His problem wasn’t that he wondered what was beneath that skirt. His problem was that he already knew. He knew what she’d look like if she hiked up her dress, knew how it felt to sink himself between those honeyed thighs.

Fuck. He was hard just thinking about her pussy. Not to mention the fact that he knew she was a natural redhead, because he’d already stripped off her panties once before.

He adjusted himself, wondering if there wasn’t something to what his father had been saying. He could just let her whet his appetites…

His military background kicked in, making him ashamed of himself. He had joined the Special Air Service to get himself out of this exact mindset, that of the rich spoiled asshole.

He straightened up in his seat. He needed a distraction.

He got up and got his laptop. If he buried himself in spreadsheets and financial analyses, at least he wouldn’t be thinking about her.

Shaking his head at himself, he got to work.

Hours later, he was pulled from catching up on his emails by a particularly nasty bout of turbulence. He looked up when his laptop fell to the side.

He rubbed his temples, tired. He noticed that Cameron’s seat was empty; funny, he hadn’t noticed her getting up.

He stretched and set his laptop aside, ready to signal Andrea for a drink. A moment before he did, though, Cameron came through the door to the galley and the restrooms. She was headed back to her seat when turbulence hit again.

“Cameron!” he said as she stumbled toward him.

“Shit!” she cried.

She landed in a pile at his feet. The turbulence stopped and he helped her to her feet, but no sooner had she stood up than it started again.

They both tumbled into his bench seat, Cameron on Smith’s lap. The touch of her skin to his was like he’d put a fork in an electrical outlet, if that sensation could be said to be pleasurable.

Touching Cameron was alarming, but in a good way. The turbulence continued, and the pilot’s voice came over the speaker.

“Sorry, Mr. Calloway,” said the pilot. “We should be through this patch in a minute. Just hang tight for a bit.”

Smith looked at Cameron, who still had a startled expression on her face. He smirked.

“Guess you’ll have to hold onto me,” he said.

Cameron looked at him as the turbulence slowed. She didn’t say anything, but he noticed gooseflesh break out over her bare skin.

They were so close now, and the pleasant buzz of contact continued. She bit her lip, her eyes dropping to his mouth.

Before he could say or do anything, her mouth was on his.

She kissed him, the taste of her cinnamon-sweet. Her tongue played with his, teasing. He groaned and sank both his hands into her hair, his body hardening.

The intercom speaker crackled again, which brought them both to their senses. Cameron pushed herself off of him.

“We should be turbulence free for a while now,” the pilot said.

Smith looked at Cameron.

“That was what I was talking about, when I said we’d be sharing close quarters,” he said, straightening his shirt.

She frowned, making her way back to her seat. “What are you saying?”

He shrugged, picking up his laptop. She put her headphones back in and closed her eyes, but he could tell she was fuming. Her red hair was disheveled just a bit.

Damn, but she was sexy when she was angry.

He spent the rest of the flight trying not to think about the way she’d felt. The weight of her on top of his body, the way she’d sunk into him and kissed him.

She just sat there, not looking at him. Smith found it beyond frustrating. It seemed like the whole cabin was filled with their tension, and there was no escaping it.

When the flight finally landed in Paris, he sighed with relief. He was down the plane’s stairs before he realized that he had to spend the limo ride with her.

“This is us?” she asked, pointing to the limo as she walked down the plane’s stairs.

“Yes,” he said, walking over to the limo and opening the door.

He climbed inside with his laptop case and briefcase, impatient. She slid in the other side while the chauffeur loaded their luggage. Smith looked away from Cameron, unsure how he was supposed to feel.

The chauffeur rolled down the partition.

“Où est-ce que je vous emmène?” the driver asked.

“Les Quatre Saisons, s'il vous plaît,” Smith answered.

He noticed that Cameron did a double take when she heard him speaking French fluently. He smirked as the limo pulled off. There were a lot of things that she didn’t know about him.

Soon they began to see The City of Lights, as it was often called. It was early evening here, so the restaurants and shops were just beginning to turn on their lights. They drove past a couple of the big sights in Paris, like the Sacre-Coeur, the Moulin Rouge, and the Arc de Triomphe.

It was pretty phenomenal, seeing the city light up like that.

Cameron looked out the window, her eyes wide. He knew it was her first time in Paris, but anyone could guess from her reaction that it was all new. It was almost endearing to watch, he had to admit.

When they got to the hotel, Smith swept out of the limo and into the gray brick building. The grand marble lobby awaited, with its lavish chandelier and many flower arrangements. Behind an elaborately decorated marble desk stood two beautiful Parisian women, ready to assist them with their rooms.

“How can I help you?” a beautiful brunette asked in heavily accented English.

“Two rooms, under the name Calloway,” he said.

“Just a moment, please.” She started typing in the computer in front of her. “Ah, we have the reservation. Mr. Calloway, you and your guest are in the Royale Suite.”

She looked up at him, expectant. He frowned.

“No, we have two guest rooms,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “They’ll be on my company card, here.”

He rifled through his cards and handed her a Black American Express.

“I will be happy to check again,” she said. She typed another string of information, and looked up at him. “I’m sorry, but it looks like your reservation was changed yesterday. Paid for in advance by a Spencer Calloway.”

He repressed a grimace. Of course his father had to meddle in his affairs. It made total sense.

“Alright. There are two bedrooms, at least?”

“Yes, sir. It’s just down the first floor corridor. I’ll have one of the bellhops take you.”

“Thank you. Are these the keys?”

“Oui, monsieur.”

He turned around and spotted Cameron taking a cell phone photo of a sculpture of ballerinas dancing. He had no doubt that it was famous, but he had no time for art right now.

“Cameron, come on,” he chastised her. “We’re down the hall.”

He turned on his heel and followed the bellhop down a series of corridors, until they arrived at the Royale Suite.

He opened the door, tipping the bellhop as he looked around. They walked into a living room of cream furniture, all perfectly immaculate.

“Whoa,” he heard Cameron say. “Holy shit.”

The living room led into a white marble covered dining room, and an elegant marble balcony with black patio furniture. Two bedrooms and bathrooms were set up just off the living room as well, both with kingsize beds and done in beige tones.

Smith turned to Cameron, possibly to make a joke of the ridiculous accommodations. Then he saw her putting her baggage in one of the bedrooms. She shot him a look, and shut the bedroom door with a definitive click.