Axel
I am not certain how to react with Joyce’s blatant disregard for the luxury jet and the wealth and power it shows of my status. Most working class women like her would be agog and besides themselves with excitement at being treated to such luxury. Other than the widening of her eyes at first, she does nothing other than to take the seat along the first zone where I point out that she should sit.
And yet I’m impressed with her poise. By observing her, one would never guess this is her first time being on a private jet. I am not partial to women and I have to say she’s one of the very few ladies who have ever flown in my jet and not gush about it. It confirms my suspicion of her, that she isn’t the kind of woman who is taken by material things. I find this as beautiful as I find the rest of her.
As the plane take off, I observe her, wondering what is it that’s so special about her that she has me ass backwards. It’s not that she’s extremely beautiful though she is very pleasant to look at. I’ve date women who were more beautiful, hotter and with more vivacious personality. Yet none of them has ever occupied my thoughts the way Joyce does.
And I almost blew it. She seems pissed at me as she stared out through the window and ignore me. She hasn’t spoken one sentence to me since we left her grandmother’s. I couldn’t say I blame her either. I’m aware of the way I’ve been bossing her around but I am not sure what else I can do. All I know is that that first day we met, the only thing on my mind at the time was taking over Cavil’s and wondering if I was doing the right thing in assuming responsibilities of a failing publishing company. Then I’d run into this woman and the second I lay eyes on her and saw her cheeks flush, I knew something was different about her.
I enjoy parrying words with her, even intimidating her a little for her to do what I want. If she only knew I wouldn’t do any of the things I’ve threatened to do. I would have let her go from her contract but I have a need I didn’t understand fully to keep her around.
Attraction is there of course. Definitely after that scorching kiss in her grandmother’s restaurant the day before. I’d wanted to lift her onto the couch and sink my manhood into her body but it was too soon. I had to know if she’s as special as I think she is. Or would she turn out to be money hungry? Her actions indicate she isn’t or she wouldn’t have run away to Birmingham, putting thousands of miles between us.
The day I’d walked by her desk and seen the website for Southwest Airline, I hadn’t been able to resist getting a closer look. I’d noted the dates she had selected and the airport and had been furious that she was still planning to leave even after the way I’d threatened her. I could have stopped her from then but I tried telling myself that her leaving was probably for the best anyway. I couldn’t afford for distraction with a new company to run.
Two days later I was still trying to convince myself as I looked through her personal file and found out just who she had in Birmingham. I’d been relieved it wasn’t a boyfriend but her grandmother listed as next-of-kin on her file. I had the exact address where she was staying and I hadn’t been able to resist going after her.
I acknowledge the madness of my actions in leaving the business without a head of authority but the employees seemed to know their tasks. I’d left the interior decorator to designing the office exactly how Joyce had envisioned it and took the private jet out to see her. If she was thousands of miles away and I couldn’t stop thinking about her and those cute blushes of her, then I’d sooner have her around where I could keep an eye of her.
“Joyce, do you want a glass of champagne?” I ask her, to break the silence between us.\
She shakes her head but doesn’t answer. Her eyes are closed and she appears to be lulling herself to sleep. I’m disappointed. I want to talk to her, to find out more about her. Why is her grandmother her next-of-kin instead of her parents? Why is she so skittish around me? I could understand the powerful attraction between us making her wary but sometimes she seems almost afraid of me.
At first, hearing the way Cavil spoke about her, I’d thought there was something between the two which had made me very cold towards her but I soon realized how foolish the idea was.
I could be charming and sweet to her but that wouldn’t work with Joyce. I read her quite well. If I calmly ask her out on a date, she would say no. Joyce needs a man who can make her step out of her shell and be who she’s meant to be. And I’m determined for that man to be me.
I want to teach her to trust me.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and go to the wet bar where I pour myself a glass of cognac and poured her a glass of sherry despite her saying she doesn’t want anything. The alcohol will do her some good, let her relax and probably we could get around to talking.
Returning to our seat, I place the drinks on the table before us. She still doesn’t acknowledge my presence any at all and I am becoming annoyed with her.
“Are you planning to sulk for the two-and-a-half-hour ride to Detroit?” I ask her. I am trying to go for a friendlier tone but didn’t quite succeed in hiding my annoyance.
She makes a sound like a moan and I frown at her. “Joyce, are you okay?”
“I don’t feel so good,” she moans and wraps her hand around her tummy, trying to huddle into herself.
At first the thought crosses my mind that she is faking it but the minute I reach to take her arm and feel the heat coming from her skin, I know she’s sick. I touch her forehead and she’s burning up. Damn, she was fine before we left her grandmother, what the hell would have caused her to be sick right now?
“Joyce, you’ve a high temperature,” I say to her.
“I know,” she mumbles.
“Why didn’t you say something?” I berate her. “Good Lord, woman. Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation? First, starving yourself and now suffering in silence from a fever.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
Anger rise inside of me. “Damn it, Joyce. Feel free to bother me anytime something is wrong.”
She unbuckles her seatbelt and tries to stand but she’s woozy and I catch her.
“I need the bathroom,” she says, holding her mouth.
“Shit.”
I swing her up in my arms and stride towards the lavarotory. The bathroom was designed to be luxurious, with a shower. I hold her to me as she vomits into the toilet and my heart wrenches painfully to see her like this and not knowing the cause. She dry-heaves a few times, her slender body shuddering in my arms.
“Got it all out?” I ask her gently wiping the sweat from her face.
“This is so embarrassing,” she murmurs and tries to hide her face from me. “Must be something I ate last night at that restaurant.”
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
I help her to brush her teeth with the disposable toothbrushes I keep stored before lifting her in my arms once more. She is so hot that it scares me. I can feel her body burning up against mine. She wraps her arms around my neck to keep herself steady as I walk her to the back of the jet where the bedroom is. The area consists of a bed, a La-Z-Boy recliner and massage chair, rug and a television. I place her on the bed.
“I’ve got to get you out of this dress for you to cool off, Joyce.”
She shakes her head fitfully from one side to one. “No, you can’t. I’ll be fine.”
I hold her face gently between my hands and direct her eyes to my worried ones. “You need to get cool, Joyce,” I insist. “Don’t worry about me taking advantage of you. I’ve all the time in the world to do that when you’re better.”
She doesn’t protest and I drop a kiss on her feverish forest before sitting her up in the bed so I could pull her dress over her head. She sinks back down onto the bed and huddles on her side, embarrassed even in her feeling so ill. As much as she is dressed only in her bra and panties and is a beauty to behold, I’m more concerned about getting her fever down.
I leave her shortly to damp some towels in the bathroom next to the bedroom and return to her side. I press the cool material to her forehead and she hisses.
“That feels so good,” she murmurs.
“It’ll get your fever down,” I tell her softly. “I’ve got painkillers you can also take. When was the last time you ate?”
“Last night,” she answers. “I wasn’t feeling too good when I woke up this morning.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
She doesn’t respond. I continue wiping her face, her neck, down her body until I am satisfied she is cool enough.
“I’m going to get you something to eat,” I inform her so she doesn’t think I’ve abandoned her.
“Where? Wendy’s?” she jokes weakly. “Not even you can pull that off.”
“Hmm. We’ll see.”
I pull the sheet up her waist, my eyes straying to her small perky breasts which makes my mouth dry. I tear my gaze away and find her looking at me, her cheeks flushed with more than just fever. I drop a kiss on her brow and make my way to the galley. Before I could even address how much we want each other, first and foremost is getting her well.
The galley is always stocked with food. It is basically a smaller version of a kitchen with a stove top, microwave, kettle, sink and dishwasher. I find a can of chicken soup. Perfect. Usually I have a private air hostess who prepares meals when I’m traveling long distance. Otherwise I make myself easy meals or wait until I land to get something to eat.
I ladle the soup into a small bowl knowing it is imperative for her to eat but being sick she probably wouldn’t eat much. Placing the bowl onto a tray, along with a spoon, I return to find her body still cooler than when I’d initially noticed her temperature.
“Joyce, let’s get some food into your stomach,” I encourage her to sit up in the bed and perch beside her on the edge.
“I’m not hungry,” she protests.
“You are. You just don’t know it yet because you’re feeling sick. Come on. You need food to keep your energy up. That’s a good girl,” I encourage her when she allows me to spoon soup into her mouth. “Come on, eat some more.”
I keep encouraging her until she’s eaten most of the content then I listen when she says she doesn’t want anymore. I give her the painkillers to take and wipe her down again with tap water. When I finish cleaning up in the galley and return to her, she is barely warm and sleeping.
I stand there for a very long time watching her sleep and a feeling so intense came over me that I’m poleaxed by the force of it. I know in that minute there was no way I would let her walk away from me. Not after today. Not after my hands have bathed her body, chasing away her fever. Not after holding her while she threw up.
I sit in the La-Z-Boy beside the bed, determined to keep vigil and ensure her fever doesn’t get more intense again before we land. I feel a fierce protective instinct over her.
Joyce belongs to me.