Halo (Fallen Angel, #1)(59)

Like he knew what I was thinking, Viper shrugged, and as the guys continued, I settled back in the most comfortable plane seat I’d ever been in. A plush recliner was hands down the way to travel, and as the plane began to race down the runway, I found my eyelids growing heavy from the lack of sleep. In a few hours, we’d be away from the cold of New York and welcomed into the warm, sunny arms of Miami, and I couldn’t fucking wait.



“WAKEY, WAKEY, SLEEPIN’ beauty.” The low, rough sound of Viper’s voice by my ear had my eyes opening.

Sometime during the three-hour flight, my mind had veered off into dangerous territory. I had gone from a relaxing sleep to a wicked-hot dream. One where Viper had taken me to the back of the plane and introduced me to the mile-high club that he seemed to be a VIP member of.

As his face came into view now, my eyes automatically searched out the lips that had just spoken. The ones I could still feel on my neck from the dream, as he’d followed me into the larger-than-average restroom, shoved me up against one of the walls, unzipped my jeans, and taken me.

My cock kicked at the thought, clearly liking the idea of having Viper in control of me, as I recalled in vivid detail how those lips had felt as they’d moved to my shoulder, his teeth biting into the tense muscle there—

“We’re here,” Viper said, his mouth curving in a crooked smile, as though he knew where my mind had gone, and when my gaze flew back to his, I realized just how close he was and where we were, and immediately shifted away from him.

Viper chuckled, and that didn’t do anything to help my…condition.

“Relax, Angel.” Viper took one of my curls and wound it around his index finger. “The others are out in the car.”

I glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t screwing with me; Viper wasn’t exactly the king of discretion. But when all I saw was an empty plane, I brought my eyes back to his and said, “Then we should go. Shouldn’t we?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Yeah, probably. The guys have been waiting a little while now, but when I came back here to get you, and heard you groaning in your sleep”—Viper tugged on the curl around his finger—“I decided to sit here and watch you for a minute…or five.”

Oh my God. If the ground wanted to open up and swallow me right now, that would be A-okay with me.

Deciding to deny, deny, deny, I shook my head. “You’re full of shit. I wasn’t groaning.”

“Mhmm. Yes, you were.” Viper ran his eyes down to my very obvious erection and said, “What were you dreamin’ about, Angel?”

Like I was going to tell him. “Nothing.”

“Liar.” Viper rubbed the hair between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes narrowing on me. “Okay. We’ll play your way for now. You’ll tell me eventually.”

That made me laugh. “Pretty sure of yourself there, aren’t you?”

Viper leaned in close and put his lips to the corner of my mouth. “Not pretty sure. One hundred percent sure. I’m also sure of you. So unless you’re gonna tell me that the thrill of flying in a private jet got you all kinds of fucking excited, I’m going to place bets that the hard cock between your legs right now is for me.”

A rush of air left my lips, and I turned my head to try and get a taste of his. But Viper moved out of reach, releasing my hair and standing tall, and when I looked up at him, he smirked.

“Hold that thought till we get to the house.”

Shit. “Then what?”

Viper palmed the front of his jeans, drawing my eyes to his arousal.

“Then you’re gonna tell me what you were dreamin’ about.” Viper ran a hand through his hair. “You got five minutes, Angel. Don’t make me come back here and get you.”

That had been enough of a warning for me, and thirty minutes later, Slade was pulling the black Cadillac SUV that had been waiting at the private hangar to a stop in front of a set of wrought-iron gates that fenced off a driveway so long that I couldn’t see the actual house.

The drive between the airport and what I now knew to be Indian Creek Island had been eye-opening, to say the least. For one, the sun was out, miracle of all damn miracles. I was used to the blizzardy mess that was New York right now, and the idea that I’d be able to sit outside and soak up the warmth of the sun in February was really damn appealing. Second were the sheer sizes of the houses we’d been driving by to get to our final destination.

Jagger had been acting like a tour guide of sorts, explaining how Indian Creek Island was the most exclusive place to live in the Miami-Dade area. With approximately forty-one homes on this slice of paradise, it offered luxury and privacy to MGA’s clients and artists, and for the next three months, this was home.

I felt like I’d tripped and stumbled into an alternate universe—a really fucking great one.

“It’s good to be back in Miami,” Killian said as Slade wound down the window and punched in the code.

As the massive gates yawned open, and Slade put the SUV in drive, Jagger leaned across the second set of seats and said, “Wait till you see this place, Halo. It’s totally sick. Twelve bedrooms, ten bars, a swimming pool and Jacuzzi, a sky bar—”

“A recording studio,” Killian said, twisting around in the passenger seat. “A 3D movie room.”