He strokes the back of my head, then fists my hair in one hand as he draws me an inch closer. “I’ll take you to dinner, someplace nice. And I’ll drop you off at your hotel after.”

I find myself nodding. “Okay.”

“I’ll send you the confirmation.”

“I’ll send you my info.”

I should really probably stay away, but instead I lean forward and he steps closer, lifts me in his arms so that my mouth is leveled to his. And he kisses me, a toe-curling kiss that twists up my panties.

He sets me down and pats my butt. “Go then. Text me.”

“I will.”

I head to the doors. And I steal one last glance at him over my shoulder. Maverick is standing in the same spot, and when I catch him staring possessively at my ass, it makes me start to love the Himalayas like never before.

When I get to the hotel, I wait in the living room for the Tates to come back from their run. I hear Racer chattering outside and swing the door open.

“Hey, guys,” I say with a broad smile.

“Reese.” Remy brushes past me, carrying Racer up over his shoulders. Brooke pushes in the stroller and I help her fold it.

“Hey, is it okay if I go to Boston on my own? I’m meeting up with a friend,” I tell her.

She carries the stroller to lean it against a corner wall. “When do you get there?”

“To the hotel? By ten p.m. Maybe we’ll grab early dinner too.”

“It’s fine with us. Just tell your mother and it’s absolutely fine.”

“No,” Racer decrees from the kitchen where he and Remy are scouring for food.

“Racer, come on, let Reese enjoy her friend,” Brooke says, then she smiles and eyes me speculatively. “A boyfriend?”

“I . . . no. Just a friend.”

She smiles knowingly. “The guy back home?”

“Wee comes with me on Wemy’s plane,” Racer keeps protesting.

“Dad,” Brooke specifies. She groans and sends me a what-will-I-do-with-this-kid? look. “He hears us all call him Remy and he’s determined to call him that too. I’m going to have to start to call my own husband Daddy to see if it sticks.”

I laugh.

“Right, Daddy?” she calls as Remy lifts his head.

“That’s right,” he says as he fishes out a gallon of milk and pours Racer a small cup and himself a big glass.

I smile when Brooke joins them, then take out my penny and head to my room, kissing my lucky penny like a dope before I pull out my cell phone and text Maverick my info.

THIRTY-THREE

FIRST CLASS

Maverick

I’m wired today. Couldn’t sleep. Spent all night making our reservations, then picking the perfect restaurant in Boston to take Reese out.

I texted her the confirmation number and flight times, and she replied, I’ll see you there

My cock’s on fire today. My whole body is on fire today. My brain is on fire, my whole body buzzing in anticipation of fucking holding her, fucking looking at her, fucking making her mine again.

I read the text again while I wait at the airport and wonder if she got held up at the security checkpoint. “You masturbate daily, Mav?” Oz asks to my right.

“Yeah.”

I’m hard. So what. She does that to me.

“Do it more often.”

I clench my hands at my sides and exhale, trying to get it to come down. We’re at the boarding terminal, Oz and I.

I want to be alone with Reese, but I’m keeping a close eye on him too. Him and his “water.” I know it sure as heck isn’t water. But at least he’s cut it down some, now that I’m watching him so closely.

I want him to be well. I want him to want to be well.

“You won’t be able to take your hands off her. You need to woo a woman with your head, not with your cock.”

“I’m bringing my best game, Oz. Really. I’m taking you both out to dinner. Someplace nice.”

“So.” He pats the water bottle he mysteriously brought back from the men’s restroom a while ago, as if to make sure it’s in his jacket pocket. “Does Tate know she’s coming with you?”

I remain silent.

Tate is a touchy subject now. Oz hates that I train with him. He can go on for hours on what a bad idea it is to get in bed with the enemy, yada yada.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he answers himself. “Tate can go fuck himself. Or his hot wife.”

“Oz . . .” I shoot him a warning look. “We respect Tate. And his wife. Right?”

“Me?” Oz asks.

“Come on, Oz; we’re professionals.”

He frowns. “Tate’s gonna bust your face when he knows you’ve got it hard for his wife’s cousin.”

“Tate fucking knows, all right? And he’s not stopping me.” I rub my palms on my jeans and I glance at the clock.

The speakers flare up again for the second time: “Now boarding flight . . .”

The line is diminishing by the second.

I want to text her.

I’m too proud to text her.

I’m aware of Oz staring at me with an I-told-you-so look.

I get up and pace, then lean against a pillar, hands inside my jeans as I scan the walkers heading in our direction. I wait a little longer.

I text her.

You ok?

I call her. Voice mail picks up. “Reese? You all right? Call me.”

I check my phone for messages, nothing. I check my ticket and I stare out at the plane window.

Oz looks at me, the last man boarding.

I shake my head.

He sighs and heads inside.