Page 598 of Summer Heat
She props her chin up on her knees to watch as I re-buckle my belt and straighten out my clothes. “Is your plane going to have those personal pod seats?”
“In the first-class section, yes, but I’m flying business class. With how much I have to travel, the difference in expense adds up. I could fund ten more full college scholarships a year with the money.” I shrug. “So I do.”
She smiles. “God, you really are a saint.”
I puzzle over that. “Who calls me a
saint?” Stoic grouch is much more appropriate.
“I do. To anyone who asks. You’re easily the most giving person I know.”
“I’m not a saint, Summer.” I’m not sure why I want her to be clear on that, but I do. “I occasionally splurge on things. At each of my different cabins, I’ve got way more modes of transportation than a person needs—a couple of motorcycles, ATVs, boats, that sort of thing.”
“You have cabins? As in plural?”
I can’t help but smile over that. Summer is just such a refreshing change of pace. Most women I meet already have a stalker file of all my assets. “I’ve got three cabins in the U.S. The one I spend the most time at is actually not too far from our jobsite.”
“Oh.”
She’s like a curious little kitten, this one. And there’s another question brewing in there, I can see it. “Go ahead and ask. I’ve got a few more minutes.”
“No, it’s none of my business.”
I just wait her out. From my experience, questions don’t exactly stay bottled up in Summer for very long.
She breaks a second later. “Okay, I was just going to ask why you don’t stay at your cabin if it’s close to our jobsite.”
Instead of answer right away, I ask her a question of my own, “Would you stay at the cabin? If it were closer than the penthouse?”
“Actually,” she chuckles, “I’d probably pick the cabin even if it were farther away.”
A woman after my own heart.
“I would too. In fact, I used to stay at the cabin more than my loft in the city…that is, until I discovered my new tenant was an adorably sexy insomniac who had this cute habit of knocking on my door in the middle of the night.”
She blushes. “Sorry about that.”
I drop a kiss on her lips. “Don’t be. I’m not.”
My phone chimes and I really can’t ignore this last alert. “Sweetheart, as much as it pains me to ‘dine and dash’ on you.” I grin as her cheeks burn an adorable bright red. “I really do have to head over to the airport. I’ll have my cell phone throughout the entire trip so call me if you can’t sleep. As long as I’m not in a meeting, I’ll answer.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she says softly.
“I don’t ever make offers I ‘have’ to, just ones I want to. Trust me, talking to you will likely be the highlight of my days there.”
I pull her in for one final kiss, and make one parting request before I go…
Request, demand—tomato, tomahto.
“No touching yourself this week unless you’re on the phone with me. Deal?”
16
| SUMMER |
SUNDAY
(Time: 8:35 a.m.)
