CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“We will begin boarding Flight Twenty-Three to New York shortly.”

Annalise turned in the direction of the gate agent, checking her watch as she talked to her sister in Paris, nine hours ahead of her.

“How is Mom doing today? How was the doctor’s appointment?” She paced the boarding area, scanning it for Michael, nerves skating across her skin. It was so weird to be traveling with him. This was what they had dreamed about when they were younger—this sort of freedom, including the freedom to change her flight. She’d been slated for a later one to New York, but had pushed earlier so they could fly together.

She stopped in her tracks, wondering what sort of traveling companion he was, like whether he slept on planes, his head bobbing up and down then crashing on her shoulder? It was an odd image—Michael Sloan dozing on a flight. Did he prefer the window or the aisle? Would he be chatty, or want to watch TV, or work the whole time? Would she want to do the things she normally did on planes—devour magazines like Discovery, National Geographic, and Vanity Fair, which were stashed in the outside pocket of her carry-on—or would they watch some lame straight-to-video release together on the mini-screen? All these details were unknown to her, even though many years ago she’d often imagined traveling with him.

“Her day was all right, but not great, to be honest,” Noelle said on the other end of the line, rooting Annalise to the present. Their father had passed on a few years ago, and their mother was alone in a small flat in Paris. That wouldn’t be a problem ordinarily, except she’d had a bad fall a year ago, and her hip hadn’t been the same since, so she relied on her two daughters. Noelle and Annalise did their best to stay near, check in on her daily, and help with whatever she needed. These efforts were complicated by Annalise’s travel for work, but she picked up the slack when she was in town. “Her doctors are switching her to a new medication,” Noelle added.

“What kind are they giving her?” Annalise asked, since she’d become far too familiar with drugs and dosages while married to Julien. He took several kinds each day to try to stave off the inevitable, and so when her mother had fallen ill, she’d poured her newly acquired knowledge into researching her mom’s meds. As she and her sister discussed side effects and dosage, Annalise wandered through the noisy crowds in the boarding area, weaving through teens slouched on blue upholstered seats, businessmen in rumpled suits hunched over laptops, pecking away at keys, and vacationers playing a final round of airport slots, hunting for that last-chance payout.

Somewhere by the Aladdin one-armed bandit, she spotted him.

Her stone-cold heart thawed again. It shed its jacket like a girl in spring, twirling in the sunshine.

A grin tugged at her lips as Michael walked toward her, dressed in crisp black slacks and a light green shirt with slim white stripes, the top button undone. The man was muscled and sturdy, his chest broad, his arms way beyond toned, his legs strong. Her eyes raked over him, snapshotting every detail, from his trim, tight waist, to his deliciously messy black hair, to the hint of stubble on his face. His jaw was square, his cheekbones strong, his lips so fucking kissable. His ice-blue eyes lit up when their gazes met, a match setting her ablaze with his heat.

As if a tropical sun caressed her, she warmed all over. A slow and sexy smile spread across his handsome face. That was when her focus on the call was officially shot to hell. Butterflies took flight inside her belly, surprising her. She’d expected lust, raging hormones, or the mad desire that Michael had unleashed in her the other night, but this was out of left field, this strange and new stomach flipping. It caught her off-guard, especially when the butterflies soared to the stratosphere as he stopped less than a foot away from her, said nothing at all, and instead just dropped a kiss on her cheek.

Oh God, how she wanted to cup her hand on that cheek, like a young girl capturing a first kiss.

Noelle said something about medicine, but Annalise was simply lost in this moment, her face lingering near his lips, as if all the travelers, all the noise, all the sounds of the world had blurred. These few seconds next to him were bright, crisp, and achingly real, turning everything else mute.

When Michael stepped away from her, she completely lost her train of thought, as well as the words she’d meant to say to Noelle. Her sister rattled off details about milligrams and twice a day. The sound of her voice jarred Annalise back into the reality of the phone call.

She blinked and refocused, but she was still lightheaded, just from the brush of his lips and the sight of his face. “Take care of Mom. I’ll be back soon to help out. Just a few days in New York for the shoot,” she said.

“Fly safely, mon petite papillon,” her older sister said. “Keep me posted on everything. Love you. Miss you. See you soon.”

Annalise ended the call, slipping the phone into her back pocket.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Silly grins and knowing looks passed between them.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Her voice was laced with flirtation, and she loved the way it sounded as she talked to him. She thrilled at the way it felt to slide into this kind of woozy chemistry.

“What a surprise. I had no idea you were on this flight,” he said, playing along, as if they’d just met.

“Perhaps we can sit together and catch up on the plane,” she suggested, as if the two of them hadn’t already made those plans.

“I like that idea.” He leaned closer, his lips dangerously close as he said, “Maybe then I can whisper filthy things in your ear as we fly.”

She wobbled, his words making her hot. Her hand darted out, and she gripped his shirt, holding on. He looped an arm around her waist, making sure she didn’t fall.

“You’d want that, wouldn’t you?” he murmured, as he roamed his eyes over her. She wore skinny jeans and heels, and a silky tank top that dared to show a peek of cleavage.

“Yes. So much. Would you?”

His eyes blazed darkly—his yes. “I would absolutely love getting you hot and bothered.”

She brought her lips closer to his ear. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I’m already there.”

A few minutes later, the gate agent’s voice warbled across the tinny speakers, calling for first-class passengers. Michael swept his arm to the side, letting her lead the way.

As they stepped onto the plane, he asked, “How’s your mom?”

The question surprised her, but she answered quickly, “She’s okay. Well, she’s not great. I was talking to my sister about her,” she said and shared some more details. She figured he must have heard the tail end of the conversation, picking up a few French words that she’d taught him once upon a time. Back when they were younger, he’d helped her with her English slang, so it was only fitting that she taught him some of her language. Mostly she’d taught him naughty words.

Which reminded her…

“I need to work on your French again,” she teased as they quickly found their seats, comfy gray leather chairs in the second row.

“You think so?”

“Like I did before,” she said, jogging his memory. “Have you forgotten it all?”

His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Why don’t you try me and find out?”

“Perhaps I will.”

The flight attendant strolled by and asked if they needed anything.

“All set,” Annalise told her, then carefully tucked her camera gear under the seat in front of her, meticulously taking the time to make sure it was positioned against the leg rests.

Michael tipped his chin toward the bags. “What’s the job in New York? More bikinis?”

“We have one more day in some very iconic New York locations for Veronica’s. We’ve actually booked the New York Public Library, and we have some fantastic shots planned of the girls lounging in their PJs on these leather couches, reading old books. It’s going to be very cool.”

His eyes twinkled. “Can I have your job?”

“You want to lounge in your PJs and read in the library?” she said, nudging him with her elbow.

“Yeah, that’s it. Exactly.”

“When Veronica’s adds boxer briefs, perhaps I’ll suggest you model them.”

He leaned his head back and laughed, a deep, hearty sound that warmed her soul. She loved his laugh; he’d been so laidback and carefree when she knew him before, quick with a joke or an easy comment. When his chuckles slowed, he lowered his voice to a dirty whisper, “But you don’t even know if I wear boxer briefs.”

She arched her eyebrow in a challenging stare. “No. But I fully intend to find out the answer to that, and to discover it…” She let her voice trail off, watching him linger on her every word with parted lips before she added, “So very soon.”

He drew a sharp breath, and she zipped right back into the conversation. “Then after that, I have a boudoir session with a private client.”

“Private client?”

“Just a woman who wanted to have some shots done as a gift for her husband.” She’d secured space for the shoot in a studio with a gorgeous, sumptuous bedroom set. The woman was the CEO of a sex-toy company, Joy Delivered, and she’d found Annalise through a mutual contact—her brother worked and lived in Paris with his wife, and Annalise had met them a few times at dinner with friends.

“Do a lot of women do that?”

“Enough to make it a good living for me,” Annalise said as passengers shuffled onto the plane, stuffing bags in overhead bins and checking their phones as they searched for their seats.

Michael shook his head in admiration. “Never knew boudoir shots were such a thing.”

Annalise nodded enthusiastically. “They’ve actually grown immensely in popularity in the last several years. More and more women do them. Some just do them for themselves.”

He cocked his head, his eyes hooked on hers, then answered in a thoughtful voice, “That sounds very empowering. I suppose you don’t have to be Gisele to pose for the camera in a lacy white teddy.”

“Yes! That’s it exactly. Not everyone gets that, but you do,” she said, grateful that he understood something few men truly got. While Michael had certainly indicated his appreciation for the gorgeous women on display yesterday, she adored that he understood that true beauty ran deeper.

He tapped his temple. “I can be a feminist.”

“It’s hot,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “And that’s honestly why I love shooting boudoir. Women are realizing that they don’t have to be rail-thin to look good in lingerie. You can have curves, you can have extra padding, you can have stretch marks and still put on a black satin bra and sexy panties and feel wanted, feel sensual,” she said, moving her shoulders and her hips, demonstrating how a woman might feel sexy. “It’s a way of celebrating their femininity. They’re capturing sexuality on camera.”

“They’re capturing their life,” he said with a nod and then added, “They’re enjoying their life.”

“Exactly. I’ve done photos for women after they’ve lost weight and want to celebrate their new bodies. And I’ve done some for others who haven’t lost weight but still want to embrace all that they are, and feel comfortable in their skin.”

“And you help them do that on the shoot?”

“I try. It’s not easy to strip down to your bra and panties and pose sexily for the camera. But my job is to make them feel like they’re all the sexiest women in the world.”

“How do you do that? What’s your secret?”

“I’m…wait for it… positive,” she said, like it was a punch line.

“Well, that would be a good skill,” he said with a quirk of his lips.

“It’s also natural to me. Because I do think the female body is beautiful in all shapes and sizes, and I let them know that they look amazing. Thin or heavy, average or above average. Blond, brunette, redhead. Birthmarks or scars. Every woman can be beautiful in her own way.”

He nodded. “I like that you feel that way. Ever shoot guys?”

“Shockingly, most men don’t do boudoir sessions,” she said in a deadpan voice. “But I have photographed a few couples.”

He arched an eyebrow, then made a rolling gesture, telling her to elaborate. “Are they getting it on?”

She shook her head. “I’m not a pornographer. But sometimes a newly engaged couple will do a sexy shoot. They want to take photos of their passion for each other. To showcase it.”

“They ever invite you to join them?”

She rolled her eyes. “Again, not a pornographer, or a third wheel.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“And to answer your question, no, they don’t. They’re happy together. They don’t want a threesome with the photographer.”

“I guess it’s just me then.”

“You’d want a threesome with the photographer?”

“No. I want a one-on-one with her. Only a one-on-one. That’s what I want,” he said, running his fingers across the ends of her hair, watching it fall from his hand onto her shoulder. “I want to be the one behind the camera, shooting photos of her looking gorgeous in anything and nothing.” His blue eyes were fiery, intense. “Then I want to set down the camera and have her invite me to join her on the bed, and all the sensuality she poured into the pose, she gives to me.”

Annalise shuddered and swallowed. Her throat was dry. Her skin heated up and then, out of nowhere, a flash of worry touched down. Goddammit. She didn’t want to feel an ounce of regret again about her choice to be with him. This time, she made a deliberate decision. She seized hold of that bit of remorse and tossed it in the trash. Instead, she let the heat and the sparks and the sizzle slide through her. “I would do that,” she whispered. “I would do that with you. I would give that to you.”

The flight attendant began the announcements, and Annalise settled into her seat, her skin on fire, a pulse beating between her legs, desire cloaking her once more. She closed her eyes and breathed, trying to get some sort of hold on these raging hormones, but with him next to her it was futile.

She resigned herself to being wet the whole flight.

It was all his fault. That fucking hot, sexy man.