CHAPTER 4
BEN STEPPED FROM the jet bridge onto the plane, stifling a yawn. He was definitely feeling the lack of sleep. Not that he was complaining. The mere memory of Chloe writhing beneath him, his hands on her skin, her tongue in his mouth… Ben shifted with discomfort as his dick stirred at the erotic recollection.
What he planned to complain about when he saw Chloe again was the fact that he’d woken up alone this morning. But first he had to make it to his seat. He shuffled farther into the plane, waiting as the gentleman in front of him hoisted his suitcase into the overhead compartment.
Jesus, he could still smell her. It was an unfortunate by-product of an overactive imagination and this morning’s shower. He’d used what she’d left in the tiny bottle of complimentary hotel shampoo, and now the achingly familiar perfume of flowers lingered around him. Normally it would have made him nauseous, but thanks to the wrestling match on the bed last night, it was making him horny.
Ben pushed a hand through his Chloe-scented hair and continued to sidestep down the narrow aisle until he arrived at row G and the object of his lust-filled fantasies came into view.
She was wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt with a zombified Audrey Hepburn on it. Her lips were stained a deep shade of berry; her eyeliner was back with gothic vengeance. And if his cock had been mildly interested at the memory of her, the reality of Chloe had its full attention.
Her attention, though, was studiously focused on the in-flight magazine in her lap.
“Is this seat taken?”
She glanced up as he shoved his carry-on into the overhead bin. She might have sighed as he brushed past her to sit down, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Guess I should have thought this through a little better. I was trying for a dramatic and mysterious exit after a single night of passion.” She flipped a glossy page with her index finger.
“Yeah, assigned seating really messes with drama.”
She flipped another page. “Worst one-night-stand exit ever.”
“On the contrary. You were very quiet when you left—I didn’t wake up at all. Nothing was drawn on my face in permanent marker, and I still have my watch, my wallet and my credit cards,” Ben countered charitably. “As far as I’m concerned, this ranks very high on the scale.”
His joke earned him a withering glare.
“I meant that we’re stuck in forced proximity and tight confines, with no choice but to ignore each other awkwardly and try to keep our arms from touching until we can finally go our separate ways. Which reminds me, I’m claiming this now.” She laid her right arm on the armrest from elbow to wrist, completely covering it from view.
“Or…we could defy the expected and skip the awkward silence. Just keep on living life as though I didn’t ruin you for other men last night.”
She raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
“Look, Chloe. We’ve got about an hour of forced proximity left to go here. So what do you say we move on, start over?”
* * *
“START OVER?” she asked speculatively. Like I’m not completely and utterly mortified that I jumped you in the hotel room last night? “As in we do that lame handshake thing in all the girly movies and reintroduce ourselves?”
Ben laughed, and the rumbling sound put a dent in her defenses. “Yeah, that.”
With a shrug of acquiescence, Chloe held her hand out. “I’m Latoya.”
Ben smirked at her as they shook. “Julio.”
“Hmm. Sexy name. So tell me, Julio, what do you do for a living?”
She was expecting a smart-ass comment, like “romance novel cover model,” but instead she got: “What do you think I do?”
She arched her right eyebrow. “Honestly?”
He nodded.
“Sales.” She didn’t even hesitate. “Ad exec, maybe? That or hocking used cars.”
“Wow. Don’t take a second to think about it or anything.” Ben’s voice was light, jokey, but his forehead was a bit furrowed, and there was a gravitas to his next words. “How come?”
“Are you kidding me?”
His silence said he was not.
She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. The way you dress is part of it.” She eyed his attire.
“Lots of men wear suits. Newscasters. Athletes. Mob bosses. The alter-egos of superheroes.”
She remained unmoved. “Am I right?”
Ben shrugged. “I can neither confirm nor deny this line of questioning until you tell me what you do.”
“What do you think I do?” she mimicked.
He turned in his seat to look at her, really look at her, and Chloe squirmed a little under the inspection. She was this close to blushing. To counteract the uncomfortable feeling, she forced herself to square her shoulders and raise her chin a notch.
“Well, I’m gonna strike flight attendant and used car salesman from the list of possibilities, considering your obvious scorn for those professions.”
Chloe flashed him a tight smile. Ha, ha.
“Um, okay. You’re not a dentist. You’re not the vice president of anything.” His eyes darted to the zombie on her T-shirt. “And you’re not a kindergarten teacher.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why do I suddenly feel like this game is going to be less than flattering?”
“What do you mean, suddenly? Did you hear the way you say sales?”
“Just guess already,” she urged, but with a sinking sensation in her stomach. Chloe wasn’t so sure that she wanted to know Ben’s impressions of her.
“I think you’re an artist.”
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.
He nodded slowly, contemplatively. “Whatever you do, it’s something that other people only wish they did. I bet you illustrate comic books, or sing in a band, or create amazing sculptures out of ordinary, everyday things.” He squinted at her, analyzing. “There’s a slight chance you’re a little more corporate about it, though—like a graphic designer, or maybe you have a clothing line in the works.”
Chloe sucked in her breath. It was highly possible that that was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about her. Or to her, for that matter.
“So? Am I close?”
God, that lopsided grin was adorable.
In a really weird way that she refused to scrutinize, Chloe didn’t want to disappoint him with the truth. Or herself. What was the point of squashing the warmth in her chest with cold, bitter reality? She liked the way Ben saw her, full of possibilities. She wasn’t ready to relinquish that feeling yet.
“You know what, Ben? You and I are going to return to our regularly scheduled lives in just over an hour, right?”
He glanced at his watch. “Thereabouts.”
“So how about we don’t ruin today with anything as mundane as the truth? I mean, think about it. In your lifetime, how many people have you spent the night with who didn’t know what you did for a living?”
Ben’s lips quirked in a bit of a smile. “None.”
“Exactly. So let’s not label ourselves. Let’s embrace that rebellious streak of yours, Mr. Lone Wolf. Let’s live dangerously and talk to strangers.”
“Huh. Impassioned speech. Is this your way of keeping me from guessing your true occupation? Because if you’re a politician, I promise I won’t think less of you,” he vowed.
Chloe relaxed in her seat and let the hour fly by, literally and figuratively, as she talked to Ben.
* * *
CHLOE STOOD NEXT to Ben, watching the unfamiliar luggage circling past them on the conveyer belt.
After they’d decided not to make the usual small talk about themselves, they’d ended up bonding over innocuous things like a mutual hatred of sunglasses that rivaled dinner plates in circumference, and a shared belief that specialty cartoon channels had massacred the joy of childhood Saturday mornings.
Turned out Ben was just as cool as she’d suspected. It would figure she’d spent the past four years dating nothing but losers, only to run into one of the good ones when she was only looking for a one-night stand.
“The boutonnieres are an absolute disgrace. How will it look with the groomsmen wearing champagne roses when the rest of the wedding flowers are white?”
Oh no. Chloe turned toward the familiar voice growing ever louder as a woman with a cell phone to her ear barked orders and stalked toward the baggage claim. Not even the bustle of an international airport could mute this particular woman scorned.
“We’re not going to pay for this kind of lack of attention on your part. That’s right. Yes, eight new boutonnieres made with white roses. We’ll be expecting them by noon. Yes, that’s the correct address. Tell the concierge it’s for the Masterson–Van Allen wedding.”
Ignoring Ben’s questioning look, Chloe took off toward her mother, trying to keep as much distance between him and Fiona Masterson as possible. No need to complicate things any more than they already were.
“Mom! Hi.” The second the words were out of her mouth, four years of distance swirled up around them and stole Chloe’s breath. Her mother looked the same. A little older, obviously, but as regal as ever.
Her graying hair was pulled back into the elegant chignon she favored. She was dressed in black from head to toe, all designer labels, all tailored to perfection for her slim frame. Even the posh winter coat. Her jewellery was gold, but her earrings were pearls. The first piece of jewelry Chloe’s father had ever given her, the night he’d professed his love, a mere seven dates into their courtship. That’s what her mother had always called it, their “courtship”. As a little girl the tale had been one of Chloe’s favorite bedtime stories, and she would beg her mother to tell it night after night.
And now they were reduced to exchanging an awkward air kiss in an airport terminal.
“Chloe Marie, it’s about time you got here.” Her mother made a production of glancing around as she dropped her phone into her Louis Vuitton handbag. “Alone, I see. That’s going to throw off the seating chart. You couldn’t have RSVP’d to let us know so that we could rearrange the tables earlier, I suppose. I’m sure selling makeup to mall patrons keeps you from picking up the phone. Never mind that an uneven seating chart can completely derail a wedding.”
Chloe gritted her teeth in her best semblance of a smile. “What are you doing here? We agreed to meet at the hotel.”
“I was ironing out a few last-minute things for the wedding, so I had the car service bring me here. I thought you could come back to the bridal suite with me. You can get ready there, so I don’t have to worry about you being late for tonight’s ceremony. Also, I need someone to keep an eye on your sister while I check on the catering staff. You know they…”
Her mother’s eyes widened and the rest of the chastisement died on her lips a split second before an arm slipped around Chloe’s waist.
“I’ve got our bags, babe. Mrs. Masterson, it’s great to finally meet you. I’m Ben.” He extended a hand in Fiona Masterson’s direction, and Chloe could only mirror her mother’s shocked expression as he delivered the coup de grâce. “Chloe’s boyfriend.”