Spider

Her face goes red as she bites her bottom lip where I touched it. Her tongue darts out and licks the spot. She seems to find her equilibrium though as she clears her throat and leans over to whisper conspiratorially. “Be provocative. That’s the one I just read. Pretty silly, right?”

My cock is hard as steel just from watching her lips say the word provocative. “Not at all,” I say huskily. “Show me how you’re provocative.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t even know you.”

“Which makes it even better. We’ll never see each other again.”

“You’ll laugh.”

I grin. “I dare you.”

Glowering, she considers me for a moment then reaches up and pulls her hair out of the bun it’s in, creating a cascade of long brown hair around her face. Thick and wavy, different colors of autumn curl over her shoulders, making me want to pick up one of the strands and run my fingers through it. I picture her on a bed, her hair all spread out on a pillow . . .

I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Nice,” I say as I sniff a strand. “Smells like vanilla. Not my personal favorite”—a lie—“but it works.”

“You’re too much.”

“Not enough, never. What else you got? Throw it at me.”

“Okay, how about this.” She pulls a silver necklace out from her dress and strokes the chain as she simultaneously flicks her hair over her shoulder and sends me a heavy-lidded look. She bats those long lashes at me then chews on her bottom lip. It’s a little silly—but I’m turned on.

“Hmmm, you’re okay,” I muse, feigning disinterest.

Her shoulders deflate. “Really? I mean, that’s the best I have.”

And it’s fucking hot.

“Mind if I take a peek at the book?”

She hands it over and I skim a couple pages, checking out a list of to-dos.

One word: laser. Remove all the hair from your body, including legs, armpits, and southern parts. No man likes hair unless he’s a Neanderthal.

You know what guys hate? Small boobs. Get plastic surgery or give up ever finding a guy.

I can’t read anymore.

“Fascinating that people make money off this drivel,” I say dryly.

“Trust me, I’m too smart to put any stock in it.” She shakes her head ruefully. “Now I’m just embarrassed that you think I’m that stupid.”

Clearing my throat, I dramatically read parts of them aloud. She giggles and tries to shush me, but I’m not having it. The other passengers have noticed and are staring.

Finally, with her face flaming in embarrassment, she pops me on the arm and jerks the Kindle out of my hand. “You’ve got to stop! No one on this plane wants to hear about breast augmentation.”

“Oh, but I do.” An idea comes to me. “Kiss me, Rose.”

“What?” She blinks.

“Kiss me. I’m going to show you how to get your guy, and the first thing you need to know is how to use that gorgeous mouth of yours.”

“Why?”

“Let me tell you a little secret,” I say. “Getting your guy is mostly about what you don’t say. Do you follow his every movement with your eyes? When you’re walking together, are your steps in sync? When you come into a room, do his eyes go straight to you, even with beautiful women all around him? If the answer is no to any of those, then you’re fucked. You can’t change chemistry, and no amount of hair removal or fake boobs can create it. It just . . . is. Attraction is magic, and you can’t find it in a book.”

She seems to find my words fascinating. “What makes you the expert on love?”

I wave her off—not even going there. “And your lips . . . they’re perfect. That little indention you have right at the bottom is pure sex, but if you don’t know how to use it properly . . .” My voice trails off.

“Okay.”

“Okay, okay?” I arch a brow. “Is that a yes?” Is she going to let me kiss her?

She nods, and before she can finish the movement, I take her necklace, tug her face to mine, and lay one on her.

And this is the weird part: I haven’t kissed a girl on the lips in a long time, but I go at it with her like I’m starving.

Her lips immediately part under mine, as if she’s been waiting for this too. She tastes like sun-ripened cherries, and I delve deeper, exploring her. After a tentative few seconds, she gives it back, her tongue finding mine and tangling. It’s gentle, but hot as hell. Cupping her face, I groan as I line her mouth with small feathery kisses, letting my teeth nip lightly on her bottom lip as I pull away.

“Spider,” she says softly, her chest rising rapidly.

My dick’s harder than I can ever remember, and all I want to do is kiss her again.

She moves closer to me, her tits pressing against my chest. My hand slips down to her neck and I graze the soft skin there, caressing her as I picture my lips sucking on her throat. I imagine my tongue playing with her nipples. Fuck. I want her.

“I want you,” I say, my voice heavy with lust.

“Kiss me again,” she says as I gaze into her eyes.

Damn. There’s something about her—

A pocket of turbulence shakes the plane out of nowhere, and several passengers gasp and cry out.

I forget about kissing as fear flickers over her face and she clutches her seat once again. “Was that normal?”

“Just turbulence. The pilot will probably take us higher to get out of it,” I say as the jarring continues.

Ding! The light to put on our seat belts comes on.

She closes her eyes, her voice high and reedy. “We’re going to crash, aren’t we? We’re going to die.”

“Hey.” I grab her hand and lace our fingers together, wanting to comfort her. “It’s going to be fine, I promise.”

She looks down at our hands in surprise just as another bump sends a passenger stumbling on his way back from the bathroom.

She turns green as she folds herself into my chest. I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Rose.”

When I get scared, my throat gets dry, so I look around for a flight attendant to get her some water. However, they’ve disappeared, probably buckling themselves in. I unclip my seat belt even though I’m not supposed to and stand to dig a bottle of water from my backpack, hanging on to the overhead so I don’t fall. Once I find it, I quickly sit back down and hand it over to her.

“Thousands of planes take off and land every day,” I say as she turns the bottle up.

“You’re a musician, not an aerospace engineer.” Her voice is a bit snappy.

I get it—she’s terrified.

I understand that. I have my own hang-ups: I don’t let people close to me.

“I happen to not like flying either. I just hide it very well.” I take her hand again, intertwining our fingers.

She peeks over at me. “Really?”

I nod. “You know what else I’m scared of? Opening shower curtains in every single hotel I stay in. I’m convinced there’s going to be a knife-wielding psycho who looks like Dolly Parton waiting for me. Maybe it’s the giant boobs, maybe it’s the wig, but something about her scares me. Also, roaches with wings. I know I’m a grown man, but what if I try to kill the bugger and miss and then it comes back with all its friends at night and then crawls in my ear and messes with my brain?”