Play with Me. Leslie KellyЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.