ANDREW and Abby settled into the private jet after it took off in the early afternoon. They were on their way back to Lake Tahoe. The pilot came over the speaker and announced they could remove their seatbelts and move around the cabin if they desired. Andrew glanced across the aisle at Abby. She was giggling, a hand pressed to her stomach.

“I love flying!”

“Good. Then we’ll take many more trips.” He stood. Walking over to the bar lining one side of the jet, he stepped behind the counter and pulled out two glasses.

“Feel like a glass of wine?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

He ducked beneath the marble-top, and flipped through the wine list. “Would you like to try a vintage from one of my dad’s wineries?”

“Your dad runs a winery too? And yes. I’d love to try it.”

“Great.” He reached down and picked up the bottle. “My dad loves starting new ventures. And he enjoys wine. None of us were surprised when he came home one night and said he had found the perfect vineyard for sale in Santa Rita Hills. I still remember my mom rolling her eyes. It’s not that she didn’t support him. She felt he was already spread too thin with other commitments, and she knew how he poured himself into his startups at the beginning.

“Interesting. And very cool that your father works the businesses at the beginning.”

“He wouldn’t have it any other way.” He poured two glasses and took them over to her. “He’d be the first to roll up his sleeves for every one of his companies. I think he enjoyed that early period the most. But this wine idea, it was probably the hardest of them all.”

“How so?”

He sat in the chair beside her and took a sip. “The purchase was complex to begin with. It took months to close. I think it was some type of tax lien sale or a foreclosure. By the time it closed, the place had been sitting idle for almost two years. Your dad owns a farm, right?”

“Yes.”

“How large is it?”

“Two hundred acres.”

“Well imagine double that, in rows and rows of abandoned vines, broken supports, rusted out machinery in utter disrepair, and weeds as tall and thick as full grown corn stalks.”

“Wow.”

“The only redeeming quality of the place was the fermentation vats and the bottling room. They were pristine. Everything else was an overgrown, broken down mess. And my dad decides all four of us will work on it as a summer project.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

“Just the four of you?”

“The first week, yes. And some winery owner from France that he hired to show us the business. He realized the scale of what we had to deal with when after a week of toiling, the guy he hired threatened to quit. Told him he was crazy. My dad knew by the end of the week that the Frenchman was right. We had only managed to clear about half an acre in that time.

“After working from dawn to dusk for fourteen days and seeing the minute progress we had made, he hired fifty farm workers and bought all new equipment. Everything moved smoothly then, and by the end of the summer, the place was ready to go. He took a more hands-off approach at that point, and kept the French guy for two years until the place was operating smoothly. It’s been a profitable operation since. More wine?”

“Yes. Please. That’s fascinating, Andrew. I’m sure all that hard work paid off for you too.”

“I can’t complain. Looking back, I’m glad we weren’t coddled. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be the fine, strapping man you see now,” he said with a wink.

He returned to the bar to refill their glasses.

As he placed the bottle on the counter, he noticed Abby had also left her seat. She was nowhere in the cabin. He then saw the light above the bathroom door was red. Occupied. He smiled.

After pouring more wine into the glasses, he recorked the bottle. He set it to the side, on an intelligently designed rubber-footed rack—no need for predicting the up and downs of flight. He lifted his glass and swirled the wine as he had done so many times, before sipping a bit of the dark red liquid.

“Great choice, Dad,” he said softly. The vintage was perfect. His father had fine taste. He took another sip. He moved both glasses to the low-lying table. It was set between the two leather chairs on the other side of the plane—his ‘living area.’ They were far more comfortable than the airline-regulated seating for take-offs and landings.

He leaned back, crossed his ankles and closed his eyes, waiting for Abby to join him. When he heard the click of the bathroom door re-engage, he peeked an eye open. He bolted upright, nearly upsetting the glass he had clutched in his hand.

Abby was naked. Stripped bare. Utterly nude.

She sashayed across the cabin toward him. He shifted in his seat, leaning forward to put the glass safely on the table before he ended up spilling it all over himself. Her panties—no, thong—dangled from her forefinger. She spun it lazily around and around. His eyes were drawn to the scrap of silk. Black polka dots on a white background.

She paused in front of him, lifting one foot to rest it on the table, giving him an eyeful of trimmed pussy.

“Want to play firefighter and Dalmatian?”

“What’s that?”

“Do me doggie-style, and I will play with your hose.”

It was a very good thing he had put down the wine. Choking on his saliva, he suddenly couldn’t seem to make his throat work correctly. He coughed and hacked as she waited for an answer.

“Uh…” he cleared his throat, a disconcerting squeak erupting from his mouth. “Uh, Abby? Everything all right?”

“Yes, Andrew.” She was all calm. Sexy. Way too creative, he decided on the spot.

He swallowed another lump. “Maybe later.”

The thong stopped spinning. She gathered it in a fist, and planting her fists on her hips, stuck out her chin and pouted. Her eyes went cold.

He hurried to continue, “Because right now, all I’m thinking about is hauling you up, bending you over that counter and thrusting into you.” He sure as hell didn’t want her pissed at him so soon on her getaway.

She broke into a full grin. “Deal.”

She held out her hands, and he placed his on them. She leaned back to almost a thirty degree angle, pulling him to his feet. When he was standing, she spread her arms out wide. She let the thong float to the carpeted floor and waited, eyebrow lifted. “Move it, big boy!”

He was only too happy to comply.

He swung her up into his arms. He kissed her cheek sweetly and walked to the bar. She wrapped her arms around his neck to hold on. It was already the best flying experience ever. There wasn’t anything the woman in his arms could do or say to make it any more perfect. He perused her body as he walked. This was perfect. She was his ideal—in every way.

He turned her in his arms and placed her down gently to sit on the marble-top counter. He stood between her legs. She leaned forward and kissed his lips softly. He tilted her back, lowering his head to her delicate collarbone. She sucked in her breath when the cool stone touched her bare skin. Reaching across the width of the counter, she folded her fingers under the edge and clung to it. He dropped her legs and let them dangle. She playfully kicked like a child. Abby jumped off the counter and mounted it on her stomach, chest facing down, forehead on the marble, fingers clinging to the edge.

“Now I’m ready,” she teased.

Andrew groaned, and smacked her ass softly.

They stilled as soon as the smack finished echoing through the jet’s cabin. He had meant it lightheartedly, but the spark of arousal that followed shocked him as it coursed through his groin.

“God, Abby. You’re gorgeous.”

“Do it again, Andrew. It feels so good.”

And so he did. He didn’t even think about it. He just opened his palm and smacked her ass softly. She whimpered and begged for another, so he slapped it again. Her flesh heated under his hand and he couldn’t believe, she was asking him to do this, and enjoying it too. And was it ever making his cock hard.

Once again, on her pleas for more, he flattened his hand across her backside. She arched and moaned, tossing her long hair back and forth.

That was enough. He was ready, and now she begged for him to spread her and come inside. He ran his hand between her legs and felt her moisture. She was ready, too. He let her go just long enough to undo his belt buckle and zipper, and let his dress slacks fall to his ankles. He stroked down her ribs to her hips and then her thighs. Holding them apart, he moved into her space.

He entered her slowly. The feel of her warm buttocks on his thighs was amazing; incredible. The tight squeeze of her inner folds surrounding him caused a bubble of intense emotion to form in his chest. His eyes began to water. He felt himself falling into some new place, some better place.

As he withdrew and entered Abby a second time, his lips parted and he spoke without thinking.

“I love—” He stopped mid-sentence. Did I mean it? He slid into her again, his knees weakening and his heart leaping. Yes. He meant it.

He pulled apart from her and helped her up from her stomach. He had her sit on the edge the counter and moved between her legs. He had to tell her face to face; eye to eye.

“I love you, Abby.”

She pressed her forehead to his. “Andrew, I love you, too.”

A hush fell over them. The only sounds were the hum of the aircraft. He was ready to give her everything, and committed then—he would set about to show her just how much he loved her.