Chapter Three
What had possessed him to suggest something as ludicrous as the Mile High Club? Maybe it was the fact that this woman was unlike anyone he’d ever met. Not only that, she didn’t seem to be coming on to him. Not that he was an egomaniac and expected all women to want him, but ever since Men’s Magazine had chosen him as their Most Eligible Bachelor and written the article about the fact that he was America’s youngest billionaire, he’d had women throwing themselves at him—or more likely, at his money.
This woman? She didn’t gush over him, she mocked him. So, Cal was compelled to mock right back. Of course, he had to take it to the next level.
The Mile High Club was a little higher than the next level. But he was committed now. He supposed he could throw the bet and let Becca win, but when faced with a challenge, Calum liked to win.
Had to win.
Not that he truly planned on having sex with this woman in some commercial airline bathroom. Oh, well. He’d figure everything out later.
After he won.
The overhead bins rattled, the plane dipped, and Cal felt as if his stomach had been left somewhere in the compartment above. The pilot came on, mumbling in a bored voice that they were entering a storm system and that everyone should return to their seats and fasten their seat belts. Cal clipped his belt in place and then leaned toward his seatmate, reaching across her lap. “Let me,” he said, deliberately brushing the thin blanket that covered her thighs.
She slapped his hands away and growled, “I’ve got it.”
Jackpot. He’d succeeded in unnerving this woman by pushing the boundaries. First rule in negotiations, always ask for more than you want.
A commotion from behind them interrupted any further discussion on the topic of their seat belts or on the stakes of their bet. A blond head poked around the curtain dividing economy from first class.
“There she is, that’s my sister. I need to speak with her,” the woman said, sounding a bit like Liza Minnelli.
“Ma’am, you have to return to your seat.”
“Psst! Becca!” The woman waved to her sister and then laid eyes on Cal and gasped. “You’re sitting with Calum Price?”
“Go back to your seat, Grace.”
“I should be sitting there. Let me sit there.”
“Ma’am…” Another flight attendant joined the first, ushering—or rather, pushing—the woman back to her seat in economy. A jolt in the aircraft may have helped speed up the process.
Becca whipped her head forward, and for the first time since she’d sat down, she avoided Cal’s gaze. When the flight attendant passed, she reached out to tug the woman’s skirt. “Umm, another mimosa, if you don’t mind.” Her smile wavered as she glanced sideways at Cal. “Sorry about that. My sister is actually very sweet.”
“Right.”
The plane rattled and dipped again.
“You know, turbulence is normal.” The woman’s voice became high-pitched and breathy.
“Yes, I know.”
“We probably only dropped a few feet. The most a plane will ever drop is about twenty, which is nothing if you consider we’re flying at thirty-five thousand.”
“That’s true.”
“And there are actually no reported crashes due to turbulence. An aircraft is engineered to maintain stability, and the pilots have probably turned on the automatic pilot for this bit of rough air.” She spoke quickly, pressing her lips together once she was done. “Crashes are mainly due to human error…”
That’s when Cal noticed her hands on the armrests, knuckles white from the sheer force of her grip.
So, Ms. Unflappable didn’t like turbulence. Cal wasn’t a fan, either, because it left him feeling out of control, but he’d become accustomed to it with all the air travel he did. Distraction was key when faced with something that made you feel out of control. Cal knew this fact only too well.
“You are either a student studying science or work at a university.”
By the way she slowly turned her head and then met his gaze with a look of bewilderment, Cal knew he’d nailed his first question in addition to succeeding in getting her to think about something other than the bouncing aircraft.
“You’re supposed to ask a question, not make a statement.”
“Fine. Do you have a graduate degree in science?”
“Yes,” she answered reluctantly.
Bingo. “And does this branch of science have to do with the sky?”
Her gaze narrowed, and her lips shifted to one side. “Maybe.”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Does this branch of science deal with the earth’s atmosphere?”
Becca wet her lips nervously. “A little yes…mostly, no.”
He smiled. God, he loved winning. He still had two questions, but he already knew what she did for a living. “You’re an astrophysicist. Theoretical.”
Her jaw literally dropped. “How…”
“I’m very perceptive, Dr. Watson.”
“But…”
Okay. Maybe he’d cheated. When she’d first sat down, she’d stuck a book into the pocket of the seat in front of her. He’d only seen it for a split second, but that was enough for it to register an image in his brain. Dark Matter, Dark Energy, and the Theory of the Universe by T.S. Klassen. There’d been a sticker from the University of Wisconsin on the dust jacket. No lay person read that sort of book for pleasure.
During the questioning, he had placed his hand over hers where it clutched the armrest between them. He gently squeezed and then brushed his fingers over the top of her hand.
Her gaze shifted from his face to where their hands met. Slowly, she pulled her hand out from beneath. Just as slowly, she swiveled her head back up to him. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted in a way that was quite…appealing. “Sex in the bathroom it is, then.”
…
Becca waited for Calum to back out of the bet, because she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he had no interest in her and had merely conned her. Super sexy, wealthy playboys did not make passes at geeks like her.
Except he didn’t recant. Oh, no. He smiled.
To ridicule her?
Obviously.
Well, if he thought she was going to give him an easy out, he could think again, no matter that the result of his smile was an unfamiliar warm and squishy feeling in the deepest part of her abdomen.
Becca could play this game, better than he could, and the more he pushed, the more she’d dish it right back until he retracted.
Yes, sir.
“Unless, of course, you want to back out.” She watched his face closely. “Do you?”
He did not look concerned, like he should. Oh, no, determined was a more apt descriptor.
Perfect. She loved a good challenge.
He pushed up his sleeves. “No. I want to go right now.”
They were merely playing a game, and yet strange little tingles radiated along the insides of her thighs. “Okay,” she said, dropping her voice while keeping it neutral. “Do you have condoms?”
“Of course.”
It was like there was some little person in her stomach poking her from the inside. “Cool.” Her voice only wavered a bit.
He pulled a billfold out of the seat pocket and, from inside, withdrew a plastic square.
Holy fuck.
Becca clamped her teeth together to keep the curse word from sneaking out of her mouth. Blood raced from her extremities to her midsection, making her feel weird and shivery. She gave herself a mental shake. “So, how does this work? Since you’ve done this so many times before.”
“This’ll be my first time on commercial, so your guess is as good as mine.” He placed the condom in his breast pocket, patted it, and grinned. “But I can hypothesize.” His eyes sparkled with irreverence. “Would you like to hear?”
He was good. Damn good.
“Of course.” She waved him on, hoping he didn’t notice how breathy her voice had become.
He leaned toward her and whispered, “You go first and wait inside with the door unlocked.”
Becca racked her brain for something that would make him crack. “What should I do while I wait?”
His brows rose. Just a hair. “You should prop your foot up, flip up your skirt, and run your hands up your thighs.”
He wasn’t seriously going there, was he? Fine. Let him go.
Pulling her shoulders back, she asked nonchalantly, “And then?”
His nostrils flared. “You should close your eyes and pretend your hands are mine, fingering the elastic on your panties.”
Becca squeezed her knees together. What the hell was going on with her? Why were the tingles spreading to her most private bits? Seriously?
She pretended to take a bored breath. “Is that it?”
“Oh, no.” He leaned even closer, his voice dropping to a quiet rumbling that matched the vibration between her legs. “You imagine my fingers skimming over your panties. Dipping just beneath, brushing your flesh, grazing your clit…”
Jesus Murphy.
This was going too far. She was more turned-on now than she’d ever been with Jerry—which might be why their relationship ended after four months.
Sex is good for you. She could hear Grace’s voice, as if her sister were still sitting beside her.
What about faux sex? No, not even faux sex. Faux sexual banter? Was that good for the health? She had no idea.
“But remember, Becca. This is all you. You’re touching yourself, while I wait.”
“What are you doing while you wait?” she asked, doing a Kegel to keep the unsolicited tingles under wraps.
He brushed hair away from her ear and whispered softly, “I’m standing outside the door, listening to you moan.”
The guy was talented, she’d give him that. Turning to face him, she whispered, “Does listening make you hard?”
He gazed directly into her eyes, then gently took her hand and placed it on his thigh, all the while holding her gaze. “Would you like to feel?”
She glanced down—she couldn’t help herself—and realized something important. As much as she knew with one-hundred-percent certainty that he was playing her, his body seemed to be reacting as if this was all real, just like hers was. Her evidence? A ridge of what could only be erect male flesh pressing against the fly of his trousers.
“I’ll make you a deal.” His voice was so low, she could barely hear him. “You can feel how hard I am if I get to feel how wet you are.” His other hand strayed to her thigh and inched up beneath the cotton of her sundress.
Suddenly the plane dipped worse than before, and her stomach was in her mouth.
It took a few seconds for Becca to realize her hands were wrapped around Calum’s arm. His bare and heavily muscled forearm, to be precise. What would it feel like to have those powerful arms wrapped around her? For his masculine hands to grasp her hips and haul her against his body? Again and again and again…
Enough!
With effort, Becca released his arm. The turbulence had broken whatever weird spell they’d been under, and Becca turned forward, staring at the headrest in front of her, waiting for the next jolt to hit.
“You need a distraction,” he said. Leaning across her, he reached into the seat pocket in front of her, pulled out her book, and deposited it in her lap.
That’s when realization hit. “You saw this. That’s how you knew what I do.”
He shrugged.
“You cheated.”
“No. I simply made use of my powers of perception.”
So, the man was observant. One more thing to add to his growing list of attributes. It wasn’t fair. No one person should be allowed to have so many gifts. While Becca had convinced herself that Calum Price was too perfect on paper, and thus just another arrogant ass, she was finding herself liking him more by the second.
You more than like him. That’s the closest you’ve come to having sex with a man in over a year.
It was embarrassing. A juvenile game of sexual innuendo had nearly brought her to orgasm in a commercial airline seat.
Maybe Grace was right about her needing to get laid.
Shit. Grace.
Becca gave herself a mental shake, reminding herself of her mission. She was here for Grace. And so far, she’d learned that Cal liked sex—or talking about it, anyway.
“Okay, so this”—she waved the book in the air—“nullifies the bet.”
“Why?”
Glancing sideways at him, she said, “Look. You can stop pretending. We both know I’m not your—”
“Not my what?” He leaned toward her, and she caught a whiff of cologne.
Undoubtedly expensive. Olfactorily speaking, delicious. Sweet and spicy. It probably tasted good, too. She gazed at his jaw, along the line of stubble that was becoming more appealing by the second. What would it be like if she were to run her tongue just beneath that line? How would he taste?
“Not my what?” Calum repeated.
“Your type.” She glanced at his hands. Strong. They would feel divine on her hips, hauling her against him, the sound of flesh on flesh…
“How do you know my type?”
She met his gaze. “I know it’s not me.” Even if I am imagining it right now…
“You know what I think?”
She shook her head.
“I think you don’t know anything about me.”
Unnerved by her body’s unwanted physical response to this man—a tightening of the lower abdomen and buttocks, a tingling sensation as blood flooded her girl parts—Becca distracted herself by reciting all the facts and figures that she’d read about Calum in the article. How he’d graduated from Harvard Business School at the very young age of seventeen. From there, he and a group of friends had started a small company, buying and flipping homes. They were so successful, they soon got into developing condo complexes before partnering with other developers in planning new communities. He’d sold his share in the company at the height of the housing bubble, spent the next six years investing his fortune—increasing it by 400 percent—only to buy his original company back for a fraction of the price in 2012 when real estate was at its lowest. He then switched his focus to real estate again, just as prices began to rise, focusing on high-end communities primarily along the East Coast.
Becca was about to mention his rise to fame after being photographed with various actresses and models, none of whom were seen with him more than once. Except Calum interrupted her.
“None of that is who I really am. You have no idea who or what I like.”
“Maybe not. But what I do know is that you are not my type.”
“Is that right?” He arched a brow.
“Yes. It’s simple chemistry. We are not attracted to each other,” she countered, even though it was a bold-faced lie. She simply could not continue this ridiculous conversation.
“Really?” He placed his hand on her knee. “So, all this sexual banter has had no effect on you?”
“Nope.”
His hand inched dangerously beneath her skirt. “So, you’re not…turned-on?”
She choked on a bit of spit. “Absolutely not.” Lord, his hand felt good: rough fingertips making little circles on her smooth skin.
“Hmm?” He leaned close and took a deep breath right next to her throat. Yes. Calum Price was sniffing her fucking neck. “Your skin is warm, and you’re giving off an arousing scent.”
“Too much alcohol,” she explained.
Only inches from her, he gazed into her eyes. “Your pupils are dilated. As are the capillaries in your cheeks, making you blush.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “And your lips are plump. Much fuller now than when we first met. Like we’ve already been kissing.”
Becca swallowed. With difficulty.
Breathing became unnatural and laborious.
He’d noticed her lips?
“I’m willing to bet you’re already wet,” he whispered as his hand crept up beneath the thin blanket, straying higher up her leg, as if he was going to check out the damp-factor of her panties.
Oh good God.
She started to pant—not a good sign. She needed to stop his hand. But oh! His fingers felt so nice, and while he was gentle, she had visions of him manhandling her, parting her thighs and demanding rights to explore her warm and wet bits beneath the blanket.
Becca! Seriously! Don’t fall for it. He’s only playing a game. He’s making fun of you. That’s all.
“I would say you are exhibiting all of the signs of sexual attraction.” The plane jolted again, and Cal’s hand did, too, slipping all the way up to…well, to where she’d soaked the crotch of her favorite panties.
At least he had the decency to look surprised. But when he pulled his hand away, like she’d burned him, Becca had confirmation—not that she’d ever doubted it—that he had, indeed, only been taunting her with phony sexual advances.
An uncomfortable heat shot through her abdomen and up to her chest. With the combination of alcohol, nervousness of flying, and now rejection, a tremor was triggered behind her eyes.
Oh, no. Tears were unacceptable.
There was only one thing to do. She fished her reading glasses out of her handbag, cracked open her book to the chapter on entanglement theory, and turned away from him to pretend to read.