Vended to Don Damon
Stinkingly rich, I suspected.
“C’mon,” he urged, holding out a hand to me and nodding at the helicopter, “we have to get on the move before the weather gets unfavorable.”
I quickened my steps and was soon being led up the stairs into the helicopter, with him guiding me forward, his fingers splaying on my waist.
“But why are we going all the way to Philadelphia just to have a meal?” I demanded, settling into the plush leather seat he led me to.
“It’s truffle pasta, little petal,” he said, the corners of his lips tilting up in a slightly mocking smirk. “The best in the whole world. I want you to have it. It’s exactly what you need after a mindblowing sex.”
Bab Populer