I gesture to his laptop, struggling for topics of conversation. I don’t know why I’m bothering. Clearly, he wants to work and I should just leave him alone. “You expect to get a lot done during the flight?” I don’t know Lexington well apart from the occasional mutual dinner parties we attend, mostly because I’ve only ever been around him with Armstrong present, and their dislike for each other has always been very apparent. My first impression of him, which initially was of his overwhelming attractiveness and his intense flirty-ness, was also tainted by Armstrong’s warning that he was bad news. Based on what I now know about Armstrong, I’m not so sure I should’ve listened to him in the first place.
Lex shrugs. “We’ll see. I have a few properties I have to visit and some projects to work on, so it doesn’t hurt to start laying some of the groundwork before I get there. Besides, I fully expect my father to come at me with a million questions within an hour of landing, so it helps to be prepared.”
Lexington tugs at his tie, loosening it until he can lift it over his head. He unfastens the top two buttons on his shirt. I gasp and skim my fingertips over the faint purple mark low on his neck. Touching him feels like running my fingers past a live wire. He jerks at the contact and I snatch my hand away, pressing it to my lips. I can both smell and taste his cologne.
“I’m so sorry about that,” I say from behind my fingers.
He chuckles and strokes the dark spot. “Don’t be. It makes me nostalgic for my teen years.”
I bite my lip to contain my grin. “Oh my God. I was grounded for a month the first time I came home with a hickey.”
“First time? Were there multiple infractions?”
“I had a boyfriend in high school who liked to mark his territory. Needless to stay, he was not a family favorite.” But he sure was good with his mouth. I don’t mention that while I was in high school he was in his second year of college.
“I dated a girl who hickeyed her name across my stomach.” Lexington’s eyes light up with the memory.
“Did she at least have a short name?”
“It was Jennifer, but she went by Jen with one N, so it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Well, that’s not true. She made those letters big and it was pool weather.”
“Oh my God.” I can totally imagine Lexington with abs covered in hickeys.
“I was a lifeguard. I had to wear a tank top in the water for almost two weeks. Mimi was not happy.”
Mimi, or Meredith—Lex’s mother—is a lovely, mostly proper woman, but every once in a while I catch a glimpse of what might be impishness. It’s just the little things she says, the digs she gets in with her sister, Gwendolyn—Armstrong’s mother. “How old were you?”
“Maybe seventeen or eighteen. She was concerned about the negative influence on Bancroft, not that she had to worry, he was all sports, all the time. I don’t think he even knew girls existed until college.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Especially with the way he is with Ruby. Those two treat sex like it’s an Olympic sport. I want that kind of connection with someone. I’d hoped I would have that with Armstrong, eventually, but in the back of my mind I think I knew it would never be like that.
“He was a bit oblivious.”
“What about Griffin?” He’s the oldest of the Mills brothers, Lexington being in the middle.
“He was born ready to fall in love. He dated the same girl all through high school and was crushed when it ended. He dated another girl in college for three years, but she moved to Texas for medical school and it just didn’t work out. Then he met Imogen.”
“He’s only had three relationships?” I can’t even imagine that. I dated so much in high school and college.
“Yeah. Three long ones.”
“What about you?” I cringe at the inappropriateness of the question considering our circumstances. “You don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s fine.” He traces the edge of his laptop. “And I actually mean that it is fine to ask. I didn’t really do serious relationships in high school.”
“Too busy getting hickeys?”
“Something like that. What about you? I bet you had a high school sweetheart and when you moved to New York you broke his poor, lovesick heart.”
I laugh at that. “Not quite. I didn’t have very good taste in boys when I was young. Well, clearly that hasn’t changed, but I used to chase the bad ones, or more like they used to chase me.”
His gaze moves over my face. “I bet the bad boys loved you.”
I wag my eyebrows. “I looked a lot more innocent than I was. Ruby used to call me Anarchy Amie.”
“That’s quite the nickname. I can only imagine how that came about.”
“I was a little wild. Youngest of three, only girl and all that. I probably would’ve hickeyed my name across your stomach.” I guess the champagne is loosening up my tongue. I look away. “I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I’m going to stop talking now and let you work.”
He ignores the last part, closes his laptop, and takes off his glasses, setting them on his tray. “It’s probably good I didn’t meet you in high school.”
“Afraid you would’ve corrupted me?” I’m being sarcastic. Obviously.
“I think you might’ve been the one doing the corrupting, Miss-I-wear-garters-on-a-plane.”
I give him the side eye. “I knew you weren’t going to be able to let that go.”
“I was just waiting for the right time to slip it in.” His smile is full lecher.
“I have a feeling the corruption would’ve been mutual had we met in our younger years.” Why can’t I just keep my thoughts to myself?
His expression sobers. “I would’ve been too stupid to see what I had.” That smirk returns just as quickly as it disappeared. “And you wouldn’t have had your sex toy chest, yet, I’m guessing.”
“Here we go.” I roll my eyes. But I’m sure the flush in my cheeks shows my embarrassment.
He’s mostly right about my toy collection. Although, I think I was probably an early bloomer when it came to toys and experimenting. I owned my first vibrator before most of my friends had even had sex. Including Ruby. I go back to flipping through my magazine when the silence stretches out too long to be comfortable anymore, and I start imagining what it might’ve been like to have met Lexington when I was going through my wild phase. One of them, anyway.
“Can I ask you something?”
I stiffen. Partly because he’s leaning in so close his arm touches mine. And his voice is like sex. The naughty, dirty kind. The kind I haven’t had since I started dating Armstrong. I’m so sick of polite sex. I want someone to pull my hair. I want my ass smacked, I want fuzzy handcuffs and maybe some mild restraints—I’m not that kinky that I want the whole whips and chains deal, at least I don’t think I do, but some light bondage and a good hard fuck, the kind I’ll feel long into the next day, that I can totally handle.
I inhale slowly, breathing him in and turn to meet his gaze. God, those eyes. They’re stunning. A gorgeous shade of blue I want to dive into. And that jaw. I want to bite my way across it. He drags his tongue across his bottom lip. I’ve bitten that tongue. Sucked on it. Stroked it with my own.
Sweet lord, I forced myself on this man and I’m thinking about doing it again. Maybe I really have kept my rebellious side tamped down for too long. Maybe this is what happens when I try to be something I’m not. As much as I rebelled as a way to get my parents’ attention when I was younger, I also reveled in the thrill of being a little bad.
“It’s personal,” he says.