Chapter 2

Marj checked the time on her fitness tracker. Brandon had been on the phone for thirteen minutes. It was a business call, of course, and probably of vital importance. The whole thirteen-minute phone call situation would have been considerably less obnoxious if they hadn’t been in the process of leaving on their overdue honeymoon, though.

At first, she’d smiled indulgently. Of course, he could take a call now before they left for the airport. Except that call had continued for the entirety of the drive, and now they were in the security line and Marj, instead of snuggling up to her hot husband while she waited, was playing Candy Crush on her phone. Brandon was successful, no-nonsense, and more than occasionally, a total workaholic. This trip was about reconnecting and becoming a real couple.

They’d gotten married on the spur of the moment because a marriage of convenience would secure his inheritance. Otherwise, his stepmother—the Wicked Queen, as Marj called her—would get the company that Brandon’s father had built and meant to pass on to his only son. Meant to, if said son complied with his father’s last wish and got married by the time he turned thirty. Since he’d spent most of his time running the company as interim CEO after his father’s death, Brandon hadn’t exactly been beating the bushes for potential brides, relying instead on his high-powered legal team to break the condition of the will. The will was ironclad and the timing was critical. So when he and Marj had met in a hotel bar in Las Vegas, they had decided to tie the knot and leave the Wicked Queen out in the cold.

There had been the awkward, inconvenient time when Marj had tried to continue working and pretend her life hadn’t changed by marrying a rich guy and falling for him. Then there had been the even worse time when Brandon had constantly been at work, seldom seeing Marj, and had been basically targeted by his too-perfect new assistant who had wanted to get him into bed. He’d resisted, and Marj gave him a lot of credit for that, but those husbandly bonus points were dwindling away rapidly with every minute he spent on that phone call. He had promised so faithfully that he’d leave his phone in New York, that he’d at least put it on silent and only check it twice a day.

She scolded herself inwardly for being stupid and insisting that, oh, why shouldn’t he be able to use his phone? She wasn’t so insecure that she couldn’t let him have his phone on vacation. Until it interfered with the chill. There was officially no chill in the TSA line listening to Brandon Cates go over the same marketing decision for the third time.

She wanted to whip the phone out of his hand and bellow, “He’s the boss, damn it, now do what he said! Quit asking questions!” Then she wanted to charge into the public restroom and throw his latest Samsung smartphone down the auto-flush toilet. And his smartwatch and his smart-anything-else that could distract him from her for the next four days. It was going to be a week in absolute paradise. Having his undivided attention was going to be heavenly.

She had ogled the resort online every night since he’d told her that he’d had his secretary (the new one, since the too-perfect blonde had been permanently reassigned elsewhere in the company) book them a casita there for a much-needed romantic getaway. It was the ultimate in perfection—turquoise water clear as glass, soft white sand beaches, huge fluffy beds, and deep Jacuzzi tubs and an outdoor shower that were probably meant to wash all that white sand off one’s designer swimsuit but were actually going to be used for much naughtier purposes.

Unless he intended to spend the vacation making love to his electronic devices. She tapped her phone screen and messaged him. If you’re going to be playing with your battery-powered toys all week, I’m going to the duty-free store to buy a vibrator, Cates. She hit send and gave him a sidelong glance as he checked the message on his screen. She saw him grin, and it was like a punch to the gut. That blazing, sexy grin. He was mostly an all-business poker face kind of guy, so when he smiled or laughed, it was a major win. Her message had gotten his attention and made him smile. She felt like she’d won the lottery. Granted, they had way more money than some measly state lotto jackpot.

He held up one finger to indicate that he’d only be a moment. She tried to muster an eye roll, but she was just too smitten. The smile had done her in. Her exasperation had melted away, and she sidled up to him and leaned her head on his shoulder while he talked. Brandon shifted the phone to the other side so he could put an arm around Marj and press a quick kiss to her temple. As soon as he was off the phone, he leaned in and kissed her and whispered, “You’re a complete angel of patience, and I owe you a full-body massage.”

“Now that’s more like it,” she said eagerly.

They stood hand in hand, waiting to present their boarding passes and IDs to the TSA. Marj grimaced and bent to unbuckle her Jimmy Choo strappy sandals. She was about to go barefoot in an airport. She winced, trying to smile gamely.

“You should’ve let me take the private jet,” he said.

“It’s under repair for another two weeks. I’m not waiting, Cates. Besides, these tickets were such a good deal. I could not pass them up. It’s like against my religion to skip a bargain and do the extravagant thing.”

“Like those shoes came from Payless?”

“How do you even know that Payless is a thing?”

“Because when you came home with them, you danced around and swung the bag and said, ‘There ain’t nothing like this at the Payless where I used to shop.’ I remember.”

“It must’ve been the dancing that stuck out in your mind. I do know how to shake that ass.”

He shot her a devilish grin. “Yes, you do. Now go barefoot on that filthy carpet before they think we’re conspiring and decide to do a cavity search. I could live without a digital exam of my rectum at the airport.”

“Just at the airport?”

“Anywhere, really. Especially the airport, though. I mean, do they even change those gloves? The government is notorious for cutting corners, so these could be used gloves.”

“You’re not a source of comfort right now. What did the vows say about for better and for worse?”

“How about for stubborn and for barefoot?”

“I realize I’d had a few drinks, but I don’t recall Elvis saying a damn thing about how it was okay to say I told you so to your barefoot wife in a public airport. That seems like you’re not exactly cleaving only unto me...” she teased.

“I cleaved to you at six this morning. You were there,” he said with an arch of his eyebrow. It was the sexy smolder. Even when he used it wryly, like now, it was devastating beyond the telling of it. Her lady bits clenched happily in response.

“It’s been hours. I need more cleaving and less giving me crap about the flight.”

“Well, we could’ve cleaved in flight on the private jet.”

“I don’t think it’s ‘cleaved.’ I think it’s cloven, as in cloven hoof.”

“Now there’s an image I could live without.”

“Hey, just don’t look at my fresh pedi when you say that,” she said as she proceeded through the metal detector.

The TSA agent had her step aside and did a pass with the sensor wand because she’d set off the metal detector.

“It’s the underwire in my bra,” Marj told the woman. “This happens every time I fly,” she said, hoping that the agent would give her a nod or smile of commiseration. They were both women, both had to suffer the indignity of the underwire...it would be a great moment for sisterhood and empathy. Nothing. The woman gave her not one friendly gesture or sound. She just kept on waving the pointy wand at Marj.

“That will be all, ma’am,” the woman said gruffly.

Brandon waited for her with the carry-on bags. He flashed her a smile. “You look so radiant today.”

“I’m beyond happy,” she said, linking her arm with his.

“I like to think I have something to do with that.”

“You definitely have something to do with it. This kind of...satisfaction comes when you find that kind of special magic in your life.”

“So it’s not the immense wealth? Or the American Express black card? Or maybe it’s the boring award dinners you have to attend.”

“It’s the hot guy,” she said flippantly, and kissed him full on the mouth right there at the airline gate. He looped an arm around her hips and kissed her back with passion, not at all bothered by the idea that people were looking. She felt all tingly from his kiss, from the heat of his hand on the small of her back. The fact was, this was bound to be one long and frustrating flight. Why had she insisted on flying commercial again? The great deal on seats? Because nothing was more rewarding than a bargain airline ticket—unless it was mile-high sex with her hot husband in the comfort of a private Lear, obviously.

She opened her tablet and looked at the latest fashion magazine, trying to ignore the hum of desire that she was forcing onto the back burner until they could arrive in Mexico and make it to their paradisiacal hotel.

“This resort had better have the biggest, fluffiest bed...” she muttered aloud.

“I’d settle for a couch,” he said, alluding to their first hookup, the night they’d been married in Las Vegas.

“Our wedding night was fierce, but not exactly the epitome of romance, Brandon. We can do better,” she protested.

“That’s the fighting spirit I know and love. That’s the drunk woman who swore she would never let the Wicked Queen win,” he said.

“I’m not the most charming drunk, but I’m glad you were able to overlook that.”

“You came right out and offered to rescue me. It seemed stupid not to take you up on the offer. Besides, I only had a few days left before I would’ve had to experience disinheritance and cast myself on the dismal job market.”

“Not a lot of demand for suddenly broke rich boys? I hear that you ski beautifully, and I have seen you make plenty of lengthy phone calls. All I could recommend you for personally would be the life of a gigolo, however. You’re great in the sack, and that’s a skill not to be underestimated.”

“That is so sexist, Marj. If I said that about you, you would shame me thoroughly. So why would it be flattering to say that to a man?” He smirked. “It’s an insult. It’s objectifying—”

“Fine, all right, I went too far. I do that. I’m sorry. You have many business skills, and you’re a decisive executive, and you multitask wonderfully,” she said, barely suppressing an eye roll.

He flashed her his gorgeous smile. “And if I were a gigolo—assuming I’m not so deeply offended as never to speak to you again, but just hypothetically—what do you think my hourly rate should be?” he asked archly, and she bit down on her lip.

“Hmmmm....let me see. I’d say, easily three hundred dollars,” she said, and she giggled as Brandon looked obviously pleased with himself.

“That, at least, is gratifying. That if you insist as viewing me as a sex object with no other talents or agency of my own, at least you regard those skills highly.”

“Oh, I regard them very highly! It’s sort of...hard not thinking too much about those skills here in the plane.”

“You mean the crowded passenger compartment of a fully booked commercial jet? I see the problem. And I intend to make you suffer for it,” he said with a wicked grin. “Remember that time that I came up behind you and kissed your neck and then bent you over the dining room table? You left scratch marks on the wood,” he said, and the answering shiver of recollection rippled across her skin. She remembered the wood yielding to the pressure of her hands as she’d braced herself against the onslaught of his thrusts. The pale half-moons carved into the shiny surface of the highly polished mahogany table evidence of their debauchery. Even the word debauchery seemed to make it even more unbearably warm inside the airplane.

The fabric of her seat was scratchy to her highly sensitized skin, and she reached for Brandon’s hand across the shared plastic armrest. She needed that skin-on-skin contact with him, even in the smallest measure, to relieve the fury of passion burning inside her. His wide palms, his delightfully ominous thick wrists, his strong fingers encompassing hers—she bit her lip. Marj could shut her eyes and practically feel his palms tracing along her bare hips, spreading her thighs and rubbing between them, tantalizing in the closest brush against tender flesh before drawing back teasingly. The electric prickles of excitement chased along her skin at the mere memory of his touch.

“You seem tense. Here, let me rub your shoulders,” he offered mischievously.

Marj shifted obediently in her seat, perhaps beyond the powers of speech anyway. She turned her back toward him and felt his big hands settle on her shoulders, kneading his muscular fingers into her tense spots. She chewed her lip and let her eyes drop shut. She felt needy and desperate, and any touch from him just inflamed her further.

Even as he was supposed to be releasing pent-up tension from her muscles with his coaxing, insinuating massage, she knew that he was firing her up for his own amusement. To torment her for insisting they save money on the flight, or to get her overwrought with anticipation for their honeymoon, or both. She was ready to claw his shirt open and put her mouth to his chest. She shrugged his hands away and returned to the magazine, swiping pages on her tablet without really seeing them, her eyes glazed with lust.

“You can always just rest,” he suggested, drawing her against him so her head was against his shoulder, the wretched plastic armrest gouging her in the ribcage. When she wriggled away and sat up in frustration, the backs of his fingers brushed the side of her breast and she felt it down to her toes. Her nipples were so hard that the lace of her bra scraped them uncomfortably. Her face and chest were flushed, and there was a roaring in her ears, her vision bright with arousal. She leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“Bathroom. Now,” she ordered, biting his earlobe lightly for emphasis.

His grin widened as he shot her a devilish look.