Just as he turned to walk away, I noticed Lexa's bright blue eyes staring in my direction, a shy smile falling over her lips. I wanted to turn my head and not look at her, but I couldn't. Images of her long legs, the dark waves of hair spilling over her shoulders, and the soft curves of her breasts clouded my mind. I was mesmerized.
I was also screwed.
A two-hour flight alone with her sounded dangerous.
Because I wanted to sink myself inside her more than I wanted to find the elusive blogger that could save the old man's magazine.
6
Lexa
“Told my girlfriend I wanted to try anal. She told me she's been having sex with an asshole for years.” @Kavon #IDon’tGetIt
"He did what?" Mandy's voiced screamed through my cell phone. "Lex, are you sure? You saw actual penetration?" There were sounds of paper crinkling and shuffling in the background. "Honey, you were really wasted, maybe you just imagined it."
"Mandy," I hissed into the phone, covering the mouthpiece with my hand to whisper into it. "She was humping up and down on him like he was a Pogo stick. There was no mistake. Annnnd it was up her bottom." I shifted my eyes to the small window as heavy rain splashed against it. The grey light of the sky seeped in, matching my mood.
Silence.
More silence.
A stutter.
"I...I just don't know what to say. I can't believe it. And why did you wait until now to call me? You've been in Chicago for three days. Her bottom? I...I just...I just don't know what to say," she offered.
Some more silence ensued, because I seriously didn't know what to say either.
A loud gasp, then, "We're supposed to go to your last fitting tomorrow night! You're supposed to be getting married in," she counted the numbers under her breath, "sixteen days! I am going to castrate that little bastard. What is he saying? What are you going to do?"
I sighed heavily into the phone. "He was in my room trying to talk things through with me all day. He says he's sorry and it was just cold feet. I don't know what to do. My head is spinning. I just want to go home. Spending the day with a man who ripped your heart out makes you a nervous, paranoid wreck. Mr. Holt put me on his private jet instead of letting me take my flight back with Kevin."
"Really?"
"Yeah, well poor little betrayed bride and all. It's humiliating. Everybody knows what happened, and I don't even know how they all found out."
"Oh, my God. I would die. You don't need to work in that place, you know."
"I know," I huffed.
"When are you leaving?" she asked.
"I'm waiting for whoever else is taking the flight with me and leaving right after. I'm actually on the plane now," I said.
"You're on a private jet, right now?"
"Yep," I answered.
A loud thump caused me to glance up and a wet, blond mess of hair stepped into the aisle, attached to a blinding smile. James. Oh God.
Water streamed down his face. The rain had plastered his hair to his cheeks and forehead, and oh, Lord, his wet shirt stuck to the contours of his body. "Listen, I have to go. Mr. Holt just boarded the plane."
"Aw. Remington Holt is such a nice man," she cooed.
"It's not Remington, it's James," I whispered as he watched me, raindrops falling from his lashes.
"Jameson Holt is on a private airplane with you?" she gasped.
Peeling his bag off his shoulder, he tossed it on a seat and rummaged through it. Yanking out a dry shirt, he reached behind his head and pulled off the one he was wearing. He had a long, tightly muscled torso attached to a pair of insane shoulders and arms that made me clench my eyes shut. I was instantly having sex with him in my mind.
"It's getting very hot in here," I mumbled into the phone and lowered myself further into my seat.
"Listen to me very carefully, Lexa. Think revenge and getting even. You better be thinking about joining the mile high club with that fine looking man, because if you don't..."
"Goodbye, Mandy, I'll call when I get home," I said robotically. Mile high club my ass. Snapping off my phone, I stood up immediately and slammed my head into the overhead compartment, like the dork I was born to be. "Son-of—!"
Then he was towering over me, his fingertips lightly grazing my elbow. "Are you all right?"
Only one thought ran through my head.
He's got no shirt on.
He's got no shirt on.
This was worse than the stripper.
His touch was hot. Like I wanted to sit on his fingers and let him play me like a harp hot. The thought made my cheeks burn. Great, I must have looked like a freaking clown. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a klutz." My eyes darted around the small plane nervously then landed back on his gaze. Okay, first they took a detour up his body, lingered on his pecks, hesitated at his lips, and then stopped at his eyes. "I'm sorry; I didn't think you would be flying back to New York with me." I tried to relax my shoulders and let out a deep breath, business as usual. "So, who else will be boarding?"
"Just us," he said no louder than a whisper. "Please. Sit." He pulled the dry shirt over his head and I tried desperately to remember how to breathe correctly. I was failing epically.
Clumsily, I staggered back into the seat as he eyed me suspiciously. Great.
"Are you a nervous flyer?" he asked with a small hint of a smile.
"You could definitely say that," I said, pausing in the middle for one of my crazy nervous giggles, complete with a horrifying snort at the end. "I'm sorry; I've been quite a mess for the past few days." But I wasn't truly sorry—I was angry—so freaking angry that everyone knew about what happened and looked at me with deep, pity-filled expressions. I just needed a day by myself, without having Kevin messing with my head or being surrounded by people from work, to make a decision on what I needed to do. The first impulsive decision was to walk away and not look back, no forgiving and forgetting, but I owed the last two years of my life a little more time to think it through.
He regarded me in complete silence for a moment. I fidgeted nervously next to him, my face heating to an unfavorable temperature. Suddenly, I couldn't even look him in the eye.
"Then how about we drink this entire flight away?" he asked.
"I've been trying to drink the entire week away, hasn't worked yet."
"Maybe it's because you haven't gotten drunk with me," his voice rasped.
"God, you make that sound like a dangerous thing," I laughed, relaxing a bit.
He walked across the plane to a small minibar and opened a cabinet. "Hey, don't look at me like that, I promise I won't bite... Unless you want me to."
"Worst line ever," I blurted. Damn it, why can't I ever keep my mouth shut.
Holding up four different bottles of alcohol, he waved them in the air. I pointed to the Jack Daniels. "That's the worst line ever?" he asked as he twisted the caps off the bottles and tossed them into a hidden receptacle in the countertop.
He handed me the whiskey. I'm going to need about a dozen more of these little things.
"One of them, definitely. It would be better if you went with something along the lines of: Your father must be a terrorist because you're da bomb." I sipped (okay, chugged) the cute little whiskey bottle, savoring the burn as it slid down. I could see a stack of them in front of me in the near future. I'm psychic like that.