“Good. I’ll have the limo pick you up at two. We’ll fly down there, stay in a hotel there overnight, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yes. Perfect. Oh, God, I have to find something to wear to a premiere. Good Lord, I don’t have much time, do I?”

“I’ll take you shopping tomorrow.”

“I don’t need you to take me shopping. And I don’t have time to shop. I’ll be busy all day tomorrow finishing up plans for this luncheon.”

“Fine. I’ll have Liz send something over.”

“No. I can shop for my own clothes. I’ll make time.”

“Tara, I didn’t invite you to the premiere so you’d panic. And I’ll make sure you have something premiere-worthy to wear. That’s my responsibility, so don’t sweat it, okay? Besides, my agent has people who work for her who don’t have nearly enough to do.”

She laughed. “Okay, if you insist. And Mick?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for inviting me. I’m very excited.”

“Me, too.”

THE NEXT TWO DAYS PASSED IN A FLURRY OF ACTIVITY. When she told the girls about the invite to the premiere, she wasn’t sure who was more thrilled about it—her or them. Even though she had a million last-minute things to do for the luncheon, Maggie insisted Tara get a manicure and pedicure, despite Tara’s vehement protests that she had zero time for it. But Ellen and Karie said everything was covered for the luncheon, and Tara was worrying needlessly.

But that was her job. If she didn’t worry about every small detail, who would?

At least the luncheon kept her mind off going to some fancy movie premiere with Mick. Otherwise she’d have been an utter basket case worrying about what she was going to wear and how she’d put her hair up and what jewelry she’d choose.

But those things, apparently, were out of her control, at least according to one Lisa Montgomery, who showed up bright and early Tuesday morning. Lisa worked for Elizabeth Darnell, Mick’s agent. She burst into the store right when they opened, took Tara’s measurements, asked about Tara’s preferences on dress colors, shoes, hairstyles, makeup, and even jewelry. Maggie, Ellen, and Karie giggled and got into the spirit of it while Tara mostly just sat there shocked through it all until Lisa thanked her, told her everything would be taken care of, all Tara had to do was show up in L.A. on Wednesday, and breezed out the door.

By the time the luncheon—which went off perfectly—was over, Tara was physically and mentally drained. Yet when the limo service showed up, she couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of excitement, more because she’d get to see Mick again than over the premiere. But Maggie shooed her out the door and told her they’d finish overseeing the last of the cleanup.

So she climbed into the black stretch limo, feeling way more important than she was, and tried to relax as they made their way to the San Francisco airport. She was surprised to find they were taking a small private jet rather than a commercial airline. She climbed on board the luxurious jet. Mick was seated at the back in one very comfortable looking chair. He stood when she walked in, came over to her, folded her in his arms, and kissed her soundly.

She melted in his arms, all the stress of the week floating away as his lips moved over hers, his tongue sliding inside to lick against hers. She sighed, leaning against him, loving the feel of his hard muscles as she held on to him.

It was hard not to want to continue kissing him, touching him, but they weren’t alone. She broke the kiss, and he touched his forehead to hers.

“I missed you.”

She smiled, loving that he said the words that she felt. “I missed you, too.”

“How did your luncheon go?” He motioned her to a white leather sofa.

This plane didn’t look like a plane. It looked like a hotel suite with lush carpet and oversized chairs that swiveled. And the sofa. She’d never seen anything like it.

She sat, and he sat next to her.

“It went really well.”

“Great. I hope you get more business from it.”

“Me, too.”

The flight attendant on board served her a glass of champagne. She grinned, feeling a little decadent, but gladly accepted it, then turned to Mick, who sipped a glass of what looked like club soda. “No champagne for you?”

“It’s summer and I’m in training. My personal trainer would kick my ass if he found out I was sweating out alcohol.”

She laughed. “Working you hard, is he?”

“Sometimes I cry a little after a workout. But don’t let it be heard I said that. It’ll just pump up his ego.”

“I can’t even imagine, as in shape as you are, what it takes to get you like that.”

He shrugged. “I’m getting older. It’s harder to get me this way, so I have to work at it.”

“Football is a brutal sport. You have to be built like the side of a mountain to take the kind of hits you do.”

He leaned back and played with the ends of her hair. “It’s easier on me than a lot of the other guys. I just stand back there and throw.”

“Uh-huh. I’ve seen the games. You take your share of hits.”

“So, you’re a fan. Want an autograph?”

“Why, yes, I do. You can autograph your tongue on my—”

“We’ll be ready for takeoff shortly, Mr. Riley.”

“Thanks, Amanda,” he said, not once taking his eyes off Tara. Once Amanda left for the front of the plane, Mick leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers.

Tara swallowed, her body engulfed in an inferno of need.

“Tattoo with my tongue, huh?”

She should be embarrassed that Amanda the flight attendant had probably overhead what she said, but at this point, her only concern was Mick. “Yes.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Time to buckle up.”

They moved to separate seats until after takeoff, at which time Amanda brought them fresh drinks, grilled shrimp appetizers, and a salad.

“I figured you’d need something to eat,” Mick said. “Once we touch down there won’t be any time to eat until after the premiere.”

“What’s the agenda?”

“Liz said she arranged for someone to do your hair and makeup, and she has your dress and shoes and all that jewelry stuff ready in L.A.”

“Mick, you’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble on my behalf. You didn’t have to do that.”

He picked up her hand and kissed her wrist. “I want this to be a fun night for you.”

“Obviously this is some event your agent wanted you to attend for exposure?”

“Of course.”

“And she didn’t exactly expect you to bring me as your date.”

“I don’t do everything Elizabeth tells me to do.” He’d held her hand and licked the inside of her wrist. She shuddered.

“How long do we have before the flight lands?”

Mick picked up his cell phone to glance at the time. “About forty minutes. Why? You have something in mind?”

Her gaze panned the confines of the plane. “Not much privacy here.”

“More than you think.” He stood and took her by the hand, leading her through the door at the back of the plane. She gasped when she realized it was a bedroom.

“Holy shit. Who owns this thing? Some sultan?”

Mick laughed, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. “It’s Irvin Stokes’s plane.”

“Oh my God. I had no idea. He must really like you.”

“Well, yeah. But he really likes Elizabeth, too. She schmoozes him, has lunch with his wife all the time. I think he thinks of her as his oh-so-successful daughter.”

She turned and wrapped her arms around him. “I think he really likes you. I can’t believe this airplane.”

“Enough talk of airplanes.” Mick reached behind him and locked the door, pushing Tara against the wall. “Care to join the mile-high club?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She pressed her lips to his, her ni**les already tingling at the thought of ha**g s*x with Mick on this plane. She was having so many wild experiences with him, but this one was insane and all too exciting. She was wet and ready and wished she could be instantly na**d so he could f**k her.

Then again, why did she have to be na**d at all? His mouth was on hers, his hard body pressed to hers, and she was wearing a sun-dress. His c**k was hard against her hip. She adjusted her body, putting his hard-on in direct contact with her sex, then rubbed against him.

He dropped his gaze to hers with a smoldering look that made her melt inside.

“Something you want?”

“Yes. Your c**k inside me. Now.”

He lifted her dress, fisting it in his hand as he pushed it over her hips, then reached for her panties and dragged them down. She wiggled, letting them drop to the floor. Mick unzipped his pants and took out his cock, reaching into his pocket for a condom, tearing it open, and sheathing himself in record time.

Mick pushed her against the wall and lifted her leg over his hip, shoving inside her with one hard thrust that would have made her scream if she wasn’t cognizant of not being alone on this plane. Instead, she gasped as he pulled out and drove into her again. She felt the pulse of her pussy, demanding more of the sinful pleasure he gave her.

He dragged the straps of her dress off her shoulders and bared her breasts, then bent to latch onto one of her ni**les and sucked, hard. Tara shivered, banged her head back against the wall of the plane, the roar of the engines equaling the roar of her blood as it pounded in her ears. She pulled on Mick’s shirt, and he lifted his arms, allowing her pull it off him.

Oh, she liked this, having him slam her against the wall of the plane, her dress nothing but a wad in his hands as he held on to it while he pummeled her with deep upward thrusts, the frenzy of their lovemaking taking her out of her mind to a place where she felt crazy and free. She knew nothing but this man and this moment and the center of her being where desire coiled like a snake, fierce and unhindered. She scored his shoulders with her nails and demanded more.

“Shit,” he said, rocking his pelvis harder against her, giving her the more she’d wanted, sliding his hand between them to massage her clit, separating enough to let them both watch as he f**ked his c**k inside her and used his fingers on her clit.

“I’m going to come, Mick. Keep f**king me like that.”

She felt her pu**y clamp down around his cock, a wild spiral of sensation taking over, and she came with a wild cry.

Mick slammed his mouth over hers, sucking on her tongue as he rocked against her, shoving deep inside her with a groan as he hit his cl**ax and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground while thrusting hard and deep inside her.

Out of breath, her legs tingling, she went with him when he carried her to the bed and fell on it, her on top of him, both of them panting and damp with sweat.

Tara didn’t speak for a few minutes, content to just feel Mick’s heartbeat against her while he stroked her back.

“I think I wrinkled your dress,” he finally said.

She laughed. “I don’t think I care. But we might be sweating on Mr. Stokes’s bedspread.”

“I don’t care, and I’m sure he doesn’t.”

They cleaned up in the very nice and not at all typical airline bathroom. Tara smoothed her hair and dress to the best of her ability, but it was quite obvious from her pink cheeks and slightly puffy lips that she had a just-fucked look about her.

“I definitely look like I just had sex. How will I ever face the flight crew?”

“The flight crew is paid very well not to notice anything. Let’s go have a drink before we land. You made me thirsty.”

She laughed and took his hand, suddenly very thirsty herself.

THE ONE THING TARA LEARNED VERY QUICKLY UPON arrival in Los Angeles was that Mick’s agent was one hell of a planner. A limo met them at the plane and whisked them off to an incredibly ritzy hotel, where she was pulled away from Mick by an entire team of makeup and hair people. She was tossed into the shower, and afterward was buffed, puffed, and polished to within an inch of her life. She’d had her makeup professionally applied, her hair done, and she even had a woman come in and dress her.

She wondered if this was the lifestyle movie stars grew accustomed to. It certainly was nice to be pampered and all, though it was a bit overwhelming. By the time she stood in front of the mirror dressed in some shockingly expensive designer gown and adorned with jewelry she didn’t even want to know the cost of, she had to admit they’d done wonders on her, because she didn’t even look like herself. Airbrushing did magical things to a person’s complexion. The scar over her eyebrow she had gotten as a child when she fell off her swing set had been expertly obliterated. Her eyes looked huge and ... beautiful, and her eyelashes—whoa. No amount of standing in front of the mirror with a mascara wand could ever hope to replicate the magic of false eyelashes.

The copper-colored strapless gown cinched in at her bust, waist, and hips, then fell in magical waves to the floor, and was the most beautiful thing Tara had ever worn. And the shoes—God, the shoes. Strappy and stiletto with a cute bow over the toes. They matched the dress, and she wanted to sleep with them until she died.

“Thank you all—so much. I feel like Cinderella tonight. You all worked so hard to make me look pretty, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

The staff of makeup and hair and dressers all grinned back at her, hugged and kissed her, then left the suite. Tara inhaled, let it out, then turned once more to the mirror.