Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)(36)

“Some things are unforgivable. Obviously, this is one of those things,” she said, letting her hand drift down from his face to rest on his leg. “Do you still miss your dad?”

“Sure. Of course. But you get used to it. It becomes part of your life, doesn’t it? The missing,” he said, as the flight attendants unbuckled and began to move about the cabin.

She nodded, and though he hadn’t said her husband’s name, she knew what he was getting at.

“Do you miss Julien?” he asked. Point blank. Direct. The elephant in the room.

She swallowed, her heart rising up to her throat and sticking there. “Sometimes I do,” she admitted quietly, looking down at the armrest, the inflight magazine, the screen on the back of the seat in front of her. Then she gazed into Michael’s eyes, clear and fixed on her. “But not right now.”

The crackle of the speaker interrupted their talk as the attendant announced that they were free to turn on computers and other approved devices. Neither she nor he made a move to do so.

Instead, they talked. They talked as they flew over Colorado, then Kansas, past Illinois and Ohio, through water and club soda, through the afternoon lunch service, and through the movies that others watched. He told her about his family, catching her up on his brothers and sister. She remembered them all from when they were younger, and she savored every detail he shared. His sister’s pregnancy was going well, and she was expecting a baby boy; Ryan was engaged to a beautiful philanthropist who made him happier than Michael had ever seen him; and his youngest brother, Colin, had started up a serious relationship with a social worker who had a teenage son. She loved the details, ate them up like fine, dark chocolate, as she pictured the Paige-Princes—now the Sloans—in their new lives, healing from the damage that had ripped them apart years ago.

“What about you?” she asked, meeting his cool blue gaze. “They all sound so happy. So settled. Are you happy, too?”

The corner of his lips curved up, the barest lopsided grin. “I’m happy now.”

Now.

The word echoed. Reminding her that now was all anyone ever had. This moment. Make the most of it. Go for more than okay, and do it right now. No guilt—only pleasure, only passion, only the present.

She threaded her hand into the back of his hair, feeling those soft, dark strands on her flesh, and he groaned. Low, barely audible. Just for her.

“Come closer and kiss me,” she murmured, and he obliged, dipping his head and kissing her like they were the only two people on the plane—flying across the sky, leaving Vegas far behind, and heading to a new adventure.

*

Michael Sloan had always been perfectly content to fly commercial. First class was great, but he’d never longed for a private jet. Not that he’d have minded one, but it was along the lines of a yacht or a mansion—nice to admire in a magazine, but wholly unnecessary for his happiness.

That was no longer the case. A private jet was the only thing in the world he wanted right now. No, want was too small a word for it. He f*cking craved it like air. Because this kiss was different. It was as hot as all their others, but it was something more, too. It was crazed and beautiful. It was hungry and full of regret. For years gone by. For missed connections. For the past and for the present. It was as if everything that could have been between them was bottled up, stored and aged to perfection, all for this one kiss. With her hand on the back of his head, she kissed him deeply, but tenderly, too.

The wildness at the nightclub was gone. The frenzy of the dressing room had slunk away. They would return, but right now this was a kiss that made him a little drunk, like his body was buzzing with some kind of sweet opiate, and that opiate was her. He wanted to pull her on top of him, run his hands over her soft flesh, unzip her jeans, and then slide into her. Wanted to watch her f*ck him here on the plane. To enjoy the view of her straddling him, riding him, slow and unhurried, lingering and lovely, as she rose up and down on his cock.

He loved and hated this moment.

This was just a f*cking kiss.

But it was so much more.

He’d never kissed like this before. Fierce and greedy. Needy and dreamy.

He wanted to live in this kiss.

At some point, he broke the contact, because he had to. Because another second of her kisses would be too much. He brushed her hair away from her ear. “You keep doing that, and we’re going to be putting on a show.”

She grinned naughtily. “I think we already did,” she said, glancing clandestinely over her shoulder. Some of the other passengers seemed particularly engrossed in their screens and books, as if the sight of the two of them devouring each other had been too much to bear.

“Tell me something,” he whispered, “how do you say ‘I want you so much’?”

“In French?”

He nodded.

“Je te veux tellement.”

He repeated it close to her ear, flicking the tip of his tongue over her earlobe as he said those words to her.

She shivered visibly. “Mon dieu. I love the way you say that.”

“But see, Annalise,” he said, running his index finger across her top lip, “I love the way you say it. I want to make you feel that way.”

“You do,” she whispered, her accent thickening, and he knew she was heading down the same path he was already on.

He slid into another question. “How do you say ‘f*ck me harder’?”