Beth
I couldn’t stop grinning as I closed my hotel room door behind me, my thoughts fuzzy and my body deliciously sore. I needed to snap to attention and get my ass down to check-in. My shower would have to be a short one.
I grabbed my purse on my way to the bathroom, rifling through it to find my phone. I tried to unlock it single-handedly as I switched on the shower.
Seven missed calls? Shit. What had happened?
I stepped back from the shower and put my voice mail on speaker as I began to undress. I was going to have to multitask to make the flight.
The voice of my dad’s second wife, Marissa, came through the speaker. She sounded muffled. The words heart attack caught my attention like a blade scratching over glass and I froze.
Heart attack? Another one? Quickly, I started to dress, grabbed my phone and headed back into the bedroom, glancing around to see what I needed to gather. The message ended and the next one was from my brother, Jake, asking where I was. Fuck. Luckily I hadn’t unpacked. I grabbed my case and raced down to the lobby.
My father had had a heart attack last year but had recovered well. He’d been lucky. The third voice mail was from my dad’s wife again. The message was clearer. They were at the hospital. My stomach began to churn as I spiraled into worst-case scenario. Was he still alive? Was I too late?
Guilt and fear ran through my veins.
Passing through the lobby of the hotel, I glanced around to see if I could spot Dylan. I wanted to tell him about my dad. To tell him that I wouldn’t be on the plane. It was a stupid thought. He’d been a one-night stand. An epic one-night stand, but we weren’t about to start sharing sob stories.
It was early so there wasn’t a line for cabs. I looked up at the heavens, grateful for small mercies.
In the taxi, I called my brother. It went straight to voice mail, so I called Marissa back. Voice mail again. They were probably speaking to each other. Normally I’d be pleased. Their relationship wasn’t a strong one, but the fact they were speaking this morning must mean things were very wrong.
The cab wasn’t going fast enough.
“How long now?” I clicked my seatbelt, hoping that it might be a hint that I was ready to go a little faster.
“About thirty seconds less than the last time you asked.” The cab driver pulled up at a light.
I was sure I smelled of sex, but I hadn’t had time for a shower. I grabbed a hairbrush from my bag and started to work through some of the tangles Dylan had caused the night before. Guilt churned in my stomach. If I’d thought to take my phone with me, or if I hadn’t been so stupid as to go up to Dylan’s room, I would have known my father was being taken to the hospital sooner. There was a reason I didn’t do one-night stands. And now I was being punished for it.
I needed to call my sponsor. My thoughts were spiraling out of control, and I knew that alcohol would calm me down, dampen the noise of the voices in my head—it would stop the guilt of not having my phone with me last night, the guilt of enjoying myself while my father was sick, and the shame that right then, I wanted to be on a plane, sitting next to Dylan, not in a cab racing to the hospital.
Nausea washed through me as I pressed dial. My sponsor was in London so would be wide-awake. It went straight to voice mail.
I’d been in Alcoholics Anonymous since I’d moved to London from Chicago. My brother had gone with me for the first few times, loitering outside, there to catch me when I fell apart. But I hadn’t. AA gave me belief that things would be better, and with every meeting, I got stronger. I’d not had a drink since my first meeting. I’d learned that preventative action was the key to staying sober. I didn’t get the urge to drink anymore, because I never let it get that far. I controlled my environment, so I wasn’t exposed to any kind of pressure to tempt me to drink. Last night I’d given up that control and now I was paying for it. In some ways I was lucky I was in a cab on the way to a hospital. There was no temptation right in front of me. I wasn’t quite sure whether I’d be able to resist if there had been.
We pulled up outside the hospital and I shoved some money at the cab driver and ran through the sliding doors. I should have listened to the rest of my messages. They would have told me where I should go. After several wrong turns, eventually I raced down the right corridor toward my stepmother.
“Oh God, Beth. I thought you’d be in London.”
I scanned the corridor. There were several sets of double doors left and right. “Where is he? Is he okay? Can I see him?” My pulse was pushing through my skin.
“Yes, he’s fine.” She took my arm and we started through one of the double sets of doors. My stepmother and I hadn’t had any kind of relationship until my father’s first heart attack. His condition had brought us together, given us common ground.
“My flight was cancelled. Is he okay?”
“It wasn’t a heart attack. They think it was just anxiety.”
No wonder she was so calm. “Anxiety?” It was as if someone had opened a pressure value, tension seeped away from my muscles, the voices in my head softened, and the fog began to clear. And it had happened without alcohol, without me having a drink.
She shrugged. “He’s getting older. They said it’s common to mistake it for a heart attack. I just have to sign some paperwork and he’ll be out. You didn’t have to come over. Didn’t you get my message?”
My stomach twisted. I should have reacted more logically when I got the missed calls. Maybe not rushed right over here and missed my flight. Would Dylan be wondering where I was? Would he care? He was probably relieved he didn’t have to have some awkward goodbye, see you around moment. I’d spared him that.
Why was I focusing on Dylan when I should be thinking about my family?
“Daddy, what have you been up to?” I forced a smile as I made my way into his room.
“I told her I didn’t need to come to the hospital, but she wouldn’t listen.” His mood was normal at least. “When am I getting out of here, Marissa?”
Marissa glanced at me as if to say See what I have to put up with? But I knew she loved my dad and I was grateful for that. He deserved it. My mom had been killed in a revenge attack because my dad was a cop. I was sixteen and my brother was eighteen. If it were possible to die of guilt, my dad would have been taken from us a long time ago. Marissa had been good for him.
The day of my mother’s funeral was the day I had my first drink, and I’d quickly learned that alcohol took the edges off reality. I wasn’t sure I grieved my mother’s death before I got sober. I just buried all my feelings at the bottom of an ocean of alcohol. The hurt wasn’t as sharp when my head was dizzy with champagne, or wine, or vodka, or gin, or rum, or . . . I could slip into a different world where I didn’t have to think about my mother’s death. When I finally got sober, all the pain had still been there, perfectly preserved. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get over it, but I was learning to live with it, sober.
I kissed my dad on the forehead and took his hand.
“I thought you were flying back to London, Beth?” Every now and then, I glimpsed my father and saw an old man instead of the invincible cop I’d grown up with. Now was one of those times as he lay in bed, machinery attached to his chest. I hated to see him vulnerable. It was as if our roles had been reversed, but I didn’t have his strength.
“My flight got cancelled. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” I squeezed his hand. Tears began to well but I didn’t want him to see me cry. He was fine; my tears were of relief. That he was okay. That I was sober. Still.
It had been a lesson. I needed to keep control. There were enough curveballs to cope with in life without adding more to the mix. No more one-night stands.
“Marissa shouldn’t have called you. I’m fine.” My heart rate began to return to normal as I realized he really was going to be okay.
“Stop being a grouch. She did the right thing bringing you here, and you know it. So be nice.” I turned to Marissa. “Does Jake know everything is okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I spoke to him.”
“What time’s your flight? The weather is better today. I don’t want you here fussing over me. You have your own life to get back to.” My dad looked stern.
Yeah, he was absolutely fine. I grinned and kissed him on the cheek.
“And then what?” my sister-in-law asked, looking between her best friend and me. Haven and Ash were perched on barstools in my kitchen, watching me bake while feeding and cooing at their babies. They’d become good girlfriends to me since my brother had started dating Haven, and my world, that had been just my brother for a long time, had opened up a little.
I was giving them the lowdown on Dylan. “And then we, you know.” I felt like a teenager, confessing to her girlfriends about the night before. Apparently, this kind of sharing was par for the course with Haven and Ash.
“No we don’t!” they screamed.
“We need details,” Ash said, moving her daughter, Maggie, to her shoulder to burp her. “We’re forced to live vicariously now. We don’t get to have one-night stands. We need you to be very specific.”
I laughed. “It was good. I mean, the best I’ve ever had.” Since I’d been back in London, my mind had wandered to Dylan and our night together more often than it should have. He was a one-night stand, yet thoughts of him had stayed with me. Yesterday, I’d been shopping for cake tins and thought I’d seen him walk past the shop. My heart had started to thunder and my knees fizzed.
I kept waiting for thoughts of him to fade. I felt like a schoolgirl with a crush. No doubt I’d been long forgotten by him.
“Do you think it was because you’re sober?”
“I have no idea, but I swear to God, if sex is that much better sober for everyone, then no one would ever drink.” Dylan had warned me that it was going to be world changing. He’d been right. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be the same again. It was as if he’d released something in me.
“Whatever it is, I think it’s showing in your baking. This cake is orgasmic.” Haven was making ohhing and ahhing noises.
I grinned. In a way, she was right. Dylan had inspired me, as if he’d been something of a muse to me. Apparently, great sex led to great cake.
“How did your meeting go with the TV people?” Ash asked.
I shifted my weight onto one hip. “Good, I think. They want me to do like a trial or screen-test for a slot on the Saturday morning show, A Chicago Saturday. I have to fly back next week and they’ll set me up in the studio—”
“Are you serious?” Haven asked, her mouth still full.
I shrugged. “It might turn into nothing, but it’s a bit of fun and perhaps I’ll attract a few more viewers to my YouTube channel.” Deep down I was excited. But I didn’t want to let those feelings bubble to the surface in case things fell through, and I hadn’t quite worked through the consequences of what a TV spot in Chicago meant. It was a long way away.
“That’s amazing. Holy crap, you’re going to be the Oprah of cooking.” Ash’s eyes were wide and sparkling. She truly was happy for me and that felt good. We were family, and I wasn’t ready to move to Chicago and give that up, so as much as a TV spot sounded exciting, there was a serious downside.
Baking had started off as therapy, and I suppose it still was. Cakes were my favorite to create. Not occasion cakes—but cupcakes, carrot cake, chocolate cake, gateaux. And of course I loved a vanilla slice and fruit tarts, and I’d just mastered profiteroles—I liked to bake anything sweet or dessert-like.
“So, you’re going to fly over to Chicago, bang a hot guy, record a TV show, then fly back to be vomited over by your nieces?” Haven had a way of getting to the heart of a situation; no doubt it was the journalist in her. “Before we know it, we’ll have lost you permanently to the Windy City.”
“Actually, it’s something I’ll need to discuss with WCIL. I’m not moving back to Chicago. I don’t believe in going backward. I don’t mind flying over regularly, but every week is crazy.” I shook my head. “Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. They’ve not offered me anything yet.”
“They will, though. They’d be crazy not to. Your breasts alone deserve to be on television,” Ash said, as if she’d just told me she liked my haircut. I shook my head at her, smiling. “They should call your slot The Baking Bombshell.”
“You’re crazy.” I threw a tea towel at her.
“She’s right.” Haven pushed Sophia in her bouncy chair, trying to get her to settle. “You are going to make guys come in their breakfast cereal. You’ll be the thinking man’s crush. Brains and beauty combined.”
“Maybe Mr. International Lover will see you on television, swoop in and you’ll live happily ever after,” Ash said, waving her hands excitedly.
“Mr. International Lover?” I asked.
“Yeah, or Mr. I-Can-Go-All-Night.” Ash looked at me as if I needed to keep up.
I giggled. Dylan. Would he see me on TV? And if he did, would he even remember me? My heart squeezed at the thought. I knew we’d had a no-strings-attached night together. Problem was, a few of my strings seemed to have become attached.
Ash sighed. “I can’t believe you didn’t get his number.”
I shrugged, trying to act as if I didn’t care, though it would have been nice if he’d asked. “That’s the point of a one-night stand. You don’t swap numbers.”
“If you’d have made it on the flight, you could have joined the mile-high club,” Ash said.
“Ewww. In some cramped bathroom that five hundred people have peed in? No thank you. Not even for his monster cock.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t particularly nice when Jake and I did it, and that was on a private plane.” Haven looked off into the middle distance. There were things I didn’t need to know about my brother. That he and his wife had sex at thirty-thousand feet was one of them.
“I bet he sees you on TV and gets in contact,” Ash said. “I’ve got a feeling about this.”
“I’ll be long forgotten. He won’t even remember my name.” Dylan had been perfect one-night stand material, and I was thankful there’d been no awkward aftermath. I was pretty sure that if I’d seen him on the plane, he would have seen my desire to have more of him, and I’d not had to endure the pity in his eyes. I just had to distract myself and move on, perhaps get Haven to set me up. Now that I was over the hurdle of my first sober sexual experience, perhaps I could really date—find someone suitable, compatible, a forever man.
Men like Dylan weren’t dating material.
Dylan
Beth Harrison.
Beth Harrison.
Beth Harrison.
I couldn’t get her out of my head.
Probably because I was in an airport lounge again, this time in London. My hankering for Beth was getting ridiculous. I’d asked my assistant to see if she could find the person sitting next to me on the plane on the pretense that I’d picked up the Mont Blanc pen she’d forgotten. Christ, I’d used a pen for an excuse. I was bordering on pathetic.
I kept telling myself that it was just about the sex, about her sweet, tight pussy and glorious tits. And yes, that was part of it, but there was something about Beth, about our night together, that meant I wanted to know more. I had an urge to find, protect and possess her. Perhaps it was because she’d disappeared into nowhere, denying me the opportunity to know more about her. I wasn’t the one in control. She’d taken that from me. I didn’t even know what she did for a living or what city she lived in.
All I knew was that she liked cake and had a body that would make any man weep. And that she was incapable of being anything but honest and open—qualities I’d valued in myself but in her they translated into something seductive and bewitching.
Why hadn’t I used some of our hours together to glean the most basic of information from her?
I slammed my laptop closed. I needed to find someone else. My week in London had been non-stop meetings, business dinners and even a charity gala. A lack of sex was probably making my Beth Harrison obsession worse than it would have been if I hadn’t had blue balls. Getting off in the shower just wasn’t the same as sliding your hands up a woman’s body, making her whimper before fucking her until she begged you for release. Masturbation might have given me release, but it didn’t go deep enough to quench the thirst Beth had created. Worse, I wasn’t sure another woman would help, but at least I could try.
I glanced around. The lounge was full of suits. I pulled out my cell. I’d line Mandy up—my regular, sure sex for a few years now—for when I landed. Low maintenance, she turned up at my apartment, we fucked and she left. We might swap a couple of pleasantries about the markets or the weather, but we both knew the score—it was all about the fucking for both of us. Every now and then I was tempted to ask whether or not she had a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a husband, and then I thought better of it, ripped off her panties and got on with it.
I stalked over to the self-service bar and poured myself a soda water as a shadow in the far corner captured my attention. It couldn’t be. It would be too much of a coincidence. I’d be claiming to see water in the middle of the desert soon. I turned my head toward what had caught my eye.
I squinted. It really looked like her. I wandered closer, scanning the low tables, pretending to look for a newspaper.
It was her.
I wasn’t imagining it. She looked as beautiful as I remembered.
Dressed in a tight red skirt and a black sheer blouse, she looked every inch the fifties movie star. The disappearing woman, Beth Harrison.
I was part thrilled, part infuriated and entirely consumed with a desire to have her naked beneath me.
I watched her concentrate on her notebook, oblivious to everything going on around her. At least nothing had happened to her. Irritation prickled at the back of my neck as I wondered if she’d deliberately missed the flight to avoid me. Jesus, she should have been grateful that I’d fucked her, and begged me to do it again, not given me the brush-off.
Unable to take my eyes off her, I moved toward her table. I’d forgotten how full that dirty red mouth was. I’d not seen it around my dick, not yet. My cock jumped at the thought and I couldn’t hold back any longer.
“So you are alive.”
She snapped her head up, her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide. I bet she’d thought she’d never see me again. Well, I was determined to show her what she’d have missed.
At least she had the decency to blush. “D—”
“Stand up.” My voice was tight and low as I tried to keep a grip over myself. I didn’t want to draw any attention to us.
She frowned and dropped her notebook into her bag.
“Come with me,” I said, my heartbeat thundering through my shirt.
I grabbed her elbow as she stood. I wasn’t as familiar with this lounge as the one in Chicago, but I knew where the showers were. I pulled her in that direction. I needed to be alone with her.
“Are you okay? You seem upset,” she asked.
I couldn’t respond. I pushed through the doors to the showers. The lighting was low, and black slate lined the floors and wall. I tried the first door, but it was locked. The second one opened and I pulled her inside. Each large shower room was like a bathroom, with a dressing table, a couple of chairs and various lotions and toiletries.
Inside, I locked the door and backed her up against the wall. She looked confused.
“What are you doing?”
I wasn’t sure, but I knew I wanted her overwhelmed by me, to melt under me.
“Did you forget what I do to you?” I asked. “How many times I made you come?” I pushed my hips against hers.
“No—I . . .” Her voice quivered and I got a small sense of satisfaction. Why was I so concerned about having an impact on this woman? Why did it matter?
I clasped her face in my hands and ran my thumb across the beauty spot on her left cheek. “Why did you run?” I stared at her, trying to uncover what she was thinking.
“I didn’t run.” Her voice was breathy, as if I had some effect on her. I knew I couldn’t have been imagining it. “Not away from you. I . . . My father. I had to go to the hospital.”
I bent forward to kiss her before registering what she was telling me.
“Shit.” I pulled away, placing my hands on the wall on either side of her. “Your father was in the hospital?”
Her mouth parted as she gazed up at me. I was a fucking asshole for thinking her disappearance had been about us, about me. This woman had me upside down. “Is he okay?”
She skimmed her hands up my sides. “Yes. It was a false alarm.”
Relief snaked through me. Not only because her father was okay but because it meant I didn’t have to hold back.
She smiled and I couldn’t resist her a moment longer. I buried my hands in her hair, tipped her head back and delved my tongue into her mouth. Her hands smoothed across my back; the feel had me yearning for more as I twisted my body to encourage her exploration. Her touch drove me wild.
“I’ve got to see them,” I said as I fumbled with her blouse buttons.
“Careful. I have nothing to change into.” She took over and I pulled out my wallet, trying to find a condom. When I looked back at her, she stood in her skirt and bra, her lips puffy, fiddling with the front clasp.
“Let me. Bras are my superpower.”
“I bet they are.” She grinned at me, but held her hands up in surrender. I released the front catch with a single touch. “Bet you have more than one, my friend.”
Her breasts tumbled out, and immediately I reached for my cock. She brushed my hands away, making to open the fly as I fell under the spell of her incredible tits, pushing them up and together as she worked on my zipper. They were just how I’d imagined them over the last week—and I’d imagined them a lot.
I didn’t know where to start with her. I wanted to bite, suck, kiss, lick and fuck all of her all at once. Possession was my aim.
Shit, I needed more time with her than a quick fuck in a bathroom was going to give me. Could I ask for her number now?
“Champ, you’re going to have to move this along. We board soon, and I’m going to be mighty upset if I don’t spend takeoff in a post-orgasm haze,” she said, snapping me out of the spell that her tits had cast on me.
I yanked up her skirt. “You think I can’t make you come before we get called to the gate?” My heart was beating out of my chest.
“I’m counting on you.”
I growled, and ripped off her panties. She was going to have to fly without underwear. I wasn’t sure if that would be more tortuous for me, or her.
“Turn around.” My trousers were around my ankles like some teenager, but I couldn’t wait to be inside her.
She shifted sideways a little and turned, placing her palms against a full-length mirror affixed to the wall, sticking her ass out. My cock throbbed as she waited for me, her tits spilling out, her skirt around her waist. Perfection.
I grabbed her hips, pulling her back as she gasped at my touch.
Without ceremony, I slid inside her, watching her in the mirror as I pushed in as far as I could go. She made a choking sound, balled her hands into fists, and screwed her eyes shut. I stilled, taking her in. “You’re going to have to try to be quiet.” I cupped her breasts, pushing them together. She moaned. “I said quiet.”
“I don’t care if the whole fucking airport is listening.” Her words came out strained and pleading as she pushed back against me.
I pulled out, then slammed into her. “Look at me while I make you come.”
Her eyes opened, catching mine in the mirror. She was breathtaking. I couldn’t hold back any longer, and placed my hands over hers and began to fuck her as if it were my job.
Her sounds grew louder and louder. Instinctively, I placed my palm over her mouth. Her eyes never left mine. They were desperate and needy and a reflection of everything I felt. In seconds, she began to spasm around me, her moans vibrating against my palm, sending spikes of pleasure directly to my cock. She really was the fuck of the century.
I wrapped my arms around her, rocking into her gently, not wanting to let go. Her hands barely held her away from the mirror.
“This feels too good to give up,” I said, though I was really talking to myself. I knew I should walk away, satisfied with an easy, quick, incredible fuck, but something in me didn’t want to. Something in me wanted to cancel our flights and spend the weekend locked in a hotel. I kissed her neck and pulled away.
“Shit, we’re so late.” She smoothed her skirt and started to fasten her bra. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as I disposed of the condom. “Seriously, get out of here, I need to straighten up.”
Was she blowing me off? “Give me your number, and I’ll get out of your way.” I spoke quickly, almost ashamed to ask. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d asked for a woman’s number. Probably not since—well, a long time ago.
“I’ll let you have it when we’ve boarded.” She concentrated as she fiddled with the buttons on her blouse.
I fastened my trousers. “If you don’t show up, I’m going to hunt you down.”
She looked up and grinned at me, those plump lips begging to be bitten.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said. I would have to have her again if she wasn’t careful.
She raised her eyebrows. “Like what? Like I’m going to make you come until you see stars?”
I grinned and leaned toward her. “I can see every star in the universe right now.” I dropped a kiss on her delicious mouth and unlocked the door.