Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
He turned back to me after I stood to follow him into the aisle so the lady could take her seat.
“It was great seeing you, Locke.” He paused before adding with a flirty grin, “You look good. Really good.”
Before I could say anything, he was gone, moving off down the aisle toward the back of the plane.
I stared after him until forced to take my seat. Then I spent two hours wondering what strange trick of fate had pushed us together not once, not twice, but three times now.
And how, after the previous two, he’d been impossible to trace.
Against my will, I remembered the feel of his hot mouth on my cock, the way he’d let me fuck into his throat without complaint. How he seemed to have encouraged it, liked it even.
Don’t even consider it. That is a very bad idea.
I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if I could have a willing mouth like that in Italy. Two weeks far away from home with Jett at my beck and call. His mouth on me every night when I came to bed.
It was ridiculous, of course. There was no way I could take a man as my “date” to the Paxis tournament. It was an old-school group, made up of powerful families going back centuries. As far as I knew, there’d never been a gay couple at a tournament. And I knew several current members would probably have a stroke if I showed up with a rent boy on my arm.
And even if it were acceptable to bring a man, I wouldn’t. It would give everyone the wrong idea. I wasn’t into men. No need to open up a can of worms just because I wanted to fuck the guy again.
I had spent the first two hours of the flight working. My assistant had filled my inbox with questions that needed answers.
But while I worked, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Jett. About how good he looked but also how uncertain he seemed about his job prospects in the city.
Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I walked to the back of the plane.
Jett was sitting in a window seat next to a heavyset gentleman and a young mom with a sleeping baby strapped to her chest.
“Excuse me,” I said softly, nodding toward Jett, whose eyes were closed and whose ears were covered by large headphones. “I need to ask my friend a question.”
The guy elbowed Jett, whose eyes widened in surprise. They widened even more when they landed on me.
“Hi. I wanted to give you this.” I handed him a business card I’d written my cell number on the back of. “Text me when you get settled, and I’ll help you find work. We always have positions for someone willing to work hard.”
He took the card and looked at it. I wondered if he recognized the name and finally realized who I was. Most people had heard of Maris, whether they realized it or not. It was stamped on half the shipping containers in the world and seen on tractor trailers up and down America’s highways.
“Er, thanks.” He pressed his lips together before meeting my eyes. His sparked with something hot and provoking. “But that’s not the kind of work I’m interested in.”
Why was he so fucking pretty?
Sex radiated off him like… like some kind of cataclysmic vibration. It reminded me of the time I’d been deep in the bowels of a cargo ship when a container had dropped on the metal deck above. Percussive impact that seemed to rearrange every fucking cell in my brain.
Couldn’t everyone around us see it? Feel it?
My chest rose and fell as I battled the graphic images in my head. “Okay,” I said. “Well, keep my card in case…” I cleared my throat. “In case you ever need anything.”
I nodded like an asshole and moved back up to my seat.
Where I spent the entire rest of the flight fantasizing about giving Jett Davis the kind of work he truly wanted.
9
JETT
Locke Maris was incredibly fun to flirt with. It clearly made him uncomfortable, but just as clearly intrigued him. He was a conundrum. One I knew better than to provoke, but one I couldn’t seem to stop provoking anyway.
The woman sitting in my row leaned forward and blinked, absently patting her baby’s back to keep them asleep. “That’s Locke Maris.”
I smiled politely and nodded, distracted by the memory of the way his suit vest had accentuated his wide shoulders and narrow waist or the way his rolled-up sleeves had revealed the ink on his forearm.
Her voice sounded awed. “He was interviewed on WSB yesterday. I saw it on TV when I was waiting for a doctor’s appointment. Something about an expansion that creates new jobs in Atlanta and Savannah. Are you friends with him?”