Anita Bunkley - First Class Seduction

Lori stilled under Ramon’s piercing dreamy brown eyes, knowing he was waiting for a go-ahead signal from her.

Her body was taut, aching for his touch, and she didn’t want the feeling to slip away. What she wanted was to feel him all over her, inside her, tasting and teasing and probing places that were in desperate need of attention.

What the hell? How far can things go inside my garage? she rationalized, arching forward and flattening her breasts against his chest while stifling the moan of joy that crept into her throat. She let him push her back against the car, inviting Ramon to press closer and devour her mouth in a deep, probing kiss. As their tongues explored and flicked over each other’s in their search for satisfaction, Ramon’s fingers worked on the knot in the straps that held Lori’s halter top in place. When the soft white fabric fell to her waist, Lori gulped back her need, parted her legs and guided Ramon to stand between them.

She welcomed the feel of his tongue and the scorch of his fingers, loving the blistering press of his ample size as it grew hard against the flat of her stomach.

“Hey, Lori!” Brittany’s voice bounced against the closed garage door and jolted Lori out of her self-indulgent trance. “Oh, my God! It’s my neighbor,” Lori hissed, forcing Ramon to back away so she could pull up her halter top and retie the straps.

“Not a word,” she whispered to Ramon as she pressed the button to raise the garage door, pushing an explosion of black curls out of her eyes.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANITA BUNKLEYis the author of many successful mainstream novels and novellas and enjoys writing romance for her many fans. A member of the Texas Institute of Letters and an NAACP Image Award nominee, she is a recipient of a 2007 Career Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews. Anita lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband, Crawford.

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First Class Seduction

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To my husband, Crawford, with love.

Dear Reader,

As an avid traveler, I often wondered just how exciting the life of an airline flight attendant could be. While preparing for this story, I spent some time chatting with a friend of mine who works for a major airline as an attendant. She agreed that her job can be very stressful at times, but meeting so many people from different cultures and nations is indeed a wonderful adventure.

While traveling, I love to observe fellow passengers, trying to guess where people are going, who their companions are and why they are taking a particular flight. My idea for First Class Seduction came to me during a recent flight to Italy as I watched a handsome man flirt openly with our very attractive flight attendant. When we arrived in Rome and departed the airport, I wondered if the two managed to get together. I hope so, as they made a very strong impression on me…and several other passengers!

Drawing story lines from real-life experiences is what I love to do, and I keep my eyes and ears on alert for any spark that can inspire my next romantic story. Living on the Texas Gulf Coast with Mexico as a close neighbor also inspired me to create this intercultural love story. I hope you enjoy my romance of flight and intrigue as we cross geographical borders and see love bloom between two very special characters.

If you love to travel, crave adventure and like a bit of mystery, this is the book for you.

If you want to drop me a line, please e-mail me at arbun@sbcglobal.net.

Read with love!

Anita Bunkley

Lori Myles finished her virgin strawberry daiquiri, slipped off her barstool, tugged down the hem of her ruffled miniskirt and accepted the stranger’s outstretched hand. Moving with precise steps in her black stilettos, she followed her new dance partner into the pulsing throng that was grinding and bumping to Usher’s latest single on Club Azule’s too-small dance floor.

The club, named for its spectacular view of Acapulco Bay, was a popular “in” spot in the resort town’s throbbing nightclub scene. The exclusive nightspot, tucked away on a quiet curve of the bay, dished out music that drew locals as well as tourists who wanted to socialize, enjoy the music and dance the night away.

Whirling strobe lights flashed overhead and cool neon color beams glowed in the semidark, providing Lori with a fractured glimpse of the man who was guiding her into the gyrating mob. He was slim, but his tight booty was high, round and encased in fitted jeans. His V-shaped torso, flanked by muscular arms that bulged impressively under a short-sleeved polo shirt, tapered into a wide leather belt studded with silver nails. His wavy black hair swept the ridge of solid shoulders as his slight jerk of a swagger sent the teardrop earring in his right earlobe into a dance of its own. As each burst from the strobe lights hit his golden brown skin, he glowed like copper money.

As soon as her partner elbowed space for them in the frenzied crowd, the music suddenly shifted from Usher’s fast-paced beat to a sensuous number by Mary J. Blige, changing the mood entirely. Some couples left the dance floor. Others slid into place, arms wrapped around each other to execute slow, sexy moves.

Lori gave her partner a quizzical look, wondering if he still wanted to dance. He responded by taking her hand and easing her into position, his arm circling her waist. She dropped her shoulders, sucked in a silent breath and tightened her grip on him, surprisingly shaken by the way his probing dark eyes were boring into her. Something told her that this man wanted to show off his stuff, and she planned to match him step for step.

Biting back a satisfied smile, Lori followed his lead, impressed by the near-perfect moves he was throwing down. In her opinion, this was the best way to spend a free evening—in the arms of a handsome stranger who was all about the music and the moves, and not into a lot of disjointed, phony conversation that served no purpose and went nowhere. She did not go to clubs to meet men, but to dance, and this guy was one smooth operator. He had not uttered a single word.

Fine with me, Lori thought, appreciating his lack of conversation. She spoke Spanish well enough, but rarely spoke to the men she danced with. No English was the best route to take. That way there were no complications, no false promises or drama, only a good time and a fast exit when it was time to leave.

At twenty-nine, Lori had worked for Globus-Americas Airlines (GAA) for six years, with a flying schedule that took her from Houston to Mexico City, and then on to Acapulco—a dream of a schedule that fit her carefree lifestyle as well as her love of travel and adventure. An avid dancer, Lori had come to Club Azule to escape her hotel and spend a few hours of her overnight layover having fun in Acapulco. Working as a flight attendant for GAA was exciting, but stressful work, and dancing was a good way to wind down after her long flight. Keeping things impersonal, uncomplicated, and stress-free was the only way to go. For her, a perfect night out meant bumping and grinding to music with someone who had no interest in anything other than a good time. Someone who shunned name-giving, requests for cell phone numbers, and questions about her plans for tomorrow. Why bother with all that nonproductive talk? By tomorrow morning, she’d be high in the sky, flying away from Acapulco, and on her way back to Houston.