Something Sexy in the Air —Eros Airlines
Sex had never looked so intriguing.
Or so scary.
That's precisely the point. You need to step outside
your comfort zone.
Jorgina Gerard closed the glossy brochure, featuring Eros
Airlines and Fantasy Resort erotic vacation packages, and
fanned herself with it. She was alarmed that her body was
suddenly aroused at—of all places—the Dallas/Fort Worth
International Airport ticket kiosk. Mentally, she gave
herself a shake. What was the matter with her?
Um, could it be because you haven't had sex since your
boyfriend dumped you?
Cringing, Jorgie bit down on her bottom lip. All around her
there was bustling activity—business travelers rolling their
carry-on bags toward the taxi stands, separated lovers
reuniting with heartfelt hugs, harried moms and dads herding
ebullient children away from the enticing dangers of
escalators and baggage carousels.
What was she doing? Why had she let her best friend since
kindergarten, Avery Bodel, talk her into this? Was she
insane? Embarking on an exotic itinerary dubbed with the
provocative title Make Love Like A Courtesan. She didn't
need sex lessons. She was twenty-five. She watched cable
television. She'd been in a serious relationship and… and…
And as Brian had walked out the door he'd tossed the
accusation over his shoulder. "You're just too damned
conventional in the sack, Jorgina. Men need variety,
excitement, danger."
Danger? Jorgie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe
she wasn't the problem, maybe it was Brian.
And if Brian was the problem, then she didn't need to be
here, right? She just needed to find some guy who could
appreciate conventional.
"You know," she began, turning to her friend. This week,
Avery's hair was dyed the color of muscat grapes— a deep hue
of acrid purple. As a hairdresser, Avery changed her hair
style and color as often as most people changed clothes.
"Maybe this—"
"Oh, no," said Avery. She wrapped a restraining hand around
Jorgie's wrist. "You are not!"
"Not what?" Jorgie asked, but her voice came out high and
squeaky, giving her away.
"You're not fooling me. I've known you too long. You've got
that I'm-gonna-run-away-from-fun look in your eyes. Same
look you had in eighth grade when we played Spin The Bottle
at Miley Kinslow's birthday party and it pointed to the guy
you'd been mooning over."
"Quint Mason," Jorgie supplied, wondering if he liked
conventional girls.
She'd had a puppy-love crush on Quint for the entire school
year and he barely knew she existed. If she squeezed her
eyes closed tightly enough, she could still see him as he'd
looked then—lanky, medium brown hair, a devilish grin that
melted tweenaged hearts. Of course as a tenth grader, he'd
never given her the time of day and she'd been far too shy
to even say boo to him, but she'd been besotted. Jorgie
sighed. She'd been getting it wrong with the opposite sex
ever since.
Wonder what ever happened to him? Then she remembered
something her brother Keith had told her in passing after
his ten-year high school reunion the previous fall. He'd
heard Quint had been stationed in Afghanistan, but that he'd
recently left the air force and was working for some private
airline. That did not sound like a conventional guy.
"Yeah." Avery tapped her temple with an index finger. "Quint
Mason. That's him. This trip is just like that. You have the
chance to grab life by the throat and really live."
"But is an erotic destination vacation really the answer?"
"Look at this." Avery snatched the Eros brochure from her
hand and shook it under her nose. "Look at all the
opportunities you'd be running away from." Her friend
flipped through the pages, reading the copy as she went.
"Learn the sex secrets every courtesan knew. Find out how to
hold men completely in your thrall. Dance the seductive
dance that brought kings to their knees. Become an exotic
woman of pleasure."
Embarrassment heated Jorgie's cheeks. She snatched the
brochure back and stuffed it inside her purse. "Shh, someone
will hear you."
Avery shrugged. "So what? I'm not ashamed."
"There are kids around."
"Hey, I'm not their mother. It's not my job to censor their
exposure to life."
"Maybe not, but you don't have to announce to the entire
airport where we're going."
"Seriously," Avery said, "don't run away. This is your
chance to show that dork Brian that you're anything but
conventional. And where does he get off calling you
conventional? You two met at an accountants' conference, for
crying out loud. He's just as conventional as you, or he was
before he—"
"But I am conventional."
"Conventional is as conventional does."
"Huh?"
"It's something my grammie says."
"Your grammie says 'conventional is as conventional does'?"
"No, she says 'pretty is as pretty does,' I just substituted
conventional, but the advice still applies."
"It doesn't make sense either way."
"Sure it does. Act pretty and you'll be pretty. Act
conventional and you'll be conventional. Act unconventional
and—"
"I get your drift."
"So stop having cold feet. Actually, stop thinking. You
think too much, Jorgie."
"And you don't ever look before you leap, Avery."
"But I have a lot more fun than you do."
Jorgie sighed. True enough. "You know this is just a
variation of the same conversation we've been having for
twenty years."
"I'm the accelerator…" Avery said, starting the quote their
mothers spoke over their heads as they'd played in the
sandbox together. Avery was the kid who flung herself
headfirst down the slide. While Jorgie was the crying girl
who hovered on the top rung of the ladder, too scared to
climb back down, too fearful to take the plunge.
"And I'm the brake," Jorgie finished.
"We balance each other out. It's the secret to our lifelong
friendship." Grinning, Avery slung her arm over Jorgie's
shoulder.
Avery's grin bolstered her sagging confidence. The truth
was, she didn't know what she'd do without her. Avery had
such a life force. Whenever she was around her, Jorgie felt
stronger, braver, more adventuresome. What few risks Jorgie
had taken were due solely to her best friend's influence.
Avery was like an exuberant leader, barreling her way
through life on her magnetic charm and sheer good luck.
"Your turn." Avery elbowed her forward.
Shoulder muscles tensed tight as a wire, Jorgie stepped up
to the kiosk and inserted her credit card. Ready or not,
this was going down.
"While you're doing that," Avery told her, "I'm going up to
the ticket counter."
"Huh? What for?"
"Never you mind. I'll be right back." Avery raised her hand
over her head and gave Jorgie a backward wave. She sashayed
over to the ticket counter, her low-slung jeans and cropped
cotton T-shirt revealing a peek at the vivid ink art
decorating her lower spine. Jorgie would never ever have the
courage to get a tattoo, but as much as Avery's audacity
shocked her, she also admired it.
The ticket kiosk spit out Jorgie's boarding pass.
It was confirmed. She and Avery were on their way to Venice
to learn how to make love like courtesans. Not that Avery
needed sex lessons—the woman kept more men dangling on the
string than she could count—but her friend could definitely
do with a dose of the courtesans' famed discretion.
Okay, all right, she would do this. She needed this. It was
time she stopped playing it safe. Brian was right. She
was too conventional. She could do this as long as
she had Avery beside her.
Speaking of Avery, where in the heck had she gotten to?
Ticket in one hand and her carry-on clasped in the other,
Jorgie spun away from the kiosk. She was so busy searching
the crowd for her friend that she didn't see the man
barreling down on her until it was too late. She tried to
zigzag, but that only made things worse.
Wham!
They collided in a tangle of arms and legs and rolling
leather luggage.
"Miss, are you okay?" His voice was as deep as Phantom Lake,
where her parents owned a summer cottage.
His hands were on her shoulders, steadying her. That's when
Jorgie realized she was on the floor and her skirt had
flipped up, revealing way too much of her thighs. She yanked
her skirt to her knees and darted her gaze to his face. Had
he noticed?
The slick, knowing grin said, oh, yeah, he'd noticed.
And she was noticing for the first time just how extremely
handsome he was. The stuff of daydreams. Chiseled jaw.
Neatly trimmed thick, wavy brown hair. Mischievous
cocoa-colored eyes. A slightly crooked nose that told her it
had been broken at one time, but that kept him from being
too damned gorgeous.
She felt like fleeing. Jorgie gulped, stared. Say
something, dummy.
"Hey," he said. "Don't I know you?"
It surprised her that he'd use such a tired line. He looked
as if he would know all the cutting-edge come-ons. She
frowned, shook her head, unable to speak against the weight
of his warm, distracting hand upon her shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah, sure I do. I used to hang out with your brother
Keith, when my family lived in Burleson. It's Quint, Quint
Mason. Remember me?" He extended a hand.
Quint Mason? Was it possible? Here? Now? She stared, stunned
by coincidence and the power of his presence.
His hand stayed outstretched, the smile firmly hung on his lips.
She almost laughed. Not because there was anything funny,
but to help relieve her nervous tension. What else could she
do? She had to accept his help.
His hand was warm and hard and friendly, just like the man
himself. Gently, he tugged her to her feet.
She felt oddly absurd, as if she'd stumbled down an
Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole. "Umm… umm…" she
stammered.
"Janie, is it? No, wait…" He snapped his fingers. "Jorgie.
It's Jorgie, right?"
Happiness flowed over her. Mutely, she nodded. He'd
remembered her name.
"You've changed," he said, giving her the once-over with an
appreciative light dancing in his eyes. She wasn't the only
one who'd changed. He'd gone from lean and lanky to muscular
and broad-shouldered. "No more braces."
Her body flushed hot at his appraisal. "I got them off when
I was a sophomore."
"No more pigtails." His hand went to her hair, his
fingertips briefly skimming her neck.
Goose bumps set up camp on her forearms, and her breathing
grew so shallow she was practically panting. "Left those
behind with the private school uniform," she managed to say.
"You don't have library books clutched in your arms. Did you
lose your love of reading?"
"Nope. Nothing's changed there, but I've upgraded to an
e-book reader. Got it stashed in my purse for the plane ride."
"And you lost the glasses. LASIK or contact lenses?"
"LASIK," she said.
"Me, too."
"It's amazing you recognized me at all."
"Those eyes are the same." He nodded as if speaking the
wisdom of the ages. "So deep blue that they're almost
purple. Like a Colorado mountain stream. Not many people in
the world have eyes like that. The minute I looked into
them, I knew it was you."
He remembered her.
She shouldn't have found the idea so thrilling, but she did.
Her junior high crush remembered her. Her heart did a crazy
little rumba.
Oh, just stop it. You're being silly.
"You know," he said. "I'd love to stop and talk. Catch up on
old times…"
What old times? She hadn't spoken ten words to him the
entire year he'd lived in Burleson and hung out with her
brother. She'd been far too shy.
"Find out what Keith is up to these days, but…" He glanced
at his watch. "I'm late for work. Maybe we could hook up
later." His comment had been mildly made, but it threw her
off to think of meeting up with him again.
"Maybe." She breathed hopefully even as her brain churned
cruel taunts. Get a grip. He's not interested in you.
He's just being polite. Why would a guy like him be
interested in you? He's traveled the world over. Been in the
military. Probably been with dozens—maybe even hundreds—of
women. He's seen and done things you could never dream of.
You could never hold the attention of a guy like that. If
you couldn't hold on to someone as bland as Brian, you don't
have a prayer with Quint.
He pulled a card from the pocket of his houndstooth sport
jacket—he just had to be a snappy dresser, as well as
good-looking—and passed it over to her. "Give me a call when
you get back in town."
Yeah, right. She'd find the courage to do that about the
same time hell froze over. Still, she palmed the card,
clutched it tight.
"See ya." He picked up his carry-on, raised a hand in
farewell and took off.
Stunned, Jorgie felt as if she'd been clipped in a drive-by.
What was that?
"Omigod, who's the hottie?" Avery asked as she sidled up to
Jorgie. Simultaneously, they both cocked their heads to
watch Quint walk away, the fabric of his slacks molding to
his butt. They sighed in unison.
"That," Jorgie explained, "was Quint Mason."
"Quint Mason of Spin The Bottle fame? Get outta town." Avery
gave her a playful shove.
Jorgie pointed to her luggage. "I'm working on it."
Avery giggled. "You know what I mean. This is incredible."
"How so?"
"Seriously. It's kismet, fate, serendipity. I mean we were
just talking about him and poof… here he is. What
are the odds?"
"Well, actually," Jorgie said, her mathematical accountant's
mind kicking in, "the probability isn't as slim as you might
think, given that Quint works in the airline industry and
DFW is the biggest airport in the state. He probably passes
through here every morning on his way to work."
"Yeah, but what are the odds that you'd be standing here
when he sauntered by?"
"I could do a statistical analysis if you wanted…"
Avery plastered her palms over both ears. "No, no, please
spare me. Numbers make my head explode."
"It's really just like that phenomena where you decide to
buy a certain kind of car—"
"Spyder, I want a Spyder."
"You decide to buy a Spyder," Jorgie played along, "and
suddenly everywhere you look the place is crawling with
Spyders."
"Pun intended?"
"You know me. I can't resist wordplay."
"You can't resist anything brainiacish."
"Anyway…" Jorgie ignored that comment. "If we hadn't been
talking about Quint, then I probably would never have
noticed him. He would have walked right on by. Just like if
you weren't dying to own a Spyder, you wouldn't notice every
single one of them that drove past."
"Except that he didn't walk right on by, he ran smack-dab
into you."
"You saw that?"
"The whole airport saw it."
Jorgie winced. She hated being the center of attention and
nothing embarrassed her more than public humiliation. Unlike
Avery, who courted the spotlight with glee.
"Don't obsess about it," Avery said, accurately reading her.
"No one cares that your skirt was practically up around your
waist."
Jorgie groaned.
"Look at the bright side. At least you don't wear thongs.
Come on. Let's get through security before the line gets any
longer. Our plane starts boarding in fifteen minutes."