The Best Bad Decision (Love At First Flight #1)

1. Prologue

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Prologue

T he air vibrated with bass and excitement, thick with humidity and the anticipation of a new year. The music was loud—too loud, even—and the lights flashed a rainbow of colours as they danced around the dimly lit bar. Bartenders in crisp white shirts served shots and cocktails by the dozen. It was New Year’s Eve, and the celebrations in the bar were in full swing.

Cam hooked the heel of his boot on the rung of the bar stool, keen green eyes taking in the scene around him. The bar occupied a vast majority of the hotel’s rooftop, the party starting in the covered space and spilling out into the open-air seating area beyond festively decorated railings. He recognised several faces amongst the revellers; many of them fellow flight crews, not just from his own airline but others too. The hotel was a popular one in the industry, offering a great location and amenities for visiting crew from across the world. Cam nodded a hello to a small group of women he recognised as flight attendants from a European airline and they all raised glasses of brightly-coloured liquid in return.

The bartender approached him then, and he placed his order—bourbon, neat, billed to his room to be paid off by a future version of himself when he checked out. Within a minute or two, a cut-glass tumbler was pushed across the bar into his waiting hand, and the amber liquid inside winked and swirled as he lifted it to his lips. The first sip burned; the second warmed, and by the third, he was significantly more relaxed than when he had arrived.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be there. Quite the opposite: an extrovert by nature, he loved to socialise on his layovers and as holiday scheduling had resulted in an unusually long stay, he was ready to take advantage of his time away.

Singapore had always been one of his favourite layovers. It was worlds away from his hometown of Phoenix, Arizona, with some of the best food he’d ever tasted and friendly locals who were always willing to lend a hand when he got turned around in the extensive public transit system. The flight was often a struggle—sixteen and a half hours by air and a full sixteen hours ahead of his work base in San Francisco made for some hellish jet lag; sometimes he thought it was hardly even worth it for just thirty-six hours on the ground. But with a longer layover this time, he had more time to adjust and explore. More time to soak in the festivities. And more than enough time for another drink. The next time the bartender worked her way down the bar, he waved her down and ordered another glass.

As he brought the fresh glass to his lips, the barstool beside him emptied and almost immediately, a new figure slid in and settled into the shadow. He turned to see a head of dark curls attached to a feminine profile: a pert nose, full lips, and high cheekbones dusted with some kind of champagne shimmer. She wasn’t just pretty. She was drop-dead gorgeous, the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. In the dim downlight of the back bar, her lips glistened with some kind of rose-pink gloss. They turned up in a smile that took his breath away. He swallowed a large mouthful of bourbon, filling up on the liquid courage and letting it lead.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked. She turned to face him fully and suddenly, despite the drink, his mouth felt impossibly dry.

“Sure,” she answered in a clipped, British accent that had Cam’s stomach somersaulting. “Why the hell not? I’m Amie, by the way.”

“Cam.” He introduced himself, sticking out a hand. She took it in hers and wrapped her warm fingers around his, squeezing gently. He returned her grin and signalled to the bartender again.

“What do you do, Cam?” she asked as they waited for their drinks. He glanced out at the sky, moon high and stars twinkling, then back at the woman in front of him. Her eyes twinkled brighter than the stars, he decided.

“I’m a pilot,” he answered, and she smirked, making a show of glancing at the delicate gold watch on her wrist.

“Wow,” she said dryly, crinkling her nose in laughter. It was well-known that you could always identify a pilot in the midst—because he’d always tell you. “Thirty-five seconds, must be a record!”

He hooked an ankle around her barstool and dragged her closer, leaning in until his lips almost touched the shell of her ear.

“I promise I’ll last longer when I send you flying.”

Her breath hitched with a split second of hesitation and then she laughed, a light, musical sound that had his cock twitching in his pants as she directed a dazzling smile at him. He shifted slightly in his seat.

“What about you, Amie?” He changed the subject. “What do you do? What brings you to Singapore at New Year? ”

“I’m a flight attendant,” she admitted with a smile, ducking her face towards the drink the bartender had just placed in front of her. “I guess we’re even.”

Cam grinned and picked up his own drink.

“Amie.” He tested her name on his tongue. It tasted good. “Tell me more about you.”

“What do you want to know?” She offered a coy smile, leaning closer along the bar.

“You’re a beautiful woman alone in a bar on New Year’s Eve, sweetheart, there’s gotta be a story somewhere.”

She sighed, curling a lip slightly in contemplation as she considered her answer.

“The rest of the crew have someone with them so I figured, I’d come up here, enjoy the view and see where the night takes me.”

“And are you? Enjoying the view?”

“Very much.”

Cam grinned, the kind of heart-stopping, dazzling, dizzying smile sure to make women—and men—weak at the knees. His bright eyes burned a hole right through her skin, heating her from within. It made her pulse race, and with every new quirk of his lips or deep rumble of laughter, she felt her heartbeat quickening, stumbling against her ribs and taking every last inhibition with it.

“What kind of pilot are you?” Amie drained the last of her drink, slamming the glass down on the bar just a little too hard.

“A good one, I hope,” Cam joked. “I’m a first officer. I fly the triple out of San Fran.”

“Nice,” Amie hummed. “I’m a purser in London.”

“You like it? ”

“I love it. Best job in the world.” She grinned indulgently. “What’s your favourite layover?”

“Probably this one.” Cam nodded softly as he answered, considering his words as he said them. “I love Asia. Hong Kong is a favourite, too.”

“Pretty long flight for you, no?”

“Sixteen hours from San Francisco,” he agreed. “Longer if I actually flew out of Phoenix, but I commute to San Fran. It’s not so bad. I mean, we get paid to see the world, right?”

“Exactly! What’s a sixteen-hour flight between friends?” She waved down the bartender and signalled for two more drinks. They arrived quickly, and Amie lifted hers to her lips, sipping the fruity concoction through a neon yellow straw.

“What about you, Amie?” Cam slid his stool closer until they were touching, arms and thighs pressed together in spite of the heat. “What’s your favourite layover?”

“I do like Asia,” she answered. “But I love South America.” Her voice took on a dreamy tone, a faraway look in her eyes. “Quito, Cali, Santiago… I could live in Santiago. Those mountains, the food…”

“You ever skied in the Andes?”

“Hell no,” she laughed. “I’m a lover, not a skier.”

Cam laughed out loud, a deep rumble from his chest that had Amie grinning and shifting in her seat, pushing her thighs together against the fluttering between them.

Three more Singapore Slings later, all caution had been thrown to the wind. Amie’s hips swayed, her ass brushing gently against his crotch, and he rested his hands on her hips, a gentle pressure keeping their bodies flush together. Her dress ruffled in the light breeze, the loose skirt rising to reveal even more of her long, lean legs as she leaned back into him. His lips brushed against her ear, then her jaw, and she tilted her head to grant him access. His hand moved around to rest against her stomach, pulling her impossibly—dangerously—close. The makeshift dance floor in the bar was full, a sea of bodies pressed up against one another, warm from the alcohol, the proximity and the equatorial humidity.

The DJ had a penchant for Latin America and Amie sang along, her Spanish impeccably fluent and lightly accented with something that sat just a little closer to English. She swung her hips again, this time grinding against him with a knowing smirk playing on her lips. Cam tightened his fingers on her hips, feeling his jeans become uncomfortably tight. Two can play this game . He smiled into her hair, tipping his lips to her ear again.

“ Te reto a que me des un beso. ” He smirked wickedly as a pretty pink blush rose all the way from her chest to the tips of her ears. I dare you to kiss me . She turned in his arms and pressed her lips to his.

He brushed the seam of her lips with his tongue and she opened for him, warm and fruity, sweet like the cocktails they’d been drinking. He moaned into her mouth as their tongues danced, moving a hand from her hip to her spine to her shoulder blades, eventually settling to cradle her head as he angled his head, kissing her deeper. Tongues rubbed and lips slid together, bodies pressed as close as they could be. With one last nip of Cam’s lower lip, Amie broke the kiss for air, breathing hard. Citrus, cedar, and whiskey assaulted her senses, leaving her dizzy and delirious, desperate for more.

“Hell of a kiss,” she challenged with a smile. “You always kiss strangers like that?”

He growled and closed the space between them again, slanting his mouth over hers and nipping at her lower lip with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. She mewled into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, shifting and widening his stance slightly as his cock swelled in his pants.

They pulled apart when the countdown began. Hazel eyes locked with green, the conversation unspoken but understood, before Cam sealed his mouth over Amie’s one more time. They continued to explore each others’ mouths as cheers and fireworks erupted around them. Amie pushed her hips against his, smiling into his mouth as she felt his hardness straining against his jeans, the thick outline clearly visible, pressed up against the fly. She reached a hand between them and rubbed him over the rough fabric, and he hissed out a heavy breath.

“Playing with fire, gorgeous,” he warned. “Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish.”

“Who says I’m not gonna finish it?” She retorted with a cheeky smile, then sealed her lips to his again. “Take me to your room, Cam.”

The next few moments were a blur of hands, tongues and lips as they fought for dominance, pushed up against the wall of the elevator and then the wall in the hallway as Cam fumbled for his room key. They fell through the door, letting it slam closed and flicking the lock with a loud snick , before Cam pulled Amie into his arms and sealed his lips over hers again.

“Fucking sweet, pretty girl,” he grumbled against her lips. “Your mouth is so fucking sweet.”

She hummed an approval, hands flying to his waist to grapple first with his belt buckle and then the button of his jeans, popping them open and shoving them roughly down his hips.

“Patience, beautiful,” he crooned.

“No more patience,” she answered breathlessly. “Take me now.”

“That’s my needy girl.” He latched his mouth to her throat, kissing and sucking a wet line down to her sharp collarbones. “Tell me what you want next.”

“You,” she moaned. “I want you. Make me scream.”

It was still dark when she woke. Finally sated and exhausted, they had fallen asleep just a couple of hours earlier, with Amie’s head on Cam’s chest and his arms around her, holding her close. Carefully, she extricated herself from his grip and slipped out from beneath the sheets. He didn’t stir, and she sent a silent thanks.

Tiptoeing around the room, she collected her underwear and dress from the night before and pulled them on. She dangled her heels from one finger and, with one last glance at his peaceful, sleeping face, she quietly unlocked the door and slipped out, leaving Cam with nothing but her sea salt perfume on his skin and the memory of the one that got away.