Beth
The announcement that we would be landing shortly woke me up. I’d managed to sleep most of the way. I shifted in my seat and opened my eyes. Dylan stood in front of me, his face back to being stern.
I’d not seen him since he’d left the shower. I’d boarded the airplane, collapsed into my seat and fallen asleep, still relaxed from spontaneous sex and another Dylan-induced orgasm.
When I’d seen him in the lounge, any thought that I could resist him had dissolved. I wanted him, and even though it meant giving up control—to him, to my lust—he was worth it. The way he made my body come alive was nothing I’d ever felt sober or drunk. I knew now that with him, I could give up my control but still sustain my sobriety, and that made me want him even more.
And he seemed to want me, too, which gave me confidence, as if it made wanting him back okay. He could have very easily avoided me in the lounge but hadn’t; he’d sought me out.
I smiled as my hand went to my head. Was I sporting bed head?
He held out his phone. “Number.”
Jeez, he was moody. Did everyone just do exactly as he told them? Probably.
But did I want to be one of them? Should I give him my number? Giving up control for short, defined periods of time was one thing, but suggesting that we contact each other outside the confines of a trip was another.
“Number,” he repeated.
I focused on him as if he was going to be able to answer my question before I asked it. He stared back at me before I said, “Is it a good idea? I mean—”
“I need to know what this is,” he said. His expression didn’t alter, and he kept his eyes on mine. I didn’t know what he meant, but I took his phone. I’d spent the last week wondering about him, imagining him on street corners. I’d lived through a one-night stand with him, my father being rushed to hospital, and was still holding things together. The world hadn’t fallen apart. Perhaps I was ready for a little ambiguity, a little less control, and a little more fun.
I took the phone and tapped in my number, adding my name in as Airport Orgasm.
I handed it back. He nodded once, his beautiful indigo eyes looked deep into me and then he stalked off.
I smiled. He struck me as a man who didn’t ask for a number he didn’t intend to use. Everything he did had intent. But if he didn’t call, I’d survive. It was a powerful feeling—understanding how strong I’d become. Besides, I was pretty sure I could live off Dylan James memories until I started dating properly.
I gathered my things, ready for a quick exit. I had a lot to do tonight, including a little more research on the producer I’d be meeting tomorrow, and I’d have to call Haven and tell her about my unexpected encounter with Dylan. She’d be thrilled. Even more so when I told her I’d given him my number.
I’d only brought a carry-on with me on this trip, so I sped through the airport. I got through immigration in record time, and by some miracle, there was no line for a cab.
“The Langham Hotel, please,” I said to the driver as I climbed into the taxi, carefully, as I was sans underwear.
The Langham made some of the best cake in Chicago. It was one of the reasons that they were my first choice of hotel when I was here.
I leaned back in my seat. I’d not expected to see Dylan again, but he’d been the perfect start to my trip. I’d arrived at the airport a little tense and nervous about filming my trial segment for A Chicago Saturday tomorrow. I’d boarded the plane floating and smiling. Dylan certainly knew how to make a woman come, that was for sure.
I could still feel his fingers pressed around my hips.
First class travel and great hotels were a particular indulgence of mine. My brother had been very generous to me when he sold his first company. It had taken a while, and a lot of nagging on his part, for me to accept his money and start spending it, but he’d set up a trust fund I’d actually started to enjoy.
Although my dad lived close by, it was easier on everyone, including his second wife and their kids, if I didn’t stay with them. I’d spend much of my time on this trip at work anyway.
My phone vibrated. “Hey, Haven,” I answered.
“So, I was thinking about making lemon meringue pie for Sunday dinner, but then I thought if you were going to be back, maybe you’d prefer to do it?”
Sunday dinners with my brother, Haven, Ash and Haven’s brother—who was also Ash’s husband—meant I got to test out my new recipes on a willing and enthusiastic audience who were brutally honest with me.
“Yes, I’ll be home on Saturday so I can do the pie.” I never turned down an opportunity to bake.
“Do you mind?”
“Nope. Not at all. In fact, I’m glad you called—I have an update on Dylan.”
“I knew it. Fate. What’s happened?”
I laughed. “Well, he was on the same flight. How weird is that? I mean, it’s a huge coincidence.”
“Oh, my God. I told you. Did you join the mile-high club?”
“I told you—yuck. But I may have joined the airport-lounge club, if there is such a thing. Does that make me a slut?” I whispered in the hope that the driver wouldn’t overhear me.
Haven squealed. “Enjoying sex doesn’t make you a slut. You’re practically a virgin. It’s about time you had a little fun.”
I nodded, even though Haven couldn’t see. When I saw Dylan, my desire overtook everything and I let him lead. It was liberating to not overthink things, to not let caution rule, if only in that contained space that existed between Dylan and I when he was around.
“And was he as good as you remembered?” Haven asked.
I sucked in a breath at the memory. “Better.”
“It’s fate.”
“Don’t be crazy. A good start to my trip is what it was.” It had been more than good. I couldn’t remember sex ever being so much fun, so intense, so uncomplicated. I couldn’t wipe the grin from my face.
“Did you swap numbers? I mean, you don’t have to marry the guy, but if the sex is that good, have a little fun.”
“You don’t think it’ll mess with my head? I have a great life and now with the baking and the television thing just landing in my lap, I’m happy. I don’t want to be greedy, or want something too badly. You know?”
“It’s not greedy to take something on offer. Let Dylan be the cherry on the top of your cake. If he’s offering, you may as well take a bite. It doesn’t have to be anything serious.”
I giggled at her mixed metaphor. “Maybe.”
“I mean it. What he’s offering is just what you need to get you back in the dating game. There are no emotions to knock you off kilter. If you don’t care about him, he can’t hurt you.”
She was right. Expectations were my downfall. Expecting a man to return my feelings, or treat me kindly . . . Expecting someone wouldn’t turn out to be a total shit. With Dylan, I had no expectations so I couldn’t be disappointed.
“I gave him my number, so the decision is out of my hands.” I didn’t really believe that. Dylan had been gruff on the plane, but I got the impression he was fiercely private. There was no way, with all the eyes of the cabin crew on him, that he was going to get my number, then not use it.
“He can be your Chicago lover when you’re in town. This could be a perfect way of getting you back into men. No strings, a little stress relief, great sex. And you’re not even living in the same town so there’s no pressure.”
Haven’s words trickled through my brain, and the idea of more of Dylan James became more appealing with every moment.
Dylan
Goddamn it. I couldn’t believe she’d run away from me—again. What was with this girl? She’d been willing and eager when I was fucking her, had given me her number without a fight, but she’d disappeared into thin air again as soon as the plane landed.
Standing in the queue for immigration, I typed “Beth” into my phone. Nothing came up. I tried “Harrison.” Nothing. Jesus. I hoped she hadn’t jerked me around. I cricked my neck, trying to relieve some of the cramped muscles. The girl was bad for my health. I scrolled through my contacts. Nothing under Beth, Bethany or Elisabeth. Fuck.
I put my phone into my breast pocket and gave border patrol my passport. I needed to work out a quicker way of getting through security. There were too many VIPs if it meant I had to wait in line.
As I made my way to baggage, I wondered why she hadn’t given me her number. From the number of orgasms I’d given her, I was confident that she’d enjoyed the fucking, so why had she disappeared? Perhaps she was married and I’d misjudged her. My gut twisted. Misjudging women was not something I ever wanted to do again.
Jesus, I wanted to be home already. I was done with this week.
I took my phone out again and started scrolling. Perhaps I’d missed her entry. I scrolled right to the top of my contacts and saw it. Airport Orgasm. I grinned and my shoulders released. Funny as well as sexy. Ordinarily, I got the measure of women very quickly. I applied the same analytical skills in my sex life as I did in the workplace. My ex-fiancée, Alicia, had taught me that it was easy to misjudge a woman, and when she left me, I vowed never to do it again. So it was important to me to understand a woman really quickly. If they were after my money, it wouldn’t stop me from fucking them, but I needed to know ahead of time. I wouldn’t get caught out again.
Beth was the first woman since Alicia I couldn’t pin down, or figure out. At first she was shy and nervous, but that had disappeared and the sexuality she cloaked when fully clothed caught back up with her and she seemed to enjoy fucking as much as I did—she hadn’t faked anything. But she was full of contradictions. Where did her money come from for her to fly first class? It didn’t fit—she didn’t seem like the spoiled heiress type. And her obsession with cake was unusual. I wanted to know more. I wanted to understand all her apparent inconsistencies.
I’d become accustomed to being used for my money, but perhaps Beth was using me for my dick. I wasn’t sure I’d mind—I just wanted to know.
Dylan: Airport Orgasm? Were you thinking it wouldn’t stand out in my phone?
I grinned as I waited for her reply. And waited. And waited some more. My muscles bunched as I considered that she might never reply. Shit. Was it too much to call her?
I spotted my suitcase on the other side of the carousel, slipped my phone back into my pocket as I retrieved my luggage, and then I headed for the exit.
My driver, Don, always parked in the same place, so I made my way to where he would be waiting. Don was taciturn and although he’d worked with me for nearly two years, I knew almost nothing about him, which was why I liked him. Relationships that were uncomplicated and without emotion suited me. If I got to know him and he had a dying mother, or a sick kid, I’d feel an obligation to take some kind of responsibility and that wasn’t what I was looking for.
I slid in to the back seat and pulled out my phone. I was like a fucking teenager, trying to get the pretty girl to notice me.
I didn’t really know what it took to woo a woman successfully—I’d never had to try. Apart from my relationship with Alicia, there’d been no one serious. No one who had caught my interest. Mandy was a great, regular one-night stand, and I liked it that way. She didn’t require work. None of the women I’d slept with since Alicia did, and that wasn’t a coincidence.
Alicia. Hers wasn’t a name I allowed to seep into my brain very often. And it wasn’t that Beth reminded me of her. Physically, they were totally different. Alicia had been a fierce redhead. Beth was soft and sexy, and had the ability to pierce the armor I wore. No one had done that since Alicia. It was just a pinprick but I felt it all over. The effect of her was disturbing and compelling in equal measure.
Fuck it—I’d call.
I pressed dial, half wondering if I should have waited until I’d got home. Don didn’t give a shit who I fucked, but I wanted our conversation to be private, and definitely didn’t want to be blown off in front of my driver.
Straight to voice mail. I shook my head. I was being an idiot.
I needed to get my shit together.
My phone vibrated in my hand.
“Hey. Did you get that proposal?” Raf asked.
“I just got into the car. I haven’t checked my emails yet. Any clear conclusions?” The business Raf and I had founded straight after college owned a bunch of companies. We’d started small, buying a failing tire company in Missouri the same year Alicia and I’d gotten engaged. We bought it for a dollar and took on a pile of debt, but after two years, we sold it for 3.5 million, debt free. The next business we bought for two million dollars and turned into a ten-million-dollar company in twenty months. Success was addictive—and we got used to it quickly.
As we got bigger, we had teams of people implementing turnaround plans across a portfolio of companies. Raf and I were in the middle of our annual strategic review, the time of year where we decided which companies we were going to keep, and which were ripe for a sale.
“I think things are pretty much where we expected. Except for Raine Media. WCIL TV in Chicago has lost a ton of viewers. I’m not sure media is our bag. They haven’t hit their numbers again and I think management has lost focus.”
“We might need to cut our losses. I’ll take tires over television any day of the week.” It had been Raf’s idea to buy a media company. I’d gone along with it—he had a sharp eye—but I’d never really been convinced.
“Take a look at it. I think it’s beyond hope.”
I didn’t need to take a look at it if Raf had already called time of death. “Okay. Anything else?”
“What, in the fifteen hours I haven’t spoken to you?” His tone suggested that something had happened.
“Yeah. I know how you like to cause trouble while I’m away.”
“Oh, that’s right. I banged my assistant and she quit. I’ve got a temp.”
“Jesus, Raf. Again? Can’t you keep it in your pants? That’s like the third one in a year. You’re one step away from a lawsuit.”
“Jesus nothing. Did you see the girl? She was totally smokin’. No way was I saying no. Especially when she asked me so nicely.” His grin filtered through the phone.
“If she sues us, you’re paying out of your own pocket.”
“Calm down. She’s not going to sue. You need to get laid.”
I grinned. If he only knew. That was the difference between us. Raf and I were both believers in casual sex, I was just a little more discreet than he was.
I ended the call and scrolled back up to Beth’s number. Against my better judgment, I pressed dial again.
“Hey,” she answered.
I smiled. “Where are you?”
“At my hotel. Why?”
“You’re like the disappearing woman.”
“I like to get off planes quickly. The journey’s done. There’s nothing to be had from sitting around and enjoying the view.”
I chuckled; it was true. “How come you’re in a hotel?”
She sighed. “My dad’s house is a little cramped. Where are you?”
I glanced out the window. “Just pulling up outside my house. You live with your dad?”
“Are you kidding me? You know I’m legal, right?” She laughed.
“So, you don’t live in Chicago?”
“What’s with all the questions?”
I was interrogating her as if she were a business proposition. “I’m sorry. I just . . .” I couldn’t explain it to her without sounding like a sap. I wanted to know more about her. Maybe that way she wouldn’t be quite so intriguing, so contradictory. “You can ask me a question. I think that’s how conversation goes. You say something, then I say something.”
“You’re a lover and a comic.”
I chuckled as I stepped out of the car and Don carried my suitcase up the steps to my brownstone. I nodded in thanks and he left me on the stoop.
She sighed as if exasperated. “Okay, if I get a question, what should I ask?”
My stomach fluttered as she deliberated.
“First I should really thank you for the orgasm.”
My balls tightened at her words. She was most welcome. “The pleasure was all mine.”
She laughed, a deep sexy laugh, and I imagined her red lips spread wide, ready for my cock. “You’ve thrown me off,” she said. “I don’t know what to ask you now. What do you suggest?”
I couldn’t tell if she wasn’t interested and she was trying to be nice, or if she was being genuine. “Ask me if I’m free for dinner.”
I unlocked the door and pulled my case into the hallway, shrugged off my jacket and tie, catching the scent of her almond perfume as I did. Was I imagining things? It didn’t matter; I wanted more of that scent.
Finally, she replied, “I can’t have dinner with you tonight.”
“Give me three good reasons.” I snapped into business mode. Negotiation I could do.
“Well, I have to prepare for tomorrow. You’re a stranger. The whole point of a one-night stand is that we don’t have to make awkward conversation over dinner.”
“I’m not a stranger, so that point disappears immediately. And you think our conversation is going to be awkward?” I asked, addressing her points one by one. “Why would you think that? We have so much in common.” I slumped on the sofa and put my feet up on the small table.
She laughed and I couldn’t help but grin in response, it was such a relaxed sound. “Like what?”
“We’re both in Chicago. We like having sex with each other—Do I need to go on?”
“I’m not sure that’s the basis of excellent dinner conversation.”
“Look, I’m not proposing marriage. Just dinner.” I loosened my tie.
“That’s what Haven said.”
Who the fuck was Haven? “Who?”
“My sister-in-law.”
She had a brother. Interesting. Apart from her name, it was the first bit of personal information she’d given me. “She told you I wasn’t proposing marriage?”
“She told me to have some fun, and that I didn’t have to marry you.”
“I like her; she gives excellent advice. Usually I save marriage for the second date. So dinner. Where are you staying?”
“The Langham. But no, reason one trumps them all. I have to prep.” Her words were clipped, decided.
“Prep for what?” I asked.
“I have a thing tomorrow. A TV thing.”
“Are you trying to be deliberately mysterious? Because, let me tell you, it’s working.” I couldn’t remember the last time I had so much fun just talking. If she wouldn’t have dinner with me, perhaps she would stay on the phone and just swap stories.