by Casey Hagen
She didn't hear what her mother said next, because a rather large pair of Nikes stopped before her. She took in the faded blue jeans and the soft-looking, Stanford University T-shirt stretched across one surprisingly broad chest before locking on to those dark blue eyes from last night. Everett shouldered a canvas bag and held two coffees in one hand and a bag of warm cinnamon pastries in the other.
"I have to go." Her mother continued to lecture as Corrine ended the call.
"Good morning, Corrine Anderson." He took the seat next to her. His woodsy scent enveloped her, muddling her thoughts.
"I didn't expect you to show."
"I always follow through." He handed her a coffee. "Hazelnut. Cream. Two sugars."
"How did you know?"
“I’m good like that.” He held open the pastry bag for her. "Ladies first." She pulled out a warm cinnamon bun and her mouth watered at the sight of the sweet and sticky glaze. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation.
The sound caught Everett's attention, and he let out a husky laugh. "Clearly, I got here just in time. Go ahead. Eat. We have a long flight ahead of us."
She took a big bite and couldn't help but moan. When she opened her eyes, he sat stock-still watching her. "What?"
He shook his head before looking away. Setting his bag next to him, he pulled out his breakfast and dug in. Unable to resist, she stared at the way his lips hugged his cup. With each swallow, his throat worked, the cords and muscles flexing. His jeans stretched tight over his muscled legs. She wondered how he stayed so fit with a career involving so much sitting. Finished with her breakfast, she wiped her hands on her napkin and pulled out a Wet-Nap.
"Always prepared, aren’t you, Corrine Anderson?"
Why did that sound like such an insult? And why did she care? He knew absolutely zip about her. "I try to be. Is that a bad thing?"
He threw away the remnants of his breakfast and faced her. "Not a bad thing no, but it does stifle adventure. Are you looking for an adventure, Corrine Anderson?"
The smooth sound of her name rolling over his tongue intrigued her. What should have been annoying, condescending even, made her breathless. What on earth was wrong with her? She crossed her jean-clad legs and folded her arms. "That's what this trip is all about. Adventure. On my terms."
"Ah, ah, ah. That's still you wielding control. True adventure is leaving it all to chance."
How could she leave it all to chance? She couldn't waste a week and not make the most of the sights. "What if I miss something?"
"What if you miss something while you're running around worrying about missing something?"
"Could you be any more infuriating right now?"
Before he could reply, they called boarding for flight three-eighty to Fiji.
"Ah, saved by the bell!"
They waited as they loaded the aircraft, from the back to the front. Cool as can be, Everett leaned against the wall, scrolling through his phone. Every few minutes he fired off messages, his fingers moving deftly over the keys, clearly accustomed to doing much of his business on the phone.
Corrine's nerves stretched tight as the time arrived. Her phone beeped again with another incoming text from her mother. The sixth one. She fired off a quick reply to let her mom know she was boarding and slid her phone in her purse as the airline called their section.
Everett stepped up and escorted her down the jetway with a warm hand to her back. So far, he had displayed impeccable manners. Now, if she managed to control the traitorous way her body responded to his smile, his voice, his everything, she would be all set.
3 The Flight
Protectiveness welled up, unwelcomed, when he spotted Corrine with her chin resting in her delicate palm, staring out the window at the plane. Then her posture stiffened as she answered her phone, but within minutes, she rallied. Her cheeks brightened, giving him a glimpse of the girl bold enough to dare him to take this trip with her. This was supposed to be light and fun. Such a distrusting little thing with no liquid courage in her system. And those impeccable manners. Fascinated by the combination, he couldn't help but needle her a bit. Contradictions aroused his curiosity, giving him a different kind of puzzle to work out.
"Do you prefer the window or the middle?" he asked.
"We're flying over a lot of water."
"Yes, we are."
"Middle, please." He couldn't help but laugh. The contradictions kept on coming. "You're going to an island, surrounded by water, and you're afraid of it?"
"Not of water so much. I just don't like flying over massive, deep sections of it."
"Fair enough. Here, let me take your carry-on for you." Her hand brushed his. The tingling awareness unnerved him. First, the handshake last night, then escorting her onto the plane, and now. How the hell was he supposed to keep this light and fun with her short-circuiting his brain?
Everett lifted her small carry-on ready to hoist it into an overhead bin, and a kid pushed past him, propelling his junk into the corner of a seat. "Ouch. Son of a—"
"Swearing isn't nice!" said the little girl swinging her feet in the next row.
The nausea hit right away. He cleared his throat and eyed her swinging feet. "Neither is kicking someone's seat."
Unaffected, the little girl glared, popped her thumb in her mouth, and continued to kick the seat in front of her.
People crowded the aisles while stowing their carry-ons, and, as usual, the passengers in the back filled most of the compartments over the seats toward the front. He hadn't flown coach in several years, and he hadn’t missed one thing about it. The graphic PDA, families with rowdy and crying children, and sick passengers coughing on everyone with no sense of remorse. All for the next twelve hours. He prayed for someone somewhat normal sitting next to them. If they were lucky, the seat would stay vacant.
He waited for Corrine to get her magazines situated. Her light vanilla scent wrapped around him. She smelled good enough to eat. And in those jeans…damn. He thought her curves were sexy in the skirt, but the low-riding jeans accentuated the best ass he'd ever seen. The loose flower and lace tank top shifted, offering glimpses of the smooth skin of her back and belly. A delicate pearl, nestled in a bed of twisted gold wire, hung in the subtle swell of her cleavage. He swallowed to ease his dry throat.
"You're staring."
"You're worth staring at." Startled olive eyes locked on his. Her mouth formed a perfect little O. He’d never been so forward before. He wanted her, but with his history with women, he needed her to see more than just the brain.
His intelligence defined every day of his life. He’d lived a lonely childhood where his father, a self-employed plumber, and mother, a local seamstress, didn't know what to make of their little prodigy. They tried to slow him down enough to make him “normal,” not an oddity. Despite all their efforts, he still graduated high school two years early, walking at graduation with his older sister. During those two years in high school, he devoted his spare time to wrestling. The sport carried him through two years of high school and four years of college. His rotator cuff gave out before he finished his final season. His skinny frame vanished. He built muscle. Developed agility. Started to gain female attention. But still, women saw him as a waiting transformation. Their pet project. Their ulterior motives made it difficult to get serious about any of them.
"I'm not sure I'm ready for you," she whispered.
He took her hand and held it. He slid his thumb back and forth; her pulse raced when he grazed the inside of her wrist. He raised those soft knuckles of hers to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her smooth skin. "Same goes, Corrine Anderson."
He wanted someone who accepted all of him. How many women had tried to change him with designer suits, scoffing at his glasses and suggesting eye surgery? Was it too much to ask to have someone love him for him?
A man wearing brown polyester pants and a wrinkled dress shirt sporting a significant coffee stain appeared at the end of their row. Lovely. Hygiene clearly wasn't this man
’s strength. As much as Everett dreaded sharing the row, he benefited when Corrine edged closer.
Everett set a reminder on his smartphone to call his parents when he arrived in Fiji. His retired parents had become night owls in recent years. He wanted to make sure to check on his dad and reassure them that he’d landed safely. If he didn’t, his mother would worry. After the strain of the past year, the last thing he wanted was to cause her concern.
Once in the air, Everett pulled up the latest thriller he’d started on his phone, but he couldn't focus on the words swimming in front of him. He'd lost control over his thoughts and mouth on the tarmac. He enjoyed pushing Corrine’s buttons. He just had to see how she’d respond. He wanted to unleash the feisty streak she kept buried. He wanted to enjoy the sight of her lounging in the sand wearing a tiny scrap of a bikini. Wet and sun-kissed.
He shifted to cover his growing problem. A glance at Corrine confirmed that she was fully engrossed in an article in her magazine. Everett did a double take when he read the title. “You Did What?—Most Embarrassing Blunders from Loyal Readers.”
"What are you doing?" she asked as she folded the magazine in half.
He shrugged. "It seemed like an interesting article." He leaned over and whispered, "What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done, Corrine?" He didn't miss the goosebumps rising on her skin as he whispered low into her ear.
Her face turned beet red. With jerky movements, she shoved the magazine into her large purse. "I don't even know you, and you want me to talk about my most embarrassing moment."
"What better way to get to get acquainted?"
She turned in her seat as much as she could and crossed her arms. "Fine. You first!"
He’d gone and done it this time. He had a few embarrassing stories, but one stuck out in his mind. He'd never told anyone. "It just has to be an embarrassing story, right? Not my most embarrassing?"
Her eyes flashed, and the sly grin from last night spread across her face. "Oh no. You asked me about my most embarrassing moment. You want it? Give me yours."
"And what if, Corrine Anderson, I give you mine and you choose to hold out once you have what you want?"
"That’s a chance you'll have to take, Mr. Harden."
Oh, the way she said his name like that. Formal, but not formal at all. Just to unnerve him, the way he unnerved her every time he used her full name. He liked it. He liked her. "All right, but I expect you to pretend you never heard this."
"Oh, this is going to be good."
"I got suction-cupped to my bathtub and couldn't get out." He gave her credit for not making a sound, although her mouth twitched.
"And how did you get out? Since you’re not still in said bathtub today."
"My mother."
She let loose then, her light laugh dancing between them. Since she was already laughing, might as well go for broke. "And my sister."
She laughed with her whole body. She slapped her hand down on his thigh and dropped her forehead to his shoulder. Damned if he didn't have a stupid grin on his face. "Your laughter is detrimental to my ego."
She wiped the tears coming from her eyes. "How old were you?"
He cringed. "Sixteen."
"Oh my God! Wait, you still took baths at sixteen?"
"Often. I wrestled. My reoccurring shoulder injury made baths an almost daily practice."
Her eyes roamed him up and down. "So they saw you?"
"Saw me what, Corrine Anderson?"
"You know what I'm asking."
"I do. I just want to hear you to say it." He smiled, unwilling to answer until she asked him the right question. He cocked a brow at her.
"Oh for the love of God. Did they see you…uh…your—?"
"My—?"
"Dick, okay! Did they see your dick?"
It seemed as though every eye on the plane locked on them. Corrine's eyes widened. She slammed a hand over her mouth. A couple rows over, a girl asked her mother, "Mommy, what's a dick?"
"Shhh. Don't say that word, it's naughty!" her mother replied.
"Thanks, lady!" the guy next to her yelled.
"Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" She buried her face against his chest. When he started to laugh, she slapped his arm. "Don't laugh!” she whispered furiously. “They all heard me!"
"Yes. They did."
Her face went scarlet. "How much longer until we get there?"
He looked down at his watch. "Eleven hours."
"I'm sleeping. For all of it!" She grabbed a sweatshirt out of her bag, balled it up, and tucked it next to her face as she turned to him and closed her eyes.
He pulled the sweatshirt away. "Oh…I don't think so."
"Give me that!"
He wedged the sweatshirt behind him against the window. "I didn't get your most embarrassing moment."
"Really? This didn't qualify?"
"Well, that depends. Is this really your most embarrassing moment?"
Her eyes slid away. No. Not her most embarrassing moment.
"Now this I have to hear."
"This is so unfair. Now you'll have two stories."
"It's not my fault you couldn't control yourself. Don't worry. Something tells me I'll make a fool out of myself somehow over the next week. Then we'll be even."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"That's supposed to make you feel less alone." He tipped her chin up when she ducked her head. "Tell me. Our little secret."
She bit her lip and glanced around.
Everyone had gone back to their business. They sat silent, eyes roaming over one another. Until the guy next to Corrine started to snore like a buzz saw. They glanced over simultaneously to find drool running out of the corner of his mouth, down his neck, and under his collar.
Corrine shivered and leaned a little closer. "God, that's vile."
"Kind of makes you wonder what his most embarrassing moment is, doesn't it?"
She gave him a small smile. "Okay. Let's get this over with. I was on a field trip with my school to a water park. I went down their steepest slide. When I got up"—she closed her eyes—"I didn't know I’d lost my bikini top on the way down. I stood there, not a care in the world, with everything hanging out. Well, what little I have, anyway."
He glanced briefly at the soft swell of her breasts. "You have just the right amount."
"Oh…well. I—" Her throat worked. He’d surprised her. Hell, he’d surprised himself. He was a flesh and blood male, though. Her curves had grabbed his attention from the first minute, but he hadn’t been bold enough to call attention to it.
"What can I get you to drink?" Their flight attendant stopped to serve them colas, cooling the direction of the conversation.
"So, Corrine Anderson, what makes a woman walk up to a stranger and invite him on vacation?" He settled his bag against the window and turned to her.
She chewed her lip. "Truth?"
"Always."
"I was supposed to get married yesterday."
Whoa. "And you didn't because?"
"I caught him in an orgy with some executives and hired masseuses."
Everett whistled low. "Jesus. I'm sorry."
She waved a dismissive hand and gulped down a rather large sip of her cola. "Don't be. Like Alexa pointed out, it's better to find these things out before the wedding, or better still, before having kids."
"That explains why you didn't get married, but not why you invited me on this trip."
"Would you believe a random act of madness?"
"Oh, but I don't think it was. You know what I think? I think, deep down, in places you keep buried from your colleagues, family, and friends, beats the racing heart of a woman who wants to take risks and break out from under the crushing weight of expectations."
"What—?"
He held up a hand. "Don't tell me if I'm right or wrong. Let's just take the week to get to know each other. Whatever happens, happens."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you do that?"
"Make our unorthodox arrangement sound so rational. According to Alexa, you're some financial numbers wizard. Aren't people like you logical? Methodical?"
"Well, that’s not fair. You know more about me than I do about you. Who's Alexa?"
"She's my friend from the bar last night."
"Ah, she looked familiar, but the name doesn't ring a bell."
"She's friends with Dean. She said you're a tough nut to crack."
He remembered seeing her hair before, but from when? Where? "Wait a minute! Does she sometimes go out in a leopard print bodysuit and thigh-high boots?"
"Yes!"
"I remember her now. I took a call in Dean's office. She came in and sat right in my lap."
"Oh, my God! That's her!"
"Alexa's type of aggressiveness.” He shook his head. “Not my type."
She went quiet and fidgeted with the lace edge of her tank. "What is your type?"
He ran a light finger over the back of her restless hand. "A woman full of surprises. She knows when to be serious and professional. She knows when to let go and enjoy life. She takes risks on occasion. She's kind, respectful, and works hard. You know anyone like that?"
"I think so," she whispered.
"Yeah, I thought you might," he whispered back.
4 The Declaration
When she thought back to their conversation, her face burned anew. She’d revealed so much more to Everett on the plane ride than she’d ever planned. She’d shared more with him than she’d ever shared with Jordan. Unable to put her finger on what about Everett made her so comfortable, she settled in for a nap.
The long sleepless nights caught up with her, leaving her barely able to keep her eyes open. The stress of shifting from the final throes of wedding planning for a crowd of six hundred, to making embarrassing calls to cancel everything, had left her drained.
She took a short nap, but awoke for a surprisingly delicious lunch including turkey wraps, pasta salad, and fruit parfait for dessert. Full of delicious food and even sleepier than she was before, she settled in again.
At some point during those naps, she’d snuggled into Everett. The first time, they both fell asleep and woke with a start when the man seated behind Everett used the back of Everett’s chair to hoist himself up. The chair snapped back, jarring them both. She started to pull away, but he held her firm.