Chapter 3
Eve
This had to be the owner.
No doubt in her mind, even though his back was turned.
And what a broad back it was. Towering above everyone else, bright blond hair clipped neatly above his white shirt collar, he filled his black tuxedo jacket with the perfection of an Esquire cover model.
It was not only his imposing physique that had her ensnared. It was the grace and confidence of his movements.
He half-turned to speak to the blonde woman beside him, and Eve instantly recognized Heather Krug from the rival agency, Premier.
Eve raised the glass to her lips, only to realize it was empty.
“Refill?”
she heard Devon offer.
She shook her head, her eyes trained on the two. “I still have this.”
She reached for the prosecco shot.
Heather was staring up at him, not having to tip back her white-blonde head too far because, in four-inch heels, she towered at almost six feet. In a figure-hugging ice-blue dress, she was a Nordic stunner. Eve tried hard not to feel like one of the shrimp Tandoori canapés she had just seen carried in on platters. She was petite—not short, she reminded herself—and well-proportioned for her height, but part of her had always wished she could be willowy and model-tall like Heather.
Beside her, Devon made a comment, but Eve didn’t hear him.
The tall man bent his head to whisper something in Heather’s ear. His hair swept lower over his forehead as he turned slightly, giving Eve a view of what, even from a distance, could only be described as a perfect profile.
Those shoulders… She downed the prosecco in one big gulp. Bubbles exploded in her throat. She coughed.
“Easy, there, sailor. That isn’t water. Are you all right?”
Devon placed a hand on her back.
She managed a nod but coughed again, watching Heather throw back her head and laugh, her long nails grabbing the tall man’s jacket sleeve.
“Earth to Eve.”
Devon’s gaze followed hers, and then he nodded in understanding. “Ah. I see you’ve spotted God of Thunder over there.”
She wet her lips. “Is he—”
“Yeah, that’s Larssen. Owner and CEO.”
She didn’t have time to probe for more because the lights started to dim.
A side door opened, and two servers entered, wearing the cute air hostess outfits, wheeling in a massive box completely covered by blue cloth. They left it near the lectern that sported the same brass airplane logo.
Devon set down his empty martini glass. “Come on. Let’s get closer to the action.”
As they threaded their way through the many people who had migrated toward the podium, the lights dimmed lower and lower. Somehow, Devon managed to insert himself diagonally to the lectern in the first row, pulling Eve with him.
A hush descended on the crowd.
The air grew thick with excitement.
Overhead, colored lights began to blink alternately: red, green, repeat. Eve watched as, cloaked in shadow, the man emerged, lithely took the podium stairs, and stepped behind the lectern.
A sound chimed from the ceiling, and she recognized the tone heard in the cabin when a plane reached altitude. Two spotlights searched the room.
“Showtime,”
Devon whispered.
But the playbill is mine.
The spotlights crisscrossed the podium, then stopped on the lectern. Light flooded the room again, and suddenly, there he was, six feet away, in all his golden glory.
Good grief. A Norse god turned human.
He had looked good from a distance but up close…Eve swallowed.
For a few seconds, he calmly surveyed the audience.
One corner of his mouth kicked up in a slight smile. He leaned toward the microphone, waited for another beat, and then smoothly said, “Good evening, everyone. I’m Adam Larssen.”
It couldn’t be. Yet there he was.
She would have recognized that voice anywhere. She’d heard it, murmured in the dark. But now, at full volume, his speaking voice could put a double bass to shame. Her viewing angle didn’t let her see the color of his eyes, but their intensity was unmistakable.
The man was beautiful. Not one of her imaginings of what his face might look like could have matched up to this.
“When you start a company,”
he began, “you dream that one day, you will be fortunate enough to have an evening like this.”
His nose was masculine perfection, as was his whole face, really. A strong, square jaw, high cheekbones, and full, perfectly shaped lips. Lips made for kissing endlessly.
What insane thoughts are these?
“I see a lot of hard work, loyalty, and dedication in this room, which made this night possible. We have always aimed to take our passengers to their dreams faster, with the care and comfort others like to talk about, but LarsAir delivers.”
All eyes were riveted on him, but he was completely comfortable before an audience, conveying easy confidence despite his perfect posture.
His hands came to rest on the corners of the lectern. Broad palms, strong fingers. Those hands had been all over her last week. The memory of what he could do with those long fingers made her nerves fire.
“We are here tonight to let you know that we have begun the quest to move you faster than the speed of sound. We have become the majority shareholders in Schnell Aviation.”
Murmurs of surprise and excitement rippled through the audience. People turned to look at one another. Adam smiled and paused to let them settle down.
“Their design of the large cabin corporate Mach 2 jet is ready for wind tunnel testing, and with our help, the project will accelerate to completion. This will allow us to give our customers the most valuable thing there is: time. Ladies and gentlemen,”
he announced, “allow me to present to you the LarsJet 2024.”
With that, he reached for the blue cloth covering the mystery box and gripped the corner. The fabric slid off, revealing a clear cube containing a striking mock-up of a plane. Angling steeply upward, with its sharp nose, streamlined wings, and sleek tail, it looked like a more compact, elegant version of the Concorde.
“Yes!”
Devon hissed beside Eve.
The audience gasped, then burst into enthusiastic applause. A few whistled. Some cheered. Fists pumped in the air. Excited chatter filled the room.
Adam’s million-watt smile could have powered all of Las Vegas, and Eve felt her knees go weak at the sight.
He was breathtaking, really. No other way to describe him.
A moment later, her breath did stop.
Because Adam’s eyes wandered over the crowd, then skimmed the front row, moving right past Eve.
But then his gaze snapped back to land on her.
Adam
She looked a hundred times better than her pictures.
Huge doe eyes stared up at him out of a heart-shaped face, and that little rosebud mouth of hers was puckered into a pretty, plump pink O that instantly conjured images of him doing all kinds of things to it.
He couldn’t believe it. Of all the places on planet Earth where Eve could have been tonight, she was at his unveiling.
Why was she here?
She wore a killer red dress that clung to every curve and bared the rounded, creamy skin of her shoulders, and her hair framed her sweet face with chestnut waves he knew were soft as silk. Curvy little body, tiny waist, great legs, small feet in gold shoes that let him see her red-painted toes. Christ, even her feet were pretty.
She was a pinup come to life, hotter than all of his erotic fantasies of her put together.
“Larssen! That was great!”
Devon Thomason, his partner and chief pilot, left her side to run up to the podium. “They ate it up. Congratulations.”
So, there was the explanation. She was his plus-one. Devon had her for the night.
His jaw flexed. He schooled his expression into affable nonchalance and firmly gripped his friend’s outstretched hand. His eyes, however, couldn’t leave Eve’s face. “Thanks, man. I think it went OK. You here alone?”
Devon shook his head, noticing where Adam was looking. He grinned his I-tapped-that grin. “She’s hot. Come meet her.”
Together, they came off the dais. No sooner had they cleared the last step than they were surrounded, and Adam was forced to stop and talk to several well-wishers. He shook hands, clapped the backs of pilots and mechanics, and answered clients’ questions before he finally freed himself to get to Eve. She had remained in the same spot, watching.
A tight smile had now replaced her shocked expression. Shoulders back, chin up, she appeared confident, but as he drew closer, he could see her fingers gripping the red purse in her hands. Her nails weren’t long, but they were painted fire-engine red.
“Adam, this is Eve Layton.”
Devon grinned a mile wide. “Eve, meet Adam Larssen. Man of the hour.”
A strong, invisible riptide pulled him as he took her hand. For a suspended moment, he purposefully held her gaze prisoner, and she let him. “Eve. Nice to see you.”
She knew exactly why he’d worded it that way.
“Likewise.”
Her eyes were large and dark brown, with long, thick lashes he could tell were not fake. Her hand was small and soft in his. The tip of her tongue swept over her bottom lip, just briefly, and Adam fought the impulse to pick her up and carry her away, just as he had that night last week.
That night.
Her slender arms had clung to his neck, not letting go. Had he imagined the connection? He doubted it; she was now looking at him as if she meant to steal his soul and give it back to him, renewed.
Her flawless cheeks were rosy. “You were… That was impressive.”
He nodded. “Thank you. Good to hear.”
Without realizing what he was doing, he slipped his thumb under hers and found her inner wrist, tracing small, lazy circles at her pulse point. Her nostrils flared, and she gave a little start. His thumb and middle finger cuffed her wrist.
Pure fire ignited in her dark brown eyes. She licked her lips again, chest rising faster, and her gaze dropped to his throat.
He hadn’t imagined it: it was right there, evident in the rise and fall of her breasts, tantalizingly large for such a small woman.
She wanted him.
He wanted her.
And not just a repeat of what he’d done with her that night. He wanted to do much more, and, as luck would have it, he could. All it would take was a phone call, and he could get what he desired with no strings, no pretense, no expectation of a relationship.
No complications.
And he could stop at any time after he got her out of his system.
He would have Eve again. Oh yes, he would.
This time, with all the lights on in the entire goddamned suite.
Eve
Blue.
His eyes were blue.
Of course they were. Now that she was staring right into his Norse god face, she couldn’t fathom them being any other color. But they were a dark, striking sapphire, a color she had never seen on anyone, irises so unusual that she briefly thought they might be contacts.
They couldn’t be. A man like him would never stoop to such a thing.
That face… She licked her lips. Nature had been very generous with Adam Larssen.
His fingers encircled her wrist, overlapping and squeezing, causing lightning bolts to travel down her body, converging somewhere deep inside. She shuddered. The knowing smile he gave her bordered on cocky.
“There you are!”
Heather appeared, double fisting what looked to be highball glasses of orange juice, each topped with a pick impaling an orange slice and a maraschino cherry. Her ice-blue satin evening bag dangled from her shoulder by a thin silver chain. “I got us Harvey Wallbangers!”
Devon gave her a suggestive smirk. “Hi, Heather.”
“Devon, hi! Long time no see!”
She flipped her long straight platinum hair. “Eve! What are you doing here?”
Eve smiled in greeting at Heather, then felt Devon grip her elbow.
He slanted a glance at Adam. “She’s with me.”
The men’s eyes met briefly. Promptly, Adam released Eve and stepped back, turning to look at Heather in bemusement. “Wallbangers?”
Heather nodded happily, handing him one of the drinks. “The bartender recommended them. I already had one back there. Sooo good. I had to have another.”
She wrapped her lips around the red straw and sucked. “You two should try these.”
Eve didn’t miss how Adam’s intense blue gaze briefly grazed Heather’s lush pink mouth. Something raw wrenched in her chest. “Looks good,”
she said. “What’s in it?”
“Vodka, orange juice, and some Italian…stuff.”
Heather shrugged one shoulder.
“Glorified screwdriver.”
Adam held the orange drink and eyed it but didn’t partake. “Thank you. But I think I need an old fashioned after all that.”
“You earned it, man,”
Devon said. “Killed it tonight. Investors looked ecstatic.”
“Enough to secure funding to finish testing, I hope.”
“Trust me, it’s in the bag. I was watching their reactions.”
He glanced beyond Adam’s shoulder at two elderly gentlemen who were purposefully approaching, their keen eyes trained on Adam’s back. “Speaking of the ol’ devil…”
He motioned with his chin. “Johnson and Meyer at your six.”
“Aw, shit,”
Heather muttered. “Now we’ll be stuck here forever.”
She zoomed in on the untouched Wallbanger in Adam’s hand, her eyes a little glassy. “I’ll take that back if you don’t want it.”
Adam passed her the drink and chuckled, a low, rich rumbling sound that was thrillingly familiar to Eve.
Interesting that he’d gone with Premier when he had such a huge credit at Eleet. Had he hired Heather for only this event or the whole night? If Heather was whining about not being able to leave, she surely had dinner and other entertainment booked with him.
Something squeezed her throat when she pictured the two of them at a restaurant, then in bed…
Eve swallowed, watching his blond hair move as he nodded, in earnest conversation with Devon and the older men.
Beside her, Heather sighed. “I’m hungry.”
He hadn’t requested Eve again; he’d called another agency and gone with Heather. Why did that bother her?
She had to face reality: Heather and she were mere diversions to this man.
Now, he was gesturing with his hands. Strong, beautiful hands, capable of—
Oh God.
She had to get away from him.