Jake led her up the stairs and into the aircraft. “A private jet,” she breathed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Jet, yes,” he said, closing the door behind them. “Kidding, no.” Up front in the cockpit, Jake warmly greeted a tall man with close-cropped, blonde hair. “Megan, I want you to meet Captain Harry Murphy, US Air Force, Retired. Cap, this is Megan.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Megan,” said the Captain with impeccable manners. He had the look of someone who could handle absolutely anything. And probably had.
“Cap, we can push whenever ATC gives the go. We’re on schedule right now but we mustn’t let things slip, OK?”
“Roger,” he said simply.
“Megan, why don’t we get you strapped in?” Jake led her aft into a spacious sitting area with two large armchairs, one on each side of the cabin. “Usual stuff. Oxygen masks come out of here, life vest is under here. But we won’t be needing either of those. Far more important,” he said with a flourish, “is this.” Jake opened a side cabinet containing a chilled bottle of the best Champagne, and two glasses.
“Wow,” was all the stunned brunette could manage.
“Would you excuse me for a moment? The FAA insists I help with takeoff, but then I’ll be right back.”
Jake purposely left the door open so that his clipped, professional Air Traffic Control responses were audible to Megan who gradually, and with an enormous, lasting thrill, began to get used to her surroundings. Way to impress a girl, Mr. McMahon.
Megan understood nothing of what was being said, until the patently obvious, “Golf Sierra Three Five, you are cleared for takeoff, runway one five”. The plane’s engines rose from a softly whining idle to a screeching, roaring full throttle and the jet dashed along the runway and smoothly into the orange glow of the evening sky.
True to his word, Jake left Captain Murphy to fly the jet, closed the cockpit door – “Regulations,” he insisted – and opened the bottle of Champagne.
“To us, and to a really nice evening,” Jake said, clinking glasses with Megan.
She looked thoughtfully out of the window. “If the sun is on our right,” Megan was figuring out, “that means we’re heading south. Right?”
Jake enjoyed her sleuthing. “True. So, you know we’re not going to Maine, or Canada.”
“And you promised to have me back by morning, so we’re not going to some beach in South America.”
Jake stopped, mid-sip. “No, but that’s a fantastic idea. Let me tell Murphy. I’m sure he won’t mind.”
Megan grabbed him before he could stand up. “Florida?” she asked.
“Why don’t we make it a game?” Jake proposed. “You guess a city, or a state, and if you’re wrong, you have to lose one item of clothing.”
Megan blushed beautifully. “I’m not actually wearing that many,” she replied. “Dress, bra, panties, shoes...”
“Jewelry,” Jake added.
“Five, then. OK... How wrong was I about Florida?”
“Too far south. Shoes off, please.” Jake knelt by her seat and helped slip her heels off.
Megan had thought to object, but decided to do as she was told. She was equal parts excited to be being whisked away, enticed by the novelty of flirting on a private jet, and turned on by the thought of sequentially surrendering her clothes to Jake. “OK, let me think... Washington DC?”
“Still too far south. Want some help with your bra?”
She growled playfully, letting him unzip her dress part way. “Dammit.” Her bra came free, and she wriggled it off.
“What’s next? Remember, your panties are at stake.”
“I was thinking New York but, even for you, it’s a little close for the indulgence of a plane ride.”
“Is that your guess?” Jake asked, his fingertips tracing her leg.
“No. It’s too easy. Let’s say... erm... something less obvious? I’m going to guess Charlottesville. It’s beautiful there and they have a lot of good restaurants.”
Jake said nothing, but simply held out his hand.
“Oh, God damn it, Jake.”
“Hand them over,” he said, fingers beckoning.
“Come and get them,” she smiled back, her eyes full of desire.
Jake smiled broadly, lustfully, and then slid his hands slowly up Megan’s dress. “With the greatest of pleasure.”
***
Megan’s journey from La Guardia to Midtown was partly spent gazing slack-jawed out of the window, and partly trying to keep her hands off Jake.