Page 37 of Pucking Sweet

His expression heats as he leans in. “I mean sitting here talking to you.”

Okay, if he keeps looking at me like that, I’m going to kiss him again, and the internscannotcatch me kissing a player.

The plane bumps and rattles as we take off, and Colton moves with the motion, dropping his elbow down so it brushes mine on the armrest. “I can smell your perfume,” he murmurs, his voice all low and rumbly. It’s doing unholy things to me to feel his warm breath at my ear. “You were wearing it when I kissed you. What is it?”

I swallow, heart in my throat. The plane tips up, up, up as we start to climb. “Umm…it’s Chanel. Gardénia.”

The plane dips and his nose brushes against my temple. He lifts a hand, his fingers trailing lightly down my arm. “You smell like summer and sunshine. It’s intoxicating, Poppy. I can’t get it out of my head.”

Oh god, I really am going to kiss him again!

“Do you want some granola?” I all but shout at him. Diving forward, I dig under the seat and pull out my quart-sized baggie of homemade granola. I right myself, holding it up between us.

He’s smirking like he knows exactly what I’m doing. Of course he does. I’m being as subtle as a foghorn. He laughs. “Sure, I’d love some.”

I pry open the bag, nearly dropping it as the plane jolts again. “Oh—Jesus.” One hand grips the armrest as I all but tip the granola into his lap.

He catches it with his quick reflexes. “Poppy, are you…?”

I shut my eyes tight as the whole plane bounces like a rock skipping on a pond.

His hand covers mine and he gives it a gentle squeeze. “Are you afraid of flying?”

“No,” I say with a forced, squeaky laugh.

“Then why are you clinging to this armrest like we’ll drop from the sky if you don’t?”

I open my eyes wide. “Ohmygod. Why would you even say that?” I cry, slapping his arm.

He chuckles, popping a handful of my granola in his mouth.

“Colton, the universe can hear you. You can’t talk about planes falling from the sky while you’reona planeinthe sky! God, I thought all you hockey players were superstitious.”

“I didn’t say I was superstitious,” he replies, crunching on my granola. “I said I believe in luck. Two very different things.”

“Oh yeah? How so?”

He leans down with a smile. “Well, if I was superstitious, I might think the only way I’ll ever get you to kiss me again is to wait until you’re stress baking and show up at your door with a new potted plant.”

“Colton—”

“But I believe in luck,” he goes on. “I know if I’m patient, it’s just a matter of time before the conditions will be right, and you’ll give in to your desires again.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much my plan. Patience and luck.”

I cross my arms. “So, you think I have some kind of insatiable desire, a fire burning in me that only your sweet lovin’ can quench?”

He laughs, placing the half-eaten bag of granola in my lap. Then he dusts off his hands and turns to me. Cupping my face, he leans in, his woodsy scent enveloping me once more. He lowers his voice. “Let’s put it this way, Poppy. Just the thought of my lips on yours has you letting go of all fear. You’re not thinking about this plane falling from the sky. You’re thinking about my hard dick brushing against your inner thigh.”

I gasp, leaning away. “You’re a poet and you don’t know it.”

He laughs again. “That’s what had you pulling away in thekitchen, right? You wanted me then, like you want me now, and you’re just too afraid to admit it.” He nods down at my chest. “And you crossed your arms just now so I wouldn’t see your hard nipples through that silky shirt.”

“Colton,” I cry, outraged at his impertinence…and so turned on I’m fighting the urge to squirm under his intense gaze.

His dark eyes sparkle. “Go on, Poppy. Make my fucking night. Tell me I’m wrong.”