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Istare out the smallwindow of my private jet as we fly across the United States.Gemma is sitting across from me.
Patrick is with us, of course, and Robin and Theo.We spent half the day at the Chicago Open Leaf store and then had lunch at a nearby restaurant.Now we’re flying to Atlanta, where we’ll spend the night after visiting that branch.
Gemma taps away at her laptop and seems fully absorbed in what she’s doing.Predictably, she’s been professional and only made eye contact when necessary.
Good.
No one wants a clingy lover to contend with after you’ve just scratched an itch.We agreed to focus on business come Monday, and that’s what we have both done.
I scratch the side of my head, glancing at her burgundy blouse.So, okay, what happened was, Gemma climbed out of the vehicle I had to pick her up this morning.She stepped onto the tarmac and...
Listen, she had on a pair of tight black pants that hugged her fucking body like they were painted on.And the blouse.Jesus.Burgundy with a large floppy silk bow that screamedtug me.
Tug me and help yourself to my luscious tits.
I might not be a great clothing translator, but that was what I heard, and so did my hard dick.
So here we are, seven erections later, and I’m doing my very best to be fucking professional.Especially as she’s tipped off her shoes and is wiggling her painted toenails.
Fucking hell.
Apparently, the fire in my pants has not been doused, even though I came over almost a million dollars’ worth of diamonds lying on her breasts.
Very annoying.
Gemma, on the other hand, seems unaffected.Sated even...which obviously I can take credit for.
“Coffee, sir?”a flight attendant asks.
“No, sparkling water, please,” I reply.“Gemma?”
“Huh?”she glances up.
“Would you like something to drink, ma’am?”the attendant asks.
“Oh.Yes.Coffee.Black.”
As the server disappears, I ask, “You drink black coffee?”
Gemma glances at me and her screen.“Yes.Why?”
“I picked you for more of a vanilla oat milk mochaccino or charcoal latte kind of girl,” I tease.
I watch as she surveys the team sitting nearby, assumably to decide who can hear our conversation, and then looks back at me.
“You also thought my choice of pulled pork at lunch was humorous.”Gemma lifts a brow.“Not every woman eats chicken salad, Drew.And we arenotthat familiar.”
“I beg to differ.”
She hates my smirk, I can tell.And when I rub my thumb over my bottom lip, both her brows shoot up.
“Stop it,” she hisses.
My smile widens.
“Drew.What are you playing at?”
