Page 2 of Something Borrowed
Grinning, I nod. Why not? It could be fun. Not that I would have ever considered it before he suggested it. Or ever thought about doing something with a total stranger. Maybe that is why it is so appealing to me. Doing something on the island of Heart Harbor I never would have done anywhere else.
“Why not? Wedding crashing is a thing, is it not? Free food and drinks, terrible music, awful attire, it could be a good time.”
Laughing, I shake my head. I mean none of what I said. Even if I joke with him about it, I could never do that. What would my son think of me? What would people think if they saw he and I going to weddings together? They would think all the wrong things, that is what they would think.
“Do not tempt me, love,” he murmurs as he presses closer, his big hand coming to my thigh. His touch sends shockwaves rippling through me, tearing me apart inside. I even let out a whimper I cannot hold back. “Do not offer to spend an entire weekend at romantic weddings with me, Lark. I will take you upon that offer. It would be the weekend of my life, I think.”
Swallowing hard, I find myself unable to look away again. His hand comes back to my chin, and I blink in surprise. It is then I realize the plane has boarded and we’ve taken off. I was so taken by him, so drawn in that I never even noticed. Being in the air makes me anxious and he notices.
“Calm down, love,” he hums, sliding closer, his hand still on my chin, the other heavy on my thigh. Cupping my jaw, he tilts my head back. “Focus on me. Tell me why you chose this series to read? What drew you to it?”
“Th-the men from other countries,” I whisper, watching his mouth as he talks low, soft, soothing me with ease. “I have never been out of the country. I thought hearing about romantic men from all over the world might be exciting. Weird that I am talking to a man from another country.”
“Must be fate, yes? I believe in this sort of thing. That all things happen with reason,” he clarifies, his thumb rubbing softly over my lip.
Lawson grins at me, his eyes darkening as his hand tightens on my thigh. There is something predatory in his gaze. His thumb plucks at my lip and I gasp. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, making me very aware of how much I like his mouth. How I have been unable to stop staring at it.
Sitting back in my seat, I close my eyes to close him out. It does not work. I can smell him, feel his warmth, and his hand is still heavy on my thigh. He talks about some of the previous books in the series, making me laugh a few times. Whenever he mentions the spicier scenes, his hand slides higher on my thigh, until his fingertips almost touch my panties.
Not once do I consider stopping him. To stop talking or stop touching me. His soft Londoner’s lilt is sexier than anything I have ever head. I imagine it would be so hot reading one of these filthy stories to me. I am at ease with him beside me, thetwo of us talking romance and real life.
“It is strange we’re headed to the same place, reading the same sort of books, having so much in common,” I muse after he tells me he too loves to cook, and reveals we went to the same college, though decades apart.
“Fate,” he hums, his lips brushing my ear as he leans close.
“I would wager half of the people on this plane will go to one of those weddings. Doesn’t sound like fate at all.”
“None of them areus, love. None of them enjoy the smut we do,” he waves a hand to show the rest of the plane. “Even if they do, none of them are you. Or me. It is not chance I found you, is it, Lark? You’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I came to you because I could not stay away. The moment I laid eyes on you sitting here, reading that book, I knew.”
“You... y-you knew what?”
“That I made the right choice taking this flight. Coming to this wedding. Being where you will be this weekend. That book you’re reading... that is the sort of romance I can show you, if you want, love.”
Swallowing hard, I stare at him for a moment. I cannot think. Cannot process what he is saying. Does he know I am old enough to be his mother? Even if I want to indulge him, I can’t. How could I?
“Lark,” his voice is so raw, my nipples ache and pucker. “Not taking the piss. We’re going to the same place, for the same reasons. Both of us came alone. We do not need to be alone all weekend, do we?”
“You can’t mean....” I trail off as his hand shoves at my skirt, sliding dangerously high on my thigh.
“Oh yes, I mean what you think. Do you doubt a man would want you the moment he laid eyes on you, love?”
Slowly, I nod my head. Because why would I think anything different? My husband died five years ago. I’ve beenalone since. No one has flirted or tried to take me home from a bar. Not that I frequent bars or wouldnoticea man flirting. I was married most of my life. Flirting or dating remain things I am not well-versed in. Except, I’ve been flirting since he sat down, haven’t I?
“Men do not want...I mean...well, me. I am too old for children. I gave most of my youth to one man who loved me as best he could. Men never look twice at me. Is this some sort of...is this some cruel thing you do to women who would never get a man of your.... ilk?”
“Wrong, love,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding slowly up my thigh.
“How am I wrong?
“Lark, no less than five men have stared at you with lustful looks. Not talking about children. Most importantly: Iwant you,Lark.”
Blinking up at him as his fingers reach my panties, stroking over them, I gasp. Not at his words, filled with heat, or the want burning in his eyes. Not from the brush of his fingers over my wet panties. I gasp because I am thrilled by his words. Turned on by his nearness, by his brazen touch.
“Do you? You know nothing about me,” I whisper, although I know nothing about him and cannot deny how I want him.
We’ve been in the air almost an hour for our three-hour flight. Never have I been so at ease. It is because of him. I am not at ease—I amcomfortable. Enjoying being with him. Completely invested in our whispers about college, cooking, but mostly our love of filthy romance.
“One thing I know, love,” his mouth is at my ear, his breath hot, his words throaty. “This isfor me. Everydropof it is for me,” he hums as he rubs his fingers over my wetness afteryanking the lace out of his way.
