This morning’s fashion show was a disaster and I was running late for my flight to Milan. Before the cab could fully stop at the St. Petersburg-Clearwater International Airport’s curb, I tossed the fee plus tip at the cabby and flung the door open. That forced him to make a quick stop and I jumped from the cab bumping smack into a handsome man with eyes so blue they had to have been plucked right from the heavens. But I was late and didn’t have time to be social.
As the aroma of Grey Flannel Cologne and the smell of leather from his black bomber jacket tickled my senses, I dragged my carry-on bags from the back seat of the musty cab and muttered some kind of an apology to the guy for stepping on his foot. Without waiting for his response, I raced through the doors and the airport as fast as I could. I did pick up the pace, but let’s face it, I was wearing a tight white skirt and blouse with red stilettos…I wasn’t getting anywhere fast.
I heaved my carry-on, my purse and the ticket to Italy over to my right side so I could check my Rolex. I can make it. I had five minutes to catch the flight.
I made it through security and finally got to the gate. Where was everyone? I rushed to the boarding desk. Out of breath I asked the girl, “Is this the flight to Milan?”
“Was?” I was breathing heavy and feeling faint from the sexy but tight corset I wore under my silk blouse, I had to have heard her wrong. I have two minutes left! “Is it delayed?”
I shook my head. This day wasn’t getting any better. “No — what?”
She finally glanced up at me with a smirk across her bright pink lips and slammed the small drawer to the desk closed. “No…it wasn’t delayed.”
“Was it cancelled?” I checked my watch again.
She cocked her head with an arrogant tilt. “It left three minutes ago.”
If I hadn’t been speaking, my chin would have hit the floor. “It can’t have left three minutes ago! It isn’t supposed to leave for another two minutes!”
The nasty woman locked the drawer with a hard twist and dropped the keys in her pocket. Trying to make her escape from my growing anger, she said, “You’re supposed to be at the airport an hour before an International flight.”
I caught a glimpse of the leather jacket guy from the corner of my eyes as he slipped out a side-door the wretched girl was heading toward. I chased after her. “A plane can’t leave early!”
“When bad weather’s due…it can.”
“Look! I have to be on that plane.”
She turned a snooty nose up at me as she stepped through that same side-door, blocking the opening with her body. “Sorry.”
I grabbed her arm. “No, you don’t get it. I’m desperate. I have a fashion show in Milan tomorrow night, I can’t miss it.”
“So catch a reruns of fashion week on TV.”
“I don’t watch fashion shows, I walk the runway. I’m a model and if I miss this gig…”
She pulled her arm from my grasp. “I really can’t help you.”
“…the best agent in New York, that I spent two years getting, will drop me, if you don’t get to Milan. I’m at your mercy.”
I stood there mouth wide open watching her sassy ass walking down the tarmac and hating her. I dropped my carry-on. “What a….”
“She can be.” The deep, sexy voice came to my rescue, turning my head to the left of me. There was the man in the black leather jacket I’d run into at curb of departures. His arm hooked lazily over the nose of a beautiful learjet. It was the first I’d noticed he didn’t have a shirt on under his leather jacket, so of course I couldn’t stop my surveying glance as it slide all the way down his smooth, tanned chest that blatantly flaunted it’s ripped, eight pack muscles all the way to the man’s hip bones, were his flat stomach V’ed down even further to a more interesting area just out of sight.
In spite of my anxiety over missing my flight, I felt a heat ignite in my core.
His eyes slid to me and squinted, suspecting me as the woman who’d stepped on his foot with her six inch stilettos. My condemnation came when his confirming glance settled on the guilty, red patent leather’s in my hand. “Dino Giovonni.” He jerked his head in a short nod of introduction.
I thrust my hand out. “Nice to meet you, Dino. Is this your plane?”
“Yes.” He smirked and I felt weak kneed at the sight of his beautiful white teeth. “Are you always this way?”
“What way?” I grabbed my dropped bag and sauntered toward him as best I could in bare feet.
“I’m in the modeling business. You have to be a go-get-her or you don’t work.” He hadn’t moved, so I walked up to him stopping with only a few inches between us. “I need to get to Milan. I’ll do what I have to do to get there.”
He pushed off the nose of the plane and walked toward the back as he wiped the oil off his hands. “Good luck to you Miss–“
“Havens.” I said as I followed him. “Will you help me?”
He tossed an arched brow over his shoulder as if surprised I was following him. He stopped and turned to face me. “What do you expect me to do about it?”
I sent an obvious glance to his Learjet. “It fly’s doesn’t it?”
“Yap, just replaced the retracted hydraulically on the landing gear.”
“How about a test flight to Milan?”
His laugh put a flutter in my stomach. “You’re one crazy woman, aren’t you?”
“I’ll buy the gas for this piece of tin.”
His brows waved from shock to insult in a split second. “Tin! This is a Learjet 85, the best there is.”
I shrugged, pretending to be unimpressed. “Prove it.”
He backed me against the fuselage, his hands braced against the glossy white painted body of the Lear on each side of my head. “Miss Havens, I’ve got nothing to prove. I’m not going to Milan.”
I smiled sweetly up at him. I had his ego’s attention now. “That’s fine. Giovonni is Italian, isn’t it?”
His sapphire eyes flashed with the intensity of a blue flamed fire. “Yeah, so?”
“Oh, nothing. You know what they say about Italian pilots.” I smiled.
His back stiffened. I pushed at his jailing arms. Big mistake. His biceps flexed. They were as hard as rocks under my touch and I couldn’t resist the urge to squeeze them.
His eyes meet mine.
Sparks ignited my brain. This guy was hot. I was finding it hard to hide my attraction.
His voice deepened. “What do they say?”
“All show no blow…isn’t that why you don’t have a shirt on? Showing off the merchandise, but no touching?” I removed my hand from the boulders he called arms and raked a glance over that muscled stomach again before clearing my throat to say, “They make better lovers, but then again, I have a girlfriend in Milan that tells me Italian men aren’t that great in bed either.” I smirked at his horrified expression. “Apparently, Italian men are lousy lovers as well.”
“That’s bull shit, in both categories.”
I dropped my shoulders and tilted my head accusingly. “I wouldn’t know.”
“You’re telling me you’ve never heard the phrase, Italian stallions?”
“All hype.” I whispered just before he leaned in and brushed his lips across mine.
He pressed away from me, leaving me breathless.
I gasped for air and caught a whiff of his Grey Flannel. My knee weakened as he spoke.
“Is it?” His mouth softened over mine before I could speak.
The tip of his warm tongue traced my bottom lip encouraging me to open my mouth to him. I did. I wanted to know what his tongue could do to me. His kiss was seductive as it battle with mine. My body heated as his hands roamed up my back and over my ass. Once he conquered my lips, he moved down my neck with phantom kisses so soft they made my c
lit tingle. Instinctively, my body molded to his, as I ran my hands under his leather jacket to get a feel of those sexy, Arnold Schwarzenegger-like pecs.
“Oh, my god.” I breathed heavily into his chest. “Fuck me.”
He pressed his body hard against mine. I could feel his erection as he murmured into my neck, “So, you want to test ride the stallion, do you?”
I smiled up at him as I worked the silver buckle on his belt. His strong hands came down over mind and stayed my busy fingers as he backed away and said….
Check back for part two when things really heat up.
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