“Yeah, well, here the marginal cost is zero.” I make an O with my thumb and forefinger to emphasize the point.
She runs a hand through her hair, which makes it spill over her shoulders like a silken cape. I resist the urge to grab some, pull her close and take her mouth. I don’t think I can stop if I start. There’s too much pent-up need ready to erupt.
She looks slightly lost. “I don’t even know what to say.”
I feel like the fairy godmother spoiling Cinderella. But I’m a guy, so maybe I’m the godfather. “You don’t have to say anything. Just enjoy it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Aspen
After we get out of the car, I look for our bags. Grant says, “What do you need?”
“Our bags.”
“They’re already loaded on the plane.”
I stare in shock. “How?”
“I popped the trunk when we pulled up.”
He escorts me straight to the jet. I guess when you’re flying private, you don’t do TSA.
A blonde cabin attendant in a navy uniform gives us a sunny smile. “Welcome aboard.”
I murmur my thanks and look around at the eight seats on the plane. “Which one am I supposed to take?” I ask Grant.
“Whichever you like.”
I sit in the front row, next to the window. The seat is huge and made of pale leather. It cushions my body like a cloud. I stroke the leather, marveling at how soft it is. “Wow. This feels great.”
“It’s too bad the flight’s so short. It has a bedroom in the back,” he points out matter-of-factly.
“What? For real?” I turn my head to see if I missed something when I walked in. I see the door at the end. “That’s a bedroom?”
“Yup.”
“I thought it was the, uh, lavatory.”
He nods. “There’s a bathroom with a shower in there, too.”
“Wow,” I say again. I think I’m going to say a lot of wows on this trip. Then I lower my voice and blurt out, “Isn’t the door sort of thin?”
Grant blinks at me, like he’s trying to compute. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I’ve heard about what people do on planes when they get frisky,” I say, my cheeks warm. “I used to think doing it in the bathroom was pretty gross. And cramped.”
His shoulders shake. “Oh my God. I don’t think people charter a jet just to join the Mile-High Club.”
“I was just thinking about the logistics of your average person’s excitement on a plane.”
“Why? Wanna test it?” His eyes appear darker, with heat underneath, but there are sparks of humor there, too.
“No,” I say primly, then tilt my chin in the direction of the cabin attendant, who’s bringing us welcome-aboard virgin margaritas and some snacks.
“No champagne,” Grant says with a wistful sigh. “Stupid age limit.”
“Do they normally give you champagne?”
