But it’s nothing compared to this moment, after George’s bellowed declaration.
I drop back on my heels hard enough to jar my knees, not that I notice the pain in my shock. His chest heaves as if he just sprinted up and down the runway. Then he mutters curses and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Sorry. Fuck. Just, sorry. That was…I’m your instructor. And you barely tolerate me.” His shoulders drop. “Friends don’t say shit like that. I’m sorry, Beth. I want to be your friend. I swear I do. We can forget I said anything, and I’ll try not to lock up around you. That’s on me. My fault.”
He drags in a deep breath, straightens his spine, grabs the clipboard, and says, “Your altitude control was exceptional, but your heading seemed to be drifting. Keep that in mind next time. On landing—”
I knock the clipboard out of his hand and launch myself at him. Arms around his neck, mouth against his. At first, George is still, an unmoving mass of shock. But I refuse to be deterred after what he just revealed. Months of a crush I thought was unrequited built me up to a rabid lust raccoon ready to climb this man and steal as many kisses as I can claim. I suck on his lower lip because I’ve wanted the plump piece of him since his hot hand burned an imprint on my thigh the day of the emergency landing.
And George, coolheaded in an emergency situation, gets with the change of plan fast. His broad hands cup my ass, boosting me up so I can wrap my legs around his waist and get a better angle to devour hiscinnamon-gum-flavored mouth. Damn, that spice on his hot tongue tastes decadent.
My nails drag over his buzzed scalp, and he groans so deep I can feel the vibration of the noise in my throat.
Then I feel another vibration in my pocket. One that wrenches me back into the here and now.
My work alarm.
I have work. At the diner.
I do not have time in my hectic schedule to make out with my flight instructor, who I only recently found out doesn’t thoroughly dislike me.
I wrench my head back, gasping for breath as I stare into George’s hazy gray eyes. Guess I knocked his sunglasses off at some point in my frenzy.
“Beth.” There’s a plea in his voice. One that has me squirming in his arms. But not to get away. To get closer.
Stop that! This shouldn’t be happening!
“We shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper.
His brow furrows. “You didn’t want to?”
“That’s not…” I swallow hard. “Weshouldn’thave.”
His mouth relaxes into the start of a smile, and his fingers flex. Against my ass. “So, youdidwant to?”
“Well, I’m the one who did the launching, wasn’t I?” And this is the part where I demand to be put down.
Any second now, I’ll definitely say that.
“You did.” George studies my face, then leans in slowly to press a kiss at the corner of my jaw, likely feeling the jump of my pulse under his lips. When he pulls back to meet my eyes again, I try my best to give him a scolding scowl.
But he smiles wider, so I don’t think I’m conveying a proper level of censure.
“I have to go to work,” I announce, which I believe is very similar toStop using your muscular arms to hold me pressed tight against your solid body with the apex of my thighs getting warmer by the second as it sits flush against your lower belly.
It’s not my fault he can’t properly interpret what I’m saying.
“Before you leave,” George continues with the conversation, still holding me like he can keep me spider-monkeyed around him for hours with no sign of tiring, “I want you to know that I am open for launching. Anytime you want.”
“Well…that’s…I’mnot.” I hit him with a second glare. “Don’t think you can waltz into the diner and start sucking my face.”
George grins, looking young with the expression. All signs of sternness gone. His lids flutter half closed, and he hums a happy noise. “Got it. Any future face sucking will be your choice.”
That’s when I realize I’m absentmindedly scratching my nails up and down the back of his scalp.
I stop, and I unlock my ankles.
George immediately lets me down, our bodies sliding against each other as I find my feet. And now I know his whole body was affected by that kiss.
