“How did you know I spoke English?” Miles asked, finding his voice.

Those lips turned up into a sinful grin, and Miles followed the corners of the man’s mouth to the apples of his cheeks and the crinkle of his cinnamon-colored eyes.

Again with the staring.

“I was watching you speak to those American girls who walked by just before. The one with the red hair—she is your girlfriend?”

Miles grinned at the thought of being watched. Then he chuckled at the question. He was, technically, Maggie’s plus-one for the wedding. He loved her more than anyone else he knew. And yet, the answer was an emphatic no.

The stranger’s thick, dark brows furrowed, and for a second Miles let his gaze drift to the passengers coming up the aisle. He nodded as Griffin and Noah passed them by, confirming his suspicions.

Still laughing, Miles said, “The lighter-haired one, that is the boyfriend.”

His new seatmate narrowed his eyes. “Then can I admit something?” he asked, and Miles crossed his arms over his chest.

“Sure. I like admissions.”

Mystery Man scrubbed a hand across the dark stubble on his jaw.

“I noticed you at the gate at JFK.”

Miles sighed. “My apologies, then.”

“For what?”

“For being too wrapped up in the first pity party I’d thrown myself in a long time to notice you. Because I do now, and let me tell you…you’re hard not to notice.”

He held out his hand toward Miles and started, “I’m—”

But Miles shook his head. “No names,” he said. “What would be the point?”

The guy shrugged and laughed. “I guess there isn’t one.” He turned then to face the passenger in front of him, reclining his seat and resting his hands behind his head as if he were lounging at the beach.

Miles followed suit.

Shit.

There was a beautiful, way-too-charming man sitting next to him, and Miles just gave him the polite fuck off. When did he ever shy away from flirting? This was the fun part. But something about this guy set off an internal alarm, one Miles couldn’t recognize or define.

“You know,” Mystery Man said, still staring at the cabin’s ceiling, “we don’t need to share names to make a good time of the rest of the flight.”

Miles agreed to himself that this was a good point. He should explore it further.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

“Another admission,” the man said. “When I saw you at JFK, I wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” He leaned closer, enough so that Miles could feel his breath on his own lips. “Do you wonder what it would be like to kiss me?”

Well, he sure as hell was wondering that now.

“I bet you say that to all the men you meet on airplanes,” Miles teased, aiming for the casual confidence he usually oozed, but his heart rate increased. He decided to write it off as arousal. After all, he hadn’t been with anyone since Paige, and the man next to him was quite the specimen. Maggie wanted him to let go this weekend and enjoy himself, and here he was being offered the chance for some guaranteed enjoyment.

“I do,” Miles said, imagining what the lips so close to his would taste like. “But I’ve never been one for putting on a show.”

Without another word, the man whose name he desperately didn’t want to know stood from his seat and headed toward the final rows of the plane—and the cluster of lavatories that lay beyond.

Miles felt his dick strain against his jeans, the sensation silencing any sort of warning he’d tried to give himself moments before.

He shook his head and grinned, then followed his seatmate to the tail of the aircraft.

After all, a fifth wheel never said no to a sixth, especially when they both seemed to want—or in Miles’s case need—the same thing. A release, something to push the past back to its hiding place in favor of pure physical desire. It’s not like he was a stranger to random hookups, and this one had the promise of no repercussions. When the plane landed, Miles would be on his way, and so would the man with no name. For now, he could stand a little pleasure before a weekend that only promised the reminder of emotional pain.

He barely got the door shut and bolted behind him before Mystery Man’s lips crashed against his. He’d been anticipating how those lips would taste from the second the guy sat down next to him, and the reality did not fall short of the fantasy.

Coffee and something sweet, like he’d just stepped out of a patisserie or some other European-sounding bakery, not like he’d been languishing for hours on a plane, breathing the same recirculated air as hundreds of others.

If this was his first taste of Europe, Miles wasn’t complaining.

He nipped at that full bottom lip, then took in a sharp breath as a strong hand palmed him where he throbbed inside his jeans.

Fuck the playful nipping. Miles felt those lips part against his, and he kissed his delicious stranger hard and deep as the hand on top of his zipper slid down, fingers cupping him firmly as Miles tried to keep his knees from buckling.

He let out a low growl and ran his hands through the thick caramel hair he wanted so desperately to touch.

Miles wasn’t a stranger to casual sex, but there was something agonizing about not knowing this guy’s name, even if it had been his own idea to keep names out of this. A name alone was the shallowest form of identity, yet it established a connection. Whatever happened on this plane, when they disembarked, it would be over. No name. No way to find each other again.

Miles spun his man of mystery so his torso lay pressed against the door. Taut biceps flexed under the tanned skin of his arms. He splayed his palm between his shoulder blades, the man’s thin T-shirt leaving very little to the imagination.

He rocked his pelvis into the small of the stranger’s back and groaned as those tawny arms lifted so his hands could spread against the pocket door. He was letting Miles take the lead.

Miles reached around to find his companion rock hard inside his well-worn jeans, and without warning, the words just fell out.

“I need to know your—”

The lavatory door flew open, and both Miles and the other man tumbled into the cabin, nearly bulldozing Miles’s former seatmate. Passengers in the rearmost seats turned toward the commotion, and Miles did exactly what typical Miles would do in this situation. He smiled, and then he bowed.

“…name,” Miles said under his breath. “I need to know your name.”

“Sygnómi! Sygnómi!”

His fellow occupant chuckled and took it all in stride as the Greek woman kept repeating, over and over until she was locked safely in the lavatory, “Sygnómi! Sygnómi!”

“She’s saying she’s sorry,” the man with no identity said, and Miles shook his head and let out a relieved laugh.

Thank you, he thought as he glanced back at the lavatory door. You saved me from myself.

He was about to turn back toward the cabin when he noticed a rectangle of paper on the floor. His almost-mile-high partner was already heading back toward their seats. Because he hadn’t thought that paper was there before, he bent down and picked it up. Only when he read it did he realize he should have left the trash pickup to those in charge.

Because Miles couldn’t unread what he read, couldn’t unknow what he knew. So he stared at the business card again.

Alexander Karas. Sous Chef. Ambrosia Café.

Thessaloniki

“Are you coming?”

The question sounded like it wasn’t the first time being asked, and Miles realized Alexander must have come back to check on him.

Alexander. Alex. He was totally an Alex. Miles could feel it.

He shoved the card in his front pocket and turned to face the man he was sure he was connected to by so much more than a name now.