After six weeks of flying from Atlanta to Dallas to Honolulu to San Diego to Chicago, on orders from Madam President to “pull the outer reaches of the company together,” he’d been bone weary. As he’d also been without female companionship the entire length of those six weeks, he’d been horny as hell.
Enter the gorgeous redhead!
* * * *
With a snort of disdain, Brett jackknifed to his feet and began clearing the table. When the kitchen was again restored to its usual neatness, he walked slowly to his temporary bedroom, extinguishing lights as he went. After a quick visit to the connecting bathroom for a brief ablution, the plying of a toothbrush, and the natural draining off of some of the liquid he’d consumed, Brett stripped to the buff and crawled between luxurious expensive sheets, only then allowing his memory free run once more. This time, their time together replayed in his mind in detail.
* * * *
Anger tightened his frame, simmered in his eyes as Brett strode along the boarding ramp to the plane.
Damned incompetents! If I performed my duties with the laxity of some of these airline baggage handlers, I’d be tossed out on my ear, Madam President’s son or not.
The recipients of Brett’s ire were the faceless airline employees who had somehow managed to mislay his bags between San Diego and Chicago. The mishandling in itself was bad enough but, on his second day in the windy city, he had been informed his bags had been sent on to Atlanta and were awaiting him there. Thus Brett had been forced into an unscheduled shopping expedition. Brett detested shopping in general and clothes shopping in particular; he had remained furious over the incident throughout his entire five-day stay in the city. Nothing, not the fact that his exhausting back-to-back twelve-hour-day meetings had gone so smoothly or the congratulatory phone call from his mother, had soothed his abraded temper. That is, not until he’d caught a flash of flaming red hair as he approached the entrance to the plane.
God, she’s fantastic!
Anger forgotten, Brett increased his gait, plunging ahead for a closer inspection of the passenger-greeting flight attendant.
“Good afternoon,” Sondra flashed perfect white teeth. “Your seat is lo—”
“Do you have a layover in Atlanta?” Brett interrupted softly, insinuatingly, his thumb and forefinger dipping into his breast pocket.
“Yes, but...”
“If you feel the need of companionship,” he again cut her off, pressing his embossed business card into her hand, “give me a call.” Giving her no time to respond or attempt to hand his card back, Brett strode into the plane.
Later, while delivering a drink to him, Sondra slid his card into his breast pocket with a whispered, “If you care to wait, I’ll meet you in the departure lounge after we land.”
If he cared to? Brett was grateful for the briefcase resting on his thighs, concealing the evidence of how very much he cared to wait. For the previous two weeks his body had been sending him signals of its need for release of sexual tension. Suddenly his need was centered on the tantalizing redhead.
Upon landing in Atlanta, Brett positioned himself at the long window in the departure lounge, his impatience camouflaged with cool composure, prepared to endure hours of waiting if necessary. The necessity did not arise as within a relatively short amount of time Sondra joined him at his sentry post.
“You’re free to leave already?” Brett made no attempt to hide his pleasure at the sight of her.
“Free for three full days.” Sondra smiled back at him.
‘Three days!” Brett repeated, unabashedly delighted at the prospect. “Is that the norm for a layover?”
“No,” Sondra admitted blithely.
“Then how did you manage it?” Brett grinned in anticipation.
“Wheedling, coaxing, and practically promising my firstborn to the girl who was due this layover.”
Securing her elbow with his long-fingered hand, Brett steered
Enter the gorgeous redhead!
* * * *
With a snort of disdain, Brett jackknifed to his feet and began clearing the table. When the kitchen was again restored to its usual neatness, he walked slowly to his temporary bedroom, extinguishing lights as he went. After a quick visit to the connecting bathroom for a brief ablution, the plying of a toothbrush, and the natural draining off of some of the liquid he’d consumed, Brett stripped to the buff and crawled between luxurious expensive sheets, only then allowing his memory free run once more. This time, their time together replayed in his mind in detail.
* * * *
Anger tightened his frame, simmered in his eyes as Brett strode along the boarding ramp to the plane.
Damned incompetents! If I performed my duties with the laxity of some of these airline baggage handlers, I’d be tossed out on my ear, Madam President’s son or not.
The recipients of Brett’s ire were the faceless airline employees who had somehow managed to mislay his bags between San Diego and Chicago. The mishandling in itself was bad enough but, on his second day in the windy city, he had been informed his bags had been sent on to Atlanta and were awaiting him there. Thus Brett had been forced into an unscheduled shopping expedition. Brett detested shopping in general and clothes shopping in particular; he had remained furious over the incident throughout his entire five-day stay in the city. Nothing, not the fact that his exhausting back-to-back twelve-hour-day meetings had gone so smoothly or the congratulatory phone call from his mother, had soothed his abraded temper. That is, not until he’d caught a flash of flaming red hair as he approached the entrance to the plane.
God, she’s fantastic!
Anger forgotten, Brett increased his gait, plunging ahead for a closer inspection of the passenger-greeting flight attendant.
“Good afternoon,” Sondra flashed perfect white teeth. “Your seat is lo—”
“Do you have a layover in Atlanta?” Brett interrupted softly, insinuatingly, his thumb and forefinger dipping into his breast pocket.
“Yes, but...”
“If you feel the need of companionship,” he again cut her off, pressing his embossed business card into her hand, “give me a call.” Giving her no time to respond or attempt to hand his card back, Brett strode into the plane.
Later, while delivering a drink to him, Sondra slid his card into his breast pocket with a whispered, “If you care to wait, I’ll meet you in the departure lounge after we land.”
If he cared to? Brett was grateful for the briefcase resting on his thighs, concealing the evidence of how very much he cared to wait. For the previous two weeks his body had been sending him signals of its need for release of sexual tension. Suddenly his need was centered on the tantalizing redhead.
Upon landing in Atlanta, Brett positioned himself at the long window in the departure lounge, his impatience camouflaged with cool composure, prepared to endure hours of waiting if necessary. The necessity did not arise as within a relatively short amount of time Sondra joined him at his sentry post.
“You’re free to leave already?” Brett made no attempt to hide his pleasure at the sight of her.
“Free for three full days.” Sondra smiled back at him.
‘Three days!” Brett repeated, unabashedly delighted at the prospect. “Is that the norm for a layover?”
“No,” Sondra admitted blithely.
“Then how did you manage it?” Brett grinned in anticipation.
“Wheedling, coaxing, and practically promising my firstborn to the girl who was due this layover.”
Securing her elbow with his long-fingered hand, Brett steered
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