Chapter 6

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“Samaya ,” I say, my voice sounding incredibly husky.

“Samaya,” he repeats softly. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

I laugh softly, rolling my eyes. “Smooth.”

“So, Samaya, with the list from New York—”

“I never told you I was from New York.”

“You’re on a flight from New York. Call it a wild guess.”

“Well, you’re on a flight from New York, but you’re not from New York.”

“My English accent gave it away, huh?” He smirks. “Okay, so, Samaya, with the list, who isn’t from New York—where are you from?”

“New York.” I grin.

He lets out a deep laugh, leaving me with a warm glowy feeling.

“You make me laugh,” he tells me.

“You say that like not many people do.”

His eyes pin mine. “They don’t. I’m a hard man to please.”

"I can imagine."

“So, is that the list?” He taps a finger to the diary in my lap.

“It is.” I curl my fingers around the edge of it.

“Can I see it?”

“No, you can’t see it,” I say, offended that he thinks he can.

“Why not? What’s on there?” He’s leaning closer, curiosity written all over his face.

I lean away. “Nothing. It’s just private.”

“I think you and I are past private. You just kissed me.”

“So? Y-you kissed me too.” And I’m five years old.

A smile slides onto those awesome lips of his. “And I am more than willing to try that again. Just say the word.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re not kissing me again”—why did I say that? I would totally kiss him again. Sometimes, I could really slap myself—“and you’re not reading my list either.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.” He leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out the best he can with the limited room he has.

And I relax in the knowledge that we’re past this conversation.

Until the bastard snatches my list from my lap.


Jason turns away, so all I’m getting is his back as I try to grab my diary.

“Give that back!”

“Go to England. Kiss a stranger. Have lots of sex,” his deep voice rumbles out the words I wrote.

He glances at me over his shoulder, a grin on his face.

I don’t even bother with trying to get the list back now. What’s the point? He’s already seen it.


I fall back into my seat, my face feeling like a blowtorch went at it. “You’re an asshole,” I mutter.

He turns to face me, my list in his hand but still held out of my reach. “Aw, don’t be like that, Samaya, from New York. I was just curious to read it.”

I glare at him. I’m shooting daggers with my stare.

It doesn’t work because he gives me hi dazzling smile. I’d like to say I’m unaffected, but I’m not; however, I don’t let him know that.

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