The first-class lounge was quiet, understated, and nearly empty when he walked in.

Devastatingly handsome. Tall, around six feet. Sandy brown hair, bright blue eyes, a slight tan and he looked good in his suit. Late-twenties or early-thirties. Wearing what looked like a three-thousand-dollar charcoal suit that hugged his tall frame like it was custom-tailored. He took a seat at the bar—one stool over—and Erin felt the shift immediately.

That subtle hum of awareness.

She didn’t look at him right away. Just lifted her whisky glass to her lips and let herself enjoy the quiet power of being noticed.

Eventually, she turned her head, caught his glance, and smiled.

He moved one stool closer.

“What are you drinking?” she asked, her tone easy, bold.

The man’s brows lifted—clearly not used to women making the first move.

“McClellan. Twenty-five years.” His voice was deep, low, the kind that settled in your spine and made everything feel a little slower, a little warmer.

Erin nodded at the bartender, who poured the same for her.

“Adrian—” he began, but she reached up and pressed one finger lightly to his lips.

“No last names,” she said with a teasing tilt of her head. “Let’s keep this mysterious.”

Adrian’s eyes gleamed. “And what should I call you?”

“Erin. But don’t worry—you won’t forget my name.” She leaned in, voice dropping to a smoky whisper just beside his ear. “You’ll be screaming it later.”

He choked on a laugh, eyes darkening with sudden, vivid interest.

Erin knew she wasn’t going to sleep with this man. Obviously not. Her cousin Chris was picking her up at the airport. But flirtation? A little adrenaline? That spark of thrill before her new life began?

That felt like a promise she could keep.

Adrian took a long sip of his drink, watching her over the rim. Her hands were manicured, yes—but strong. Her arms were tanned and toned, visible beneath a sleek, sleeveless sheath dress that suggested elegance and control. He liked that combination more than he wanted to admit.

“What do you do for a living, Erin?” he asked.

“International spy,” she replied without hesitation. “You? Pilates instructor?”

Adrian smirked. “Gigolo.”

Erin arched a brow, eyes glinting as she leaned in. “Gigolo,” she repeated and then she laughed. Loud and genuine.

“Careful,” he murmured, “you keep flirting like this, and I might have to show you personally.”

She tilted her glass and took a slow sip, golden whisky catching the light as her eyes locked on his. “Well,” she murmured, “we spies do like to live dangerously.”

Their banter became its own private current—rich, electric, and charged. Erin was aware of the way his gaze lingered on her mouth, the way his fingers toyed with the edge of his glass. Her breath hitched when he leaned in, voice velvet-smooth and warm against her skin.

“So, Erin the spy,” Adrian whispered. “Should I assume that means you’re licensed to thrill?”

She laughed again—a full-bodied, unrestrained sound that made Adrian’s heart trip in his chest.

God, when was the last time he’d heard a laugh like that?

Not polite. Not calculated. Just… joy.

“I’m highly trained,” she said, brushing a lock of hair over her shoulder. “But I’ve yet to see if you’re worth the mission.”

Adrian grinned, lips tugging into something wicked. “I assure you, Erin. I never disappoint.”

“I bet you say that to all the spies.”

He chuckled. “Only the ones drinking hundred-dollar whisky in a designer dress who sit alone like they own the room.”

She let her fingertip drift lightly along the rim of his glass, skimming his thumb—just enough to feel the slight intake of breath that followed.

“You must have a very… rigorous training regimen,” she said.

“I do. Shall I demonstrate?”

“Oh,” she purred, “don’t tempt me, Adrian. You might just get a mission briefing right here.”

He leaned in, eyes holding hers. “You’re dangerous.”

“Thank you,” she whispered—and kissed him.

It was meant to be a tease. A brush of lips on cheek. But Adrian turned, just enough, and suddenly—

It wasn’t a tease anymore.

Their mouths met in a kiss that burned. Hot. Smooth. Perfectly controlled, until it wasn’t. Erin’s pulse thundered. She tasted his whisky, felt the warmth of his lips and the sure glide of his hand into her hair.

This was nothing like Phillip. Phillip had kissed like he was ticking a box.

Adrian kissed like a man used to being worshipped, but who was currently utterly worshipping her.

Her body moved instinctively—closer, bolder. His hand cupped the nape of her neck, thumb stroking just under her jaw. When they finally pulled apart, Erin’s breath caught, eyes bright with laughter and something sharper.

“Oh,” she said, low and a little breathless. “You’re very, very good. I might not be able to afford your fees, Adrian.”

His laugh was husky, sliding across her skin like silk. “I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”

She traced his jaw with a finger, slow and curious. “You’re really not what I expected today.”

“And you,” he murmured, “are exactly what I didn’t know I needed.”

Erin’s smile curled wicked and triumphant. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes alive with heat and mischief and freedom.

This wasn’t going to turn into anything.

They both knew that.

She’d be gone in an hour. And yet—

For one breathless, perfect moment, they let themselves pretend.