Isabella
The sign above the gate in JFK airport says we’re on time to take off so I set my knapsack down on a plastic chair and scan the area for James Statten. Finally, I see him sitting near the window, scrunched over his laptop. When I peer over his shoulder, he slaps it shut and swivels.
Slowly he peruses my outfit and for the longest time studies my face. “Are you wearing makeup?”
“Yeah.” Shit. “Why?” I dig frantically in my purse for a mirror but he chuckles and grabs my hand.
“There’s nothing wrong. It’s nice, that’s all I meant.”
I don’t remember the last time someone complemented me for something other than my brains and am stunned mute. Thankfully, I’m saved from trying to respond because a voice comes over the loudspeaker saying our flight is delayed.
Sighing, James puts his laptop into a leather bag and stands. “Did you have breakfast?”
“I already ate but I could use another cup of coffee.”
Now, I don’t know much about men’s clothing but the man’s suit hugs his frame perfectly and his shirt is made out of this white shiny fabric that I can’t help but touch. When I reach up to adjust the collar, our eyes lock with that same passion from the gym but it’s me that looks away.
Damn it, Izzy. You just broke up with your fiancé. Don’t do this to yourself.
My diet comes to mind. Maybe if I’d paid a little more attention to my looks, Jared wouldn’t’ve cheated on me. My will power reinforced, we approach the nearest restaurant and are seated in the only open booth. I order coffee while James orders steak and eggs.
I smirk and raise my eyes at his huge order and he laughs. “What? I’m hungry.”
When his iPhone dings, he checks it out. Then, he frowns and pinches the bridge of his nose while taking a deep breath, clearly shaken.
“You okay?” The urge to comfort him is so strong that I reach over the glass tabletop and cover his hand with mine.
After a long sigh, he raises sad eyes to mine. “My dad’s got stage four cancer and there’s nothing anyone can do.”
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry.” I can imagine how I’d feel if I was going to lose my dad. “Is he here in the city?”
“Yeah. Columbia Pres.”
I want to ask why he isn’t at the hospital with him but again, he reads my mind. “He made me promise not to watch him waste away. In fact, he gets really agitated when I visit. I was there yesterday and he reamed me a new asshole.”
“Wow. That’s rough.”
“Ex-marine. You know the type?”
“No, not really.”
“Just as well.” He checks our flight time again as our breakfast arrives. “We still got plenty of time.”
We both reach for the small pitcher of cream at the same time and our fingers collide. When his steel gray eyes bore into mine, I bite my lower lips and struggle not to like him. He’s not the type I should be falling for. Now that I see him all dressed up, even more so. I bet he went to some Ivy league school and was raised with a silver spoon. He probably had a nanny, a cook, and somebody to watch him after school.
I had to walk home and lock myself in because I got fed up with the stupid after-care programs that cost my Mom way too much money.
Hell, I couldn’t even hold onto the asshat of a boyfriend that sponged off from me, I certainly wouldn’t be able to hold onto a man like James Statten. Whatever is going on between us would last for a few nights, at best. Then, he’ll go back to California and I’ll see him when he’s in town for a quick booty call.
Is that what I want with my life? Maybe not, but maybe he’s the rebound I need to get me out of this slump.
We eat in comfortable silence and talk about the project as we finish our coffees. I can’t believe how I open up to him. He’s such a great listener. Then, we sit back at the gate and when they call for first class he gets up and takes my arm.
“C’mon.”
“Don’t think so.” I wave my business class ticket in front of him but he laughs, walks to the desk, and points to me.
When he comes back, I have a seat in first class. I know you’re not supposed to lick a gift horse in the mouth or something like that, but how the hell did he change it?
I fully intend to pump him for more information.
Pump him? Oh God. That turn of phrase had me thinking about how his shorts bulged yesterday in the gym and how it might feel to put my mouth around him.
C’mon now Izzy. No way. What are you doing?
I still can’t figure out why I kissed him. It must’ve been the beer, the fact it was Valentine’s day, and that my ego took a deep dive after finding Jared and Maya. I’ve never done anything so impulsive in my life and probably should apologize. All this shit is shooting through my brain while I’m ushered like a fucking VIP past the hundreds standing in line.
The steward places my tattered knapsack next to expensive leather briefcases in the overhead compartment and the guy sitting across the aisle looks like an actor I’ve seen on TV but I can’t be sure. Apparently, James knows him because he leans over the aisle, they shake hands, and exchange a few pleasantries.
First class is awesome. People walk past me and I bet they wonder how the hell I got to sit here.
Me too.
The stewardess does her bit, teaching us how to unbuckle our seatbelts, and jump out of the plane in case of emergency. Picturing that, I cringe and remember I hate to fly. Worse than that? I hate to be cramped up in small spaces.
The door shuts and after twenty minutes, I fidget, stand, and get my bag.
“Miss? You need to sit.” She walks by and shoots me a fake smile.
“Sorry.” I wait until she’s gone then pop back up and say to James, “Do you think they’ll let me out?”
He gives me a worried look, the one you give crazy people.
Fuck. I need to get my shit together but I swear to God, the cabin is shrinking and they forgot to put enough oxygen in the mix because all I’m getting is toxic fumes.
“Miss. We’ll be on our way soon. Would you like a drink?” This time it’s the steward who gives me the same pathetic-loser look.
In fact, as I glance around, I think everyone in first class has the exact same expression. It’s probably something they teach in private schools, knowing that someday they’ll need to look down their noses.
Shit.
I nod, sit, and stare out onto the tarmac where steps are being rolled away. Why hasn’t the Ativan kicked in yet? Usually, by now I’d be fast asleep. I can’t let James know I have this deathly fear of flying. That would be the end of this assignment and any other project of worth.
I give a little off-handed laugh while the steward hands me a drink.
“You okay?” James touches my shaking hand, two-twenty volts of electricity kick in, and his deep gray eyes stare with concern.
“The last time I flew, we had to make an emergency landing. I never was this nervous before.” The cubes rattle, giving away how freaked out I am and yet somehow, I manage to bring the cup to my lips without spilling anything.
Gray motions the steward with a quick raise of his hand. “I’ll have one, too.”
We clink glasses as the pilot sounds off over the loudspeaker, “We missed our window of departure. I’m estimating about thirty minutes before we take off. Sorry for the inconvenience, folks.”
Ah shit. I remove my sweater, sweating like crazy and take a deep breath. Dammit. We haven’t even left the ground and I’m a mess.
James’ touch on my arm is like fire. I swear he feels it too because I hear him curse under his breath as he covers the bulge in his pants with a flight magazine.
“I’m going to need another.” I down the cheap wine and stare at about a dozen planes ahead of us, nose to tail on the runaway.
If I could just fall asleep, I’d be fine.
After a few more seconds, I catch a buzz, and the walls stop collapsing in on me. The crew must’ve pumped more oxygen into the cabin because my brain starts working again. For instance, I notice that James is holding my hand.
I take my gaze up his arm, to a solid neck, past a chin with that rugged not-shaved look. I pause at his soft lips and they open wide as I study. His nose is a bit Roman, his eyes piercing, and his thick lashes, dark.
Brown brows lift. “Do you always drink like this?”
Recently, yes. Before that, not so much.
“Never… Don’t worry. I’ll fall ashleep as shoon as we lift off.” I lean back into the chair, turn my head toward his, and close my eyes.
The warmth of his palm caressing my knuckles sends goosebumps down my back and I turn my hand over, as a kind of invitation. When he squeezes my fingers, a zing goes straight to my breasts and my mouth goes dry.
Slowly, he caresses into the space between my index and middle finger and his breathing gets heavy next to my ear as he leans in closer.
Holy hell, if this is what holding his hand is like, I can only imagine what it will be like when I get naked under him.
Oh fuck. I meant to say what it might be like if I get naked.
He pinches the web near my thumb. I hiss, he chuckles, and yet I’m too embarrassed to open my eyes. If he ever asks, I’ll pretend I was asleep and can’t remember.
By the time the jet takes off, my panties are soaked, my clit is swollen, and he’s done nothing more than hold my hand. It’s probably just the Molotov cocktail of wine and Ativan.
His grip moves to my knee, his fingers find a pressure point high on my upper thigh, and I have a friggin’ orgasm right there in first class.
Dear God, from the hitch in his breath I swear he knows. His fingertip caresses up and down my bare arm as he kisses my ear and I bite down on my lower lip. When I’m finally brave enough to lift my lids, his mouth rests just inches away. His gaze tells me how turned on he is so I move in and let our lips meet.
I’d think about doing it with him in the bathroom but despite what people say about the mile-high club, I mean really? Those tiny spaces are gross.
He sees where my gaze is focused and chuckles. “Don’t worry. We’ll have time to get to know each other when we get to the hotel.”
Technically, he’s not my boss and just a coworker. That means we can fool around, right?
That settled, I lean in and taste more of those soft lips. By the time we set down in Houston, we got the kissing down pretty well.
We make our way to the exit and our steward politely smiles and says, “Have a good stay, Mr. Patten, Ms. Harte.”
Whoa? Patten? As in the name on our letterhead? The building?
I have to wait until we get into the terminal to ask him what-the-fuck is up because his long legs are moving too fast.
When I get side by side I’m huffing and out of breath. “I thought you said your name was Statten.”
“Happens all the time. Just a misspeak.”
I know that’s complete bullshit. Holy crap. He must be the owner’s son or nephew or something.