One Scorching Summer: Book 3
WELL, WELL, WELL, little Jorgie Gerard had grown up quite nicely.
From his seat in the back of the plane. Quint Mason watched her board the Eros Air Bombardier CRJ200. She moved up the aisle, her carry-on bag clutched in her hand. His gaze tripped lightly over her lush curves. She hadn’t possessed a body like that thirteen years ago. He would have remembered.
Spellbound, he simply stared. The front of her silky, powder-blue blouse dipped, revealing just a hint of cleavage, but it was enough to cause instant sweat to bead on the back of his. neck in the confines of the expensively decorated aircraft. She stopped a few rows ahead of him and looked down to double-check her seat assignment, and then she looked up again.
A ray of sunshine slanted through the open portal window, casting her in a bright surreal splash of yellow. For a whisper of a second, he could have sworn he heard harp music and the sound of angels singing. The woman who used to be his best friend’s shy little sister was bathed in a whole new light.
Her straight, chestnut-brown hair—swept back off her neck in a demure ponytail—glinted with red highlights. His fingers itched to reach up and pull that band from her hair and watch it tumble about her shoulders. She wore a knee-length skirt that was a darker shade of blue than her blouse and blue, matching sandals decorated with pink flowers. She looked like exactly what she was—the girl- next-door all grown up. The kind you took home to meet your parents. Marriage material. He’d do well to steer clear.
But even as the light shifted, dimmed. Quint couldn’t take his eyes of her and he didn’t know why.
Familiarity. She reminds you of a simpler time. That’s all. A blast from your past.
Still, his heart skipped a beat. That was odd. Usually the only time his heart misfired was when he drove his Corvette too fast or danced the tango or made love all night long. She was pretty, hell yeah, but certainly nothing extraordinary. Nothing to make him feel like this.
Still, there was something about the way she carried herself that clutched his gut and narrowed his focus to only her. She possessed a quality that called to something primal inside him. One thought snapped through his head hot as electricity.
Stupid, that impulse. It could lead nowhere but to big trouble. Quint lowered his eyelids, smiled slowly.
She sucked in her breath. He heard it all the way down the aisle. Quickly, she turned, reached for the overhead bin. In this private jet the bins were more lavish than on commercial liners, but she struggled to get her suitcase stuffed in. Quint hopped from his seat. In a long-legged stride he was beside her. “Here, let me help you with that.”
For a second, she looked as if she might argue with him, but when he reached for the handle, she let go just as his fingers touched hers. He caught a whiff of her delicate perfume. And he was jonesing for something sweet.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft as a caress.
He was aware of a humming noise inside his brain, fraught with sexual energy. He stared at her lips, full and pink and shiny with gloss. His heart skipped another beat.