“He was born ready to fall in love. He dated the same girl all through high school and was crushed when it ended. He dated another girl in college for three years, but she moved to Texas for medical school and it just didn’t work out. Then he met Imogen.”

“He’s only had three relationships?” I can’t even imagine that. I dated so much in high school and college.

“Yeah. Three long ones.”

“What about you?” I cringe at the inappropriateness of the question considering our circumstances. “You don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine.” He traces the edge of his laptop. “And I actually mean that it is fine to ask. I didn’t really do serious relationships in high school.”

“Too busy getting hickeys?”

“Something like that. What about you? I bet you had a high school sweetheart and when you moved to New York you broke his poor, lovesick heart.”

I laugh at that. “Not quite. I didn’t have very good taste in boys when I was young. Well, clearly that hasn’t changed, but I used to chase the bad ones, or more like they used to chase me.”

His gaze moves over my face. “I bet the bad boys loved you.”

I wag my eyebrows. “I looked a lot more innocent than I was. Ruby used to call me Anarchy Amie.”

“That’s quite the nickname. I can only imagine how that came about.”

“I was a little wild. Youngest of three, only girl and all that. I probably would’ve hickeyed my name across your stomach.” I guess the champagne is loosening up my tongue. I look away. “I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I’m going to stop talking now and let you work.”

He ignores the last part, closes his laptop, and takes off his glasses, setting them on his tray. “It’s probably good I didn’t meet you in high school.”

“Afraid you would’ve corrupted me?” I’m being sarcastic. Obviously.

“I think you might’ve been the one doing the corrupting, Miss-I-wear-garters-on-a-plane.”

I give him the side eye. “I knew you weren’t going to be able to let that go.”

“I was just waiting for the right time to slip it in.” His smile is full lecher.

“I have a feeling the corruption would’ve been mutual had we met in our younger years.” Why can’t I just keep my thoughts to myself?

His expression sobers. “I would’ve been too stupid to see what I had.” That smirk returns just as quickly as it disappeared. “And you wouldn’t have had your sex toy chest, yet, I’m guessing.”

“Here we go.” I roll my eyes. But I’m sure the flush in my cheeks shows my embarrassment.

He’s mostly right about my toy collection. Although, I think I was probably an early bloomer when it came to toys and experimenting. I owned my first vibrator before most of my friends had even had sex. Including Ruby. I go back to flipping through my magazine when the silence stretches out too long to be comfortable anymore, and I start imagining what it might’ve been like to have met Lexington when I was going through my wild phase. One of them, anyway.

“Can I ask you something?”

I stiffen. Partly because he’s leaning in so close his arm touches mine. And his voice is like sex. The naughty, dirty kind. The kind I haven’t had since I started dating Armstrong. I’m so sick of polite sex. I want someone to pull my hair. I want my ass smacked, I want fuzzy handcuffs and maybe some mild restraints—I’m not that kinky that I want the whole whips and chains deal, at least I don’t think I do, but some light bondage and a good hard fuck, the kind I’ll feel long into the next day, that I can totally handle.

I inhale slowly, breathing him in and turn to meet his gaze. God, those eyes. They’re stunning. A gorgeous shade of blue I want to dive into. And that jaw. I want to bite my way across it. He drags his tongue across his bottom lip. I’ve bitten that tongue. Sucked on it. Stroked it with my own.

Sweet lord, I forced myself on this man and I’m thinking about doing it again. Maybe I really have kept my rebellious side tamped down for too long. Maybe this is what happens when I try to be something I’m not. As much as I rebelled as a way to get my parents’ attention when I was younger, I also reveled in the thrill of being a little bad.

“It’s personal,” he says.

“What?” I stop imagining sitting on his face and meet his gaze.

There’s humor dancing in his eyes, but he doesn’t let the smile form on his lips. “My question is personal.” He sweeps my hair away from my face. The unwarranted contact might be a ploy to disarm me. Unwarranted but wanted.

“Then I reserve the right to not answer if I don’t like the question, then.” I sip my champagne and make a mental note to ask for sparkling water when the attendant comes around since I’m starting to feel tipsy again.

“The contents of your carry-on.”

I wait for more. For something else to come out of his mouth, but nothing does.

“What about them?” The bad girl in me wants him to bring it on. Ask me about my butt plugs. All three of them.

His jaw flexes and his fingers tap restlessly on the center console, making my drink shake. “How did Armstrong feel about them?” His voice is low and hard like diamonds. I wish I knew what their problem is with each other.

For some reason I want to tell him the truth. I’m blaming it on the champagne and altitude. And how captivating his eyes are. I feel like I’m being hypnotized into telling him things I shouldn’t. “Armstrong didn’t know about them.”

His eyes flare, as if this information, this bare truth, shocks him. “At all?”

I shrug, as if it’s nothing. Not a big deal. But it is. It’s a huge deal. A huge massive deal made up of orgasm-providing implements. I had to hide my arsenal of fuck toys—as Ruby and I called them—from Armstrong, considering his reaction to my vibrator. Armstrong does not like what he considers unfair competition.

Lex shifts in his seat, his knee knocking mine. He no longer looks amused or angry. He’s flabbergasted. “Like at all?”

“He’s aware I own a vibrator. Was aware. I guess he still is aware.” I shake my head and turn away from his slack jaw, gulping my champagne. I better not cry. Again. That man does not deserve my tears. What he does deserve is a swift kick in the groin, with cactus shoes on. I hope this emotional crap where I feel horrible in unsuspecting waves ceases quickly. I’m not a fan of spontaneous tears.

“He’s a fucking idiot. He doesn’t deserve you, or your traveling sex shop.”

I laugh halfheartedly, then drop my head. “I think I might be the idiot. I don’t know how I didn’t see it.” Or I chose not to acknowledge it until it was too late to turn back. These past few days have given me time to think, and I came to the conclusion that I shouldn’t have married Armstrong. Not just because he disapproved of my vibrator, or because he cheated on me at our wedding, but because he was never right for me, even if I’d tried to force myself into believing he was. My reasons for marrying him were all the wrong ones. The anger I’ve been holding on to turns to sadness over my terrible choices and my throat tightens.

“Don’t do that.” Lex leans in closer, tucking a finger under my chin. I feel that single point of connection through my entire body. Every cell is suddenly alert and aware and every nerve ending between my thighs screams for attention. “Hey. Look at me.”