Landing the Air Marshal (Snowpocalypse) (5 page)

She glanced over at him again. Damn he was gorgeous in that rugged, “I barely crawled out of bed, but I still look insanely hot” style
.
But what in holy hell was she doing? This was a complete stranger. Her mother had imbedded stranger danger in her since before she could walk, and yet she was taking him back to a place she didn’t know. This was insane. Out of her goddamn mind insane.

“You’re thinking too hard about this,” he said. Which meant the panic bubbling up was definitely showing. Screw her horrible poker face. Normally she could tamp down her feelings for business meetings, but everything about the last four hours had thrown her off her game.

She shifted her eyes to him and rubbed her sweaty palms against the fabric of her skirt. “I’ve just never done this before.” Like, ever. Every single time she’d been with a man, she’d been in a relationship for at least a few months.
“I mean, I don’t even know what you do for a living. Are you in the CIA? FBI? Is Homeland Security going to be videotaping what we do with some secret spy camera in your suit?”

He smiled slightly and cleared his throat, shifting his eyes toward her. Something about it seemed very intimate, like he was about to tell her a very important secret. “I’m an air marshal.”

Wow. Bonus points. That sounded way hotter than FBI. “Do you have to kill me now? Is that proper protocol?”

He gave a hearty laugh, the delicious deep notes vibrating through her chest. “No, but it probably shouldn’t be broadcast.”

“I’ll retract my statement to the media, then.” She smiled. “Do you have a uniform?”

“Sometimes. But most of the time I’m in civilian clothes. I try not to stick out.”

“So. Be honest.” She chewed on her bottom lip, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer. “Were you really profiling me on the plane?”

“If by profiling you mean checking you out, then yes. But I told you the truth—I was off duty. And I’d never hook up with someone while I was on the job. You’re the first passenger I’ve ever hooked up with.”

Okay, so at least he wasn’t an in-flight man ho. Would she have cared if he did have a bunch of mile-high hookups under his belt? At this point, no. Nothing would stop her need for him to take control of her, to please her, to make her scream every goddamn dirty word she’d ever heard in her life. Or at least, she was hoping that he’d make her do this. If his fingers could, she wondered what the rest of him was capable of. “Mile-high virgin. Good to know.”

He gave a low chuckle and squeezed her thigh, which sent another trickle of heat to her center. “Still am, since you didn’t have time to deflower me.” He winked.

“And somehow I don’t feel bad for you, since you’re coming home with me.”

His grin widened. “It’s better this way, anyway. Airplanes can get a little cramped.”

And carried thousands of germs, but Abby kept that thought to herself because nothing killed a mood faster than talking about the growth rate of bacteria.

They arrived at the hotel thirty minutes later, and Abby strode to the concierge at the massive front desk. The man in the black suit and gold tie handed her a key, and she promised to return it in the morning when she finished with the photos and notes.

They walked into the elevator, and she leaned against one side of the shaft as Gage messed with his phone. She decided to take this opportunity to text her sister that she made it safely to the Big Apple. In fact, her New Yorker sister would give some major eye roll if she knew that Abby still called New York City by the outdated nickname. Old habits died hard.

Abby:
Here safe.

Ella:
good 2 hear. I could still come over if you want—I promise not to mess up any of the fancy shmancy decor.

Abby:
I…uh…have company.

Ella:
Care to elaborate?!?

Abby:
His name is Gage.

Besides the fact that he had the best biceps on this side of the Mississippi, that’s about all she knew. Jesus, she really had gone mad.

Ella:
Pics or it didn’t happen.

Abby:
I am NOT taking a picture of him. I’m not that stealthy.

Ella:
Make sure the shutter sound is off. That’s always a good start. C’mon. Your poor sister is in a dry spell. Let me live vicariously through you.

Abby sighed. Fine. What the hell, not like it would hurt. Plus, Gage was standing exactly opposite of her, giving her a perfect vantage point in terms of sneaking a photo-op. She turned off the shutter sound just as instructed, snapped a quick, discreet picture, and sent it to her sister. Lord knew Ella, as an attorney at Rosen Law, one of the most prestigious firms in the city, was just as driven as Abby. Between court hearings and piles of paperwork, her sister hadn’t had a steady relationship in a few years—which was a shame because Abby knew how lonely she was in her condo on the Upper East Side. Maybe loneliness ran in the family, because her mother never remarried after the house fire that took her father. Did that mean Abby and Ella were bound for the same fate?

She sure as hell hoped not—maybe that was the reason she’d even thought to do this in the first place. Because, for tonight, she wouldn’t be lonely. She’d be in the capable arms of a man who would give her what she craved most.

A message pinged in her inbox seconds later.

Ella:
holy fuckballs. Report back when you’re done with that fine specimen.

Abby:
Did you see that chin?

They were nearing the thirtieth floor. Only a few more and she’d have to cut this conversation short.

Ella:
I was more focused on those biceps. Yum. Also, be careful out there—roads are getting icy tonight.

Abby:
I don’t plan on leaving the hotel room until as late as humanly possible.

Ella:
bow chicka wow wow

Abby rolled her eyes and decided not to comment on that last text.

By the time the elevator stopped at the top floor of the hotel, Abby’s resolution to let herself go tonight was fluttering in her stomach. She’d do this, for her own personal sanity, because Gage seemed like he could supply what she was missing at the moment.

As the door to the penthouse suite swung open, Abby gaped at the sprawling hotel room, which was almost as large as her production studio. Wooden floors spanned the whole penthouse. Four large pillars were spaced throughout the living room.

The all-white kitchen glistened in the light and looked as if it had never seen a day of cooking. Such a shame, because the marble countertops would look gorgeous with plates filled with the bright colors of Indian curries or Italian sauces.

The white theme was carried into the living room, with its cream lounges and couches. A large glass coffee table lay in the center, with a vase that was at least as tall as Abby. From the entryway, the NYC skyline was in full view through the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the entire apartment.

A grand piano sat on display on its own sunken level. On the other side of the apartment was a pool table and bar area. A set of closed double-doors were set on the left-hand side of the apartment, and Abby assumed this was the master bedroom. Her carry-on tugged heavy on her shoulder from the stress of the flight and the thought that she’d be spending the night here with Gage, who was oddly very quiet ever since they entered the apartment.

She glanced at him and saw his stubbled jaw hanging open as he regarded the room. Abby had visited the most luxurious and exotic places, but this penthouse easily ranked in the top five most breathtaking views, especially the skyline, filled with the twinkling lights of office buildings, other hotels, and in the distance, Times Square.

The bag slipped from her shoulder onto the wooden floor with a
plunk
as she made her way toward the sliding glass door to the balcony. Gage followed wordlessly, and her fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the handle. Before she could slide it open, Gage grabbed her arm, stopping her.

“Wait,” he said.

Before she could ask why, his face came within an inch of the door, and he expelled a breath, the glass fogging all around his mouth. He wrote
Gage and Abby were here
in a broad-stroked cursive.

Okay, so it was middle-schoolish, but there was a full-on earthquake wreaking havoc on her stomach. Not the sissy tremors she dealt with back in L.A. This was at least a nine on the Richter scale—serious shit. She hadn’t seen her name written next to a guy’s since she was in elementary school and drew little hearts around “Michael Pape + Abby Winters = Love” on her binder. Too bad Michael Pape found said binder and ridiculed her for months. Yeah, that was one dude she’d be avoiding at her ten-year reunion. She cleared her throat and managed to look at least a little irritated. “You’re dirtying up the window,” she said, but it was more out of reflex than actually being annoyed with the smudged glass.

Her mother would have burst a vessel over this—she’d been that way ever since Abby could remember. She used to come around the house on cleaning day, after Abby had dusted the tables and emptied the dishwasher, and run her hands along every surface of the house just to make sure that it was dust-free. And she wondered where her perfectionist streak came from. Pot meet kettle. But right now, she gave zero fucks about window smudges. In fact, hell, she welcomed it. Smudge all the damn windows, see if she cared.

“I thought you said you wanted to get dirty tonight.” His words went straight to the space between her thighs, and she had to hold on to the doorframe to make sure she stayed upright. What was it about his deep voice that slid over her skin like melted chocolate? “If putting my fingers on a window raises your hackles, I think we’re going to have a problem.” He smiled at her, teasing.

She turned to him and set her hands on her hips. “You are awfully full of yourself.” In all honesty, the guy deserved to be full of himself, but cocky wasn’t usually an attribute that she liked in men—she saw it far too often in the film industry. Then again, a one-night stand didn’t need to be dating material. He just needed the three Ds:

Doable.

Delicious physique.

Disposable.

His lips curved into a smirk. “Have I proven myself unworthy? I seem to remember you crying out last time I had my hands on you. Or do you already need a refresher?”

She cleared her throat and mashed her lips together. “Right. Point taken.” Uh, hell yes, she’d like that refresher, but after she freshened up a bit and got the lay of the land with the penthouse first. Work came before play, and she’d need to scope out the best shots to get in the morning. “Slow down there, boss, we have all night.”

Moving around Gage, Abby opened the sliding door, and a gust of frigid winter air ruffled the hair off the nape of her neck. Her California blood was no match for a New York winter, and her teeth chattered so hard, she thought she might break a molar. She quickly closed the door and brushed her arms vigorously, trying to get warmth back into her. Okay, maybe she’d check out the sun deck in the morning when it was a little warmer. Maybe. Probably not. For now, she’d settle for looking out the window. Which was a nice view, all the same.

Outside was a veranda with a posh sitting area, a hot tub, and a half-size basketball court. Steam rose off the hot tub in the chilly January night, casting an eerie fog along the water. Holy friggin’ crap, this penthouse had everything imaginable and would be the perfect setting for the film. Right. The reason she was here. She couldn’t help but feel a sliver of guilt at the thought of playing during work hours. Then again, when was the last time she had fun? Most likely college. Wow, okay, yeah, maybe it was time to start enjoying life before she had a full head of gray hair. Dammit, she needed this and wouldn’t feel bad, not even one bit, if she could help it.

“This place is insane. Beats the room I’d have thirty flights down,” he said.

“Yeah,” she agreed. Between the cold and the prospect of what was going to happen between her and Gage, her witty thoughts remained frozen on her tongue.

She pulled out her DSLR and dropped the camera bag on the kitchen counter with a soft
thud
then turned to stare at the expanse of the condo. “I’ll just take a few quick pics of the bed and then take the remaining pictures in the morning,” she said.

He nodded. “Good idea.”

Yes, in the morning, she could focus on work. Focus on everything she needed to get done in order to continue her way up the food chain at Yellow Raft. But tonight was hers to enjoy. Because she wouldn’t be thinking about anything besides Gage until the sun rose over Times Square.

“Let’s finish the tour, shall we?” She took a deep breath and made her way to the set of doors across the room.

Abby jiggled the handle and the door swung open to reveal a California king-size bed in the middle of a room the size of her entire apartment. The floor-to-ceiling windows carried into the bedroom. And the bed. Oh, the bed. It was filled with a pile of cream and red pillows. A fluffy white duvet looked so inviting that she nearly took a running leap to sprawl out on it spread-eagle, making bed angels. Because that wouldn’t look weird to her guest or anything. Plus, she had to take pictures before they messed up the sheets.

She adjusted the camera and snapped a few pictures of the pristinely made bed.
Oh yeah, work it, bed. Not only are you going to star in a major film, but you’re about to be the centerpiece of tonight’s festivities.
The shutter clicked as she wound her way around the bed, finding the perfect angle and lighting. She looked at the display, and when she was satisfied with the pictures, she walked over to the nightstand and gently set her camera down.