I should probably worry about all the women he's been with or that the rumors claim he has. But at that moment, I don't want to think about it. And since he used protection and I've been on birth control since college, pregnancy isn't an issue.
Although it isn't a concern, for the first time I actually entertain the thought of being pregnant, of wanting to carry someone's baby inside of me. I've never wanted that before; even when Timothy and I were talking forever, my career seemed more important.
Now maybe it doesn't sound so horrible. It’s probably because we’re on our way to my home, to the land of babies and puppies and happily-ever-afters. I never wanted that, but maybe, just maybe, the idea isn't beyond comprehension.
And then I remember: this isn't real. The sex may be mind-blowing, but love is still fictional.
"Pretend," I say quietly as Duncan collapses on top of me, his hard, toned chest covering me and smashing my boobs.
"Fantasy," he corrects with a kiss to my forehead.
Fantasy is pretend. I don't say it out loud. It's just to remind myself that this fantasy weekend won't last. Even pretending it will would be the beginning to heartache.
I steady myself in the small but incredibly luxurious bathroom as I finish fixing my hair. The hairdo I had at work can be counted as a casualty of my lifelong membership into the mile-high club. No longer all pulled up, I complete a loose ponytail that rests upon my left shoulder as I smile at my reflection. Never can I recall feeling this relaxed and content on my way back to my family.
Putting my lipstick back in my purse, I decide to apply only gloss. Color isn't needed. My lips appear red and swollen on their own, no doubt from all the attention. Even blush isn't needed. My cheeks have their own rosy glow.
Maybe I'm not relaxed, but satiated. As the plane moves and I shift, I'm painfully and pleasurably aware that every muscle in my body is tender and happy all at the same time. I’ll call this fantastic ache the spoils of war. Spoils that I'll be happy to collect all weekend.
Thankfully, when Marsha said our luggage was loaded, she meant in an area we could access. After I cleaned up, there was no sense putting back on my work clothes.
I take one last look in the mirror at a more casual Kimbra, probably the most casual that Duncan has ever seen me. I stifle a giggle. That isn’t exactly true, considering that not long ago I was totally nude, wearing only his trim, toned body as a blanket; the reflection in the mirror is more dressed than that.
Opening the door to the cabin, I'm met with a smiling Duncan, green eyes shining. My breath catches as the vision of him stops me dead in my tracks. He's leaning against the wall of the cabin, thumbs tucked in the pockets of his low riding jeans, and wearing a blue checkered, button-down shirt, untucked with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
"Miss Jones," he says, his deep, velvety voice twisting my already-tender core. He reaches for my hand and spins me around, his gaze a heated flame to my skin as if he can see what I've covered. "You're lovely." He lifts my ponytail revealing my bare shoulder, the one left uncovered due to the large opening of the neckline of my top. "And I like this." My head tilts to the side, allowing him access as he kisses the exposed skin.
"M-Mr. Willis..." My thoughts and words disappear as his hand finds the lower hem of the shirt and caresses my skin beneath, making his way higher until the tips of his fingers find my strapless bra.
"Oh, I was hoping that no strap meant no bra."
I giggle. "May I remind you that we're about to see my mom, dad, and grandma?"
"May I remind you that I'm a boob man and yours are perfection? They should be free." He stops his soft caress with one large hand still palming the cup surrounding one of my breasts. With a serious expression—which considering his hand placement is hilarious—he asks, "You have heard the old saying, haven't you?"
"What saying would that be?"
"If you love something, set it free."
I shake my head and move away from his touch. Reaching for his hand, I blatantly scan him from head to toe. "I've never seen you without a suit." I tilt my head back and forth as my lips thin. "Except when you weren't wearing one—or anything."
Tugging my hand Duncan pulls me against him. "Kimbra, I've been a shitty boyfriend for the last five months. No wonder you haven't told your mom much about me, but I plan to make up for that."
The warmth of his embrace radiates through me as the hardness of his chest presses against my breasts. "And how do you plan to do that?"
He tilts his head toward the bouquet. "By filling this weekend with new experiences for both of us."
"I think this flight deserves more than one flower."
"You do?"
"Well, there's the club."
"Yes," Duncan says, "you are now officially inducted—lifetime. I'll have Jorge draw up your certificate."
My forehead drops to Duncan's chest as heat reddens my cheeks.
Duncan lifts my chin until our gazes meet. "You're so beautiful when you blush. Oh, and when you call out my name, and curse, and shatter around me." His eyes twinkle. "See, I made you do it again."
"Blush or come?"
"I was talking about blushing, but we can arrange the coming too."
I clear my throat, trying not to remember the way his scruffy chin abraded the inside of my thighs or how good his tongue felt... I shrug. "That was why I thought a few more flowers were warranted, but I'd hate to give you a bigger ego than you already have. You seem very sure of yourself, Mr. Willis."
The plane begins to descend as Duncan walks over to the bouquet. "How many flowers, Kimbra? One for each time you came."
My lips purse to one side as I count. There were two the first time. Then one and then another...
He plucks half a dozen flowers from the bouquet, an assortment of different ones.
The phone from one of the seats begins to ring. With a wink he goes to the chair, the flowers in one hand, and answers the call.
"Thank you, Marsha. Water would be nice. Yes, we'll take our seats. Yes, you're welcome to bring it to us."
I lower myself to the seat beside him. "Oh God. I bet she knows."
Seemingly unconcerned, he reaches for the two lone flowers still resting on the other chair and hands them to me. "I believe those represent our first kiss and your induction."
I nod.
Next, he hands me another red rose. "The first time you came."
I glance toward the remaining five flowers.
Five?
I'm truly not sure. At one point they overlapped, the intensity almost more than I could handle.
Avoiding the numerical subject, I ask, "Why are these flowers different?"
Duncan hands me the rest, allowing me to hold the bouquet we've created. "Because each time was unique, like these flowers. Like you." He nods toward the large vase. "And today is only Thursday. I can't wait to share more flowers with you."
I lean over and kiss his cheek. "You're definitely improving on the boyfriend front."
"Oh, beautiful, we're just getting started."
As my insides twist in anticipation, I sense the sweet ache that accompanies the task of earning the flowers in my hand. I also know that without a doubt, if Duncan Willis earns all of the flowers in the vase, walking away from this weekend won't only be emotionally impossible but most definitely physically improbable.
Chapter Eleven
Kimbra
Who knew that private planes could land at Indianapolis Airport? I didn't. I'd never given it any thought until I was on one, coasting onto a runway away from the others, one that I didn't know existed.
Duncan hangs up the phone in the armrest and looks my way. With a wink and grin from him, my insides turn to jelly and my tummy tightens.
"It's all set," he says. "We'll be picked up on the tarmac and taken to our car."
"How did you do all of this? I just told you about this...we just...our deal..."
"My seized opportunity," he corrects with a squeeze to my hand.
Everything he says and does makes me question reality from fiction—actuality from fantasy. It would be so easy to fall into this story, believe that it's real. For my family and my pride, I know we need to make it as real as possible, but it's my heart that I'm concerned about. The weekend has only just started and I fear it will break in two as soon as it's all over.
I turn from his glittering green-eyed stare and focus on the cabin as the plane taxis to its appropriate spot on the tarmac. The secured vase now holds all the flowers, even the ones Duncan presented to me earlier.
"Kimbra?"
"Hmmm?" I say, lost in my memories of the flowers.
A slight touch to my chin brings me back to his emerald gaze. "Don't be worried. We've got this."
I nod, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.
Please don't hurt me. I want to say the words, but I can't. I've already put too much pressure on him. And he's been so good, too good. The absolute best. I try not to think about that, about the plane, the mile-high club, and now a car.
"The car," I say. "How did you get this all arranged? Everything around here is booked this weekend. The 500 is huge. Like over a quarter million people come to Indianapolis. I've been to the race with my dad and brother. It was a long time ago, but I know the track is gigantic. It's one of the largest recurring sporting events in the world."
"I'd like to take credit, but it was Jorge."
"Oh, yeah." Why does that bother me? It shouldn't. I know Jorge won't say anything. His job is too important and besides, he called me scary. But knowing it wasn't Duncan reminds me that it is all a fantasy. If I were really his girlfriend, would he be more hands-on?
And then the pity trying to creep up on me shatters as I stifle a giggle.
Hands-on.
I'm not sure if I could handle much more hands-on. If Duncan had been any more hands-on during this flight, I'd have to make up another story to tell my dad why I'm barely walking. Then there would be my grandma and mom who would see right through that ruse and want the details.
Without a doubt, more hands-on is not a good idea.
One day at a time, I remind myself, as Duncan’s voice brings me back to the reason for our weekend getaway.
"Why would your cousin schedule her wedding on the same weekend as the race?"
His question brings an abrupt end to my bout of nervous giggles. I scoff. "Because she's a romantic. Because she's perfect and no one would dare complain about anything, and because this is the anniversary of when she and Kurt met. It was at a barbecue hosted by someone from their church."
He tilts his head to the side. "Maybe as a wedding gift, I could offer them a flight in this plane?"
"What? Why would you do that?"
"Because you keep telling me how perfect she is.” His sexy lips curve upward into a knowing smirk. “I’d let them use the plane to prove to you for once and for all that you're sexier and more fun than your cousin."
"You've never met her. Besides, how would this plane—"
"Because," he interrupts, his voice rumbling low and deep, “even without meeting her, I'd bet she wouldn't earn her mile-high certificate, much less her lifetime badge, even traveling with her new husband."
I smile at the thought of Scarlett and Kurt on this plane. Duncan's probably right. Bent over a couch a mile in the sky is more than likely outside my cousin’s realm. Vanilla, missionary—the way a proper woman engages in meeting her husband’s needs is probably more her style.
I shake my head and try to block out the images I've conjured. I don’t want to think of her and Kurt together; however, after as long as they've both waited, I'd venture to guess Saturday night will be more of wham-bam, thank you, ma'am versus the mind-blowing mini-marathon we just ran.
Fifteen minutes later with the warm afternoon wind blowing my hair, loosening long strands from my newly formed ponytail and causing them to fly around my face and sunglass-covered eyes, we're heading west from the airport, toward the sun and my childhood home. The car Jorge reserved isn't just any car: it's a new black Lexus convertible. The attendant put the top down, perfect for a drive through the country. Now with the sapphire blue sky as our roof, we’re speeding toward the setting sun.
"My brother is going to flip out at this car," I say as recently planted fields of corn and soy beans soar by on either side of the highway, the baby seedlings popping through the rich, dark soil.
Duncan purses his lips to the side. Even with his sunglass-shielded eyes, his funny-face expression is obvious. "I'm glad you like it. I didn't tell Jorge what to rent and this seems a little over the top. I don't want your family to think I'm..." He doesn't finish.
"To think you're what?"
"Trying to be flashy or something."
"Why do you care what my family thinks?" My question comes before I have time to censor myself.
Duncan reaches over to my jean-clad knee. "I care what you think. Your family is part of you. And if you care what I think, those tight jeans are sexy as hell, but I liked the access better with the skirt."
I shake my head as his words make my tummy do flip-flops. "Don't worry about my family. They love me and want me to be happy. They just don't understand why I'm not doing it here in Indiana with a husband, 2.5 children, and a dog."
Duncan's forehead furrows in question. "I've never understood how anyone can have a point-five child. Is that like one in the oven?"
"The oven?" I laugh. "I can't believe you just said that."
"Why? I mean someday kids might be fine. I've been a little busy building Buchanan and Willis to give it much thought."
"Mr. Buchanan has children."
"Mike. His name is Mike."
I know his name. Michael Buchanan. It's on all the letterhead. His office is on a different floor than mine and Duncan’s, but he's often present at meetings. He's quieter than Duncan, but he's always been kind and fair.
"...and he's been with Kelli since college. We should go to dinner with them. You'd like Kel..."
I turn toward the side of the road and watch the fields of seedlings, trying to ignore what he’s saying as he talks about Kelli Buchanan and her children. I focus instead on the rush of the wind, because what he's saying is crossing a line. It's taking whatever this is between us and moving it back to New York. We both know that won't happen.
"Don't you think?" he asks.
Though I'm not sure what he said, I nod and try to smile.
Pretend.
Less than an hour after we landed, Duncan turns the Lexus off the country road and onto the lane leading to my parents' home. On either side of the hard gravel lane are trees with bright green spring leaves and the remnants of white pear blossoms. Beyond the trees lining the lane are fields that extend for acres and acres.
My dad farmed this land when I was little, and now Kevin helps. Together they've acquired more and more acreage. The day of small farmers existing on their own is almost gone, but with more land and more acres of crops, it's still possible. They’re even renting a portion to a cell tower. The money is good and more importantly, my cell phone actually works here now.
The crunching gravel creates a dust wake as we make our way toward the house.
It's the same home that's been here since my father’s parents lived on this farm. White wood siding, two story, wraparound porch, and rooms filled with laughter. My concerns over Duncan's and my performance disappear as I anticipate seeing my family. Though it's true I avoid them, I can't help but love them.
Before the car comes to a complete stop, the screen door opens wide and my mom and grandma rush out onto the porch.
"Kimberly Ann!" they yell in unison.
I lean toward Duncan. "Oh, my family's a little loud."
His smile shines from me to them and back to me as he mouths Kimberly Ann?
I turn back to my mom and grandma. By the gleam in my grandma's eyes as she gazes at Duncan and the car, it's obvious that she approves.
"Oh my. Kimberly Ann," sh
e says, reaching my car door first. "I know why you've kept this man a secret. You're afraid if he meets Grandma Helen, he'll decide that like fine wine, women are better when aged."
I tilt my head toward Grandma as I reach for her hand upon the door. "Duncan, this is my grandma Helen."
"Very nice to meet you, ma'am."
"Helen's the name," she says with a wink.
As Duncan and I get out of the car, we're both wrapped in hugs.
Mom pushes Duncan to arm's length and looks him up and down. "My, my, we need to know all about you." She shoots me a sideways glance. "My mother's right. Kimberly hasn't told us much at all. Now, we have dinner cooking. I hope you like steak. If not, we have chicken." She stops. "Tell me you're not one of those vegetarian people."
"No, ma'am, I'm not. Steak will be wonderful."
"My name's Judy. There're no ma'ams here." She grabs his elbow and leads him toward the porch.
Grandma stays back with me. Once Mom and Duncan are a few feet ahead, Grandma leans her head back and pretends to fan herself. "Goodness, girl. You have yourself a hottie." She leans closer yet and attempts to whisper. "Your momma said he has his own plane. Is that true?"
I shake my head. "It's a company plane, for the company where we work."
"But you were alone?"
My cheeks fight the need to blush. "There were other people, like the pilot and an attendant."
Her whisper grows louder and I'm thankful Duncan and Mom are farther ahead. "Oh, child, tell me you did that mile-high thing? I always wanted to do that but your grandpa was worried about the bathrooms on planes. They're so small and sometimes, if we did it in unusual positions, he would get cramps in his legs..."
I let her keep talking as we make our way inside, hoping she'll forget her question and not expect an answer.
Chapter Twelve
Duncan
All ONES: The Complete Collection Page 8