Fly With Me (Wild Aces #1)(5)

And so far this guy had hit every single check mark.

Noah leaned down and I got another whiff of his cologne. Gah. I had to fight the urge to press my lips to his clean-shaven cheek.

“What do you want?” he asked.

I didn’t even bother fighting the smile as I cocked my head to the side, my gaze playful, silence descending between us.

A dimple flashed back at me. The still slightly tipsy part of me wanted to poke him there. It softened his features, giving him a hint of boyishness which was welcome on a face that appeared to have been chiseled in granite.

“I meant to drink.” He ducked his head, grazing mine. “But I definitely would like to hear what’s going through your mind right now.”

I grinned. I could be ballsy with the best of them, but even I didn’t have the guts to tell him all the things going through my head right now.

“Bourbon seems apropos.”

A waitress came over, Noah ordering for me. While the rest of the group got their drinks, he played with my hand, his fingers exploring my flesh, tracing the lines of my palm, circling my wrist.

I tried to keep my expression neutral, to hide the fact that each touch set off a fire in my body, but it was pretty much useless. He knew exactly what he was doing and how much I liked it.

I hadn’t decided if I was going to sleep with him, but the urge to flirt came as naturally as breathing. I leaned forward, the move drawing all of his attention to my breasts. Having double Ds and not using them was pretty much like owning a Ferrari and going the speed limit. Where was the fun in that?

His gaze dipped for a glorious moment, and then he stared into my eyes, a wolfish gleam shining back at me.

It felt as though we were playing sexual chess, each of us making a move that took us closer to getting naked.

His move.

Noah reached out, his fingers connecting with my skin. Gah. His flesh was warm against mine, his touch light, teasing, tracing my collarbone, a line of goose bumps forming in his wake.

I froze, held in place by the pads of his fingers, by the whispered promise his touch gave me. I sucked in air, trying not to come undone as I craved more, unraveled by how close his hand was to my breasts and how badly I wanted it to dip lower. My nipples pebbled and another throb pounded between my legs.

I figured thirty was too old to start making out with someone in the middle of a bar at a table with four other people, even if it was late at night, and it was Vegas, but given the temptation in front of me, I wasn’t sure the odds of keeping my clothes on trended in my favor.

Noah quirked a brow at me, his gaze knowing, his hands lingering on my bare skin before he pulled back and released me.

I stifled a frustrated growl. Barely.

I struggled to think of nonsexual things like polar bears, and avocados, and whatever random shit flew through my head.

Bananas. Balls. Fuck.

“So where are you from?” I asked, crossing my legs, the movement drawing his attention down again and giving me a chance to roll my tongue back into my mouth.

“Originally, California. I live in Oklahoma now.” His hand moved lower, stroking my arm.

My scalp tingled, more goose bumps rising up, my skin flashing hot and cold. Somewhere between the dancing and leaving the club, my buzz had slowly begun to wear off, sharpening my senses, my body humming with awareness.

So much for not panting after him like a horny teenager.

“How about you?” he asked.

Use your words.

“Florida. A small beach town a few hours north of Miami.”

He gave me another lazy smile. “How long are you in Vegas for?”

It definitely wasn’t a casual question. We both knew where this was heading. Would this be one night? Two? Were we going to indulge this fire crackling between us?

“Until Monday. We’re here for my sister’s bachelorette.” I pointed out Meg, who was on her phone, probably drunk texting her fiancé.

“And you?”

“Another week,” he answered. “We’re here for work.”

The waitress set our drinks in front of us and I took a long pull of the bourbon. Yum.

“What do you do?” I asked, shifting in my seat. Our legs pressed against each other, my body as close to his as I could manage without being in his lap.

Fuck me. I hadn’t been wrong about the muscles.

I considered shopping a solid workout routine and counted chocolate as a major food group. But right now I thanked the fitness gods for the biceps skimming my breasts, the broad shoulders next to me, the outline of his pecs through his T-shirt. His body was a gift I wanted to unwrap.

And then the next thing I knew, Noah’s arms looped around me, hauling me onto his lap as though I barely weighed anything at all, my back cradled to his front, my ass in his lap, arms of steel encircling me.

Words failed me.

He reached out, adjusting me slightly, again like I weighed nothing at all—which was a seriously impressive trick considering I was far from dainty—tipping my face up to meet his.

I wasn’t ashamed to admit that I pretty much curled into him like a cat waiting to be stroked.

“We’re fighter pilots.”

I blinked, momentarily blinded by that smile.

After years of meeting guys in bars, hearing lots of I’m a doctor or I’m a lawyer, that was one I hadn’t heard before.

I wasn’t one of those girls who was typically turned on by a guy in uniform. I mean sure, I’d crushed on Tom Cruise when I’d first seen Top Gun, but it wasn’t a thing for me. I was more pirates than pilots. I dated nice guys, but I definitely had a bad boy fetish.