One Crazy Week

by Claire Kingsley

  I look at Melissa. She looks awed, but there’s a tightness in her eyes. “Thank you Nathan, I think we’ll go to our room. This was a wonderful welcome. Thank you.”

  “Of course,” Nathan says. “Would you like breakfast at nine?”

  “Let’s make it ten,” I say. “We’ve had a long day. And I can find our room.”

  “Very good,” Nathan says. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Melissa doesn’t say anything as I lead her upstairs to the master suite. We walk in and are greeted by the soft breeze coming off the water. Accordion doors open to a large balcony with a glass railing. The beach is just below. Two suitcases are in front of the king-sized bed, and a sitting area surrounds the gas fireplace. A door on the far side leads to a large bathroom. I can just see the tub and walk in shower. That could be interesting.

  I dig in my pocket and toss my phone on the bed. I’ll tweet a picture of the view in the morning, although even in the dark it’s stunning. Moonlight glints off the water and the sound of the waves carries through the entire villa. I take a sip of my champagne and I’m about to invite Melissa out onto the balcony, when I see her face.

  Something is wrong. Her forehead is tight, her eyes wide and glistening, and she holds a hand to her mouth.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask. “Don’t you like it?”

  She shakes her head slowly, her hand still covering her lips, the glass of champagne untouched in her other hand.

  I move closer and pluck the drink from her hand, setting it on a side table. “Melissa. What’s wrong?”

  She drops her hand from her mouth and takes a deep breath. “You picked me up this morning in a car that I’ve never even heard of. I Googled it while we were waiting for the plane to take off. Jackson, that’s a two-million-dollar car.”

  Was it that much? It probably was, but I can’t remember.

  “You can walk into an airport and say, ‘Where should we go?’ and then just … go. Your idea of slumming is flying first class. And this,” she says, gesturing around the room. “The house I grew up in would fit in this one room. The entire house. When you said we were flying somewhere, I thought … I don’t know. I thought you’d book a Hilton or something. This is a fucking mansion. An entire village could live here, and it’s just us.”

  She hasn’t even seen the rest of it. If I recall, there’s a movie theater downstairs.

  “I don’t know where I am right now,” she says. “I just left town with a man I barely know, and he flew me to fucking San Diego with no luggage, and now I’m standing in a mansion on the beach, and I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

  My shoulders slump. I didn’t want to upset her. I thought she’d be ecstatic. I imagined her running out to the balcony, leaning out over the edge to see the beach below. We’d have a late night snack and get a little drunk. I could take my touching game from her ankles up her thighs, to her hips, her stomach, her breasts. But she isn’t happy. She isn’t relaxed and free, ready to let me explore her body.

  I can fix this.

  “Hey,” I say, my tone soothing. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. I got this idea in my head and I charged forward without paying attention to you.”

  She hugs her arms around herself, her brown eyes so sad.

  “Listen, you can have the room. There’s another just down the hall. I can sleep there if you want. I won’t push you into anything.”

  I don’t want to leave her—the thought is so disappointing—but I never, ever force. A man who has to force a woman needs to examine what’s wrong with him. I pick up my phone off the bed.

  “Please don’t leave,” she says.

  Those words make my chest clench. “I won’t leave you.”

  I glance around the room. There has to be a way to make her feel better. I grab an extra blanket out of a closet and bring it to her. “Come here,” I say, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. I lead her to the bed and ease her down. She sits and pulls the blanket tighter around herself. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  I run down to the kitchen. The staff all goes home at night, so I fumble around and find a serving tray. I search the fridge and bring out a bowl of strawberries, the stems already trimmed. The pantry yields a bag of tortilla chips and some salsa. I grab a couple bottles of water and, at the last second, decide to make her some tea. There’s an instant-hot water tap at the sink, so I fill a mug and find some tea bags.

  When I bring it all upstairs, I find her still on the bed. She wipes her eyes. Fuck, she’s been crying. How the hell did this go so wrong? I set the tray on the bed, making sure the hot water won’t spill, and sit down on the edge.

  “This was the best I could do,” I say. “I thought you might be hungry, since we missed dinner.”

  “Did you make me tea?” she asks.

  “Well, there’s hot water. I don’t even know if you like tea.”

  “I love tea at night,” she says, her voice soft.

  I smile, meeting her eyes. God, she’s beautiful. “Hey, I know what we should do. Let’s see if this place has Netflix.”

  I grab a remote and turn on the TV. I settle onto the bed on the other side, careful to give her some space, and flip through the options.

  “Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone else?” I ask, giving her a little grin.

  Her eyebrows lift. “Sure.”

  “I love Firefly.”

  She breaks out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

  “I swear. It’s my favorite show.”

  She laughs again. “You’re fucking with me.”

  “No, I said I wouldn’t fuck with you,” I say. “It’s a goddamn shame it was canceled, but at least he got to make the movie.”

  She shakes her head, looking at me with such disbelief. “I love Firefly, too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s my favorite,” she says. “I watch it whenever I’m stressed.”

  “Perfect. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll eat our snack, and binge-watch Firefly until we fall asleep. Sound good?”

  “Are you sure?” she says, clutching the mug in her hands. “I mean, you brought me here because—”

  “Hey,” I say, cutting her off. “I brought you here because I want to spend time with you.” I let a grin spread across my face. “I’ll make hot, crazy love to you later.”

  “All right, captain,” she says with a small shake of her head. “Do it up.”

  9

  Melissa

  My eyes flutter open and, for a second, I have no clue where I am. Soft sheets. The sound of the ocean.

  Holy shit. I’m in San Diego. With Jackson.

  I hold perfectly still, afraid to move. How did this happen? My heart beats uncomfortably hard. Jackson picked me up in a two-million-dollar car. He drove me to the airport, and put me on a plane. He brought me to a gorgeous mansion on the beach, the sort of place I imagine celebrities vacation. And when I flipped out on him, he made me tea and watched Netflix with me.

  Who is this man?

  He spent the entire trip touching me: my back, my hands, my feet. He never touched my face, nor did he try to kiss me. I wanted him to. I would have been happy to spend the plane ride making out with him in first class. I was anxious, but he was so confident and relaxed. And his hands felt so good. Every touch left me wanting more.

  It was the mansion that broke me.

  The car? Fine, he’s rich, and rich men like flashy cars. The ability to fly off at a moment’s notice? That fits what I know of him. The car service, the first class, the nonchalant attitude like he has no idea how insane his life is? Fine. But it wasn’t until he brought me to the villa that it hit me what he is.

  Wealthy has always been an abstract concept to me. I grew up somewhere between poor and has-just-enough. My dad did the best he could, and we always had food on the table. I worked my way through college, which wasn’t all that bad. I have a job and I own my little house. It isn’t much, but it’s mine
. I have enough money to buy cute clothes once in a while, and help my dad pay his bills when he needs me.

  Rich people are something that exist in movies. I’ve never given much thought to the sort of lives they lead. People with money are just people with more stuff, and they aren’t particularly fascinating to me. I don’t watch rich people reality TV, or dream home shows. So I didn’t really know. I have no frame of reference.

  I walked into this huge house—it’s as big as an entire apartment building, and I know there are more floors downstairs—and I couldn’t process it. I didn’t understand what I was dealing with, but there it was, smacking me in the face with its insane view and expansive rooms.

  And Jackson. I was so stunned, so completely taken aback, and he was nothing but sweet. I don’t know why that surprises me. I guess I can’t fathom that the cocky rich guy has such a compassionate side. Firefly? Really? We snacked and laughed and watched TV until we drifted off.

  That was it.

  I woke up in the night, still dressed, and decided to slip off my bra and jeans. After that, I slept like a fucking baby—at least, the kind that actually sleeps at night, because I’m told real ones don’t. The bed is divine, the sheets so soft against my skin. Considering the circumstances, I wake up feeling fairly refreshed.

  I face the edge of the bed, but I can feel Jackson’s presence against my back. He isn’t touching me—he didn’t lay a hand on me all night—but it feels like his feet are close to mine. I hold my breath and hear the sound of his breathing, quiet and rhythmic. He must still be sleeping.

  Risking a peek, I turn over and almost choke. He took his clothes off sometime in the night, and the sheet is down below his waist. His body is every bit as fucking gorgeous as I thought it would be. It doesn’t look real. Broad shoulders, muscular chest, and rippling abs. I can’t tell if he’s wearing underwear, or if he stripped down completely. I want to rub my hands all over that hot body, but all I can do is stare.

  There’s something about having shared a bed with him, dressed and without sex. It’s so intimate. So sweet. I sort of assumed this week is all about getting in my pants. After our little sexting session the other day, it seemed like that’s what he wanted. And looking at him now, I want him. Bad. I’m still half groggy, but my body stirs, and it wants Jackson Bennett.

  My bladder, however, has other ideas.

  I decide to slip out of bed while he’s still sleeping, and use the bathroom. I feel gross, so a shower isn’t a bad idea either. I peek in the bags he had delivered and find one that is clearly mine—the lavender dress is a giveaway. I bring it into the bathroom and quietly shut the door.

  Whoever packed this did an amazing job. There’s a little sundress, a tank top and shorts, a bag full of travel-sized toiletries, sunscreen, a hairbrush, and a blow dryer. Even a little satchel with nude-toned makeup. I can tell someone chose the panties with Jackson in mind—there are several pairs of lacy thongs. Everything has tags still attached, but is folded neatly in the bag.

  The huge shower is tiled in a mosaic of ocean blue and copper. It’s wide open, without a door. I get in and wash my hair. The hot water feels good, soothing more of last night’s anxiety away.

  “Good morning.” Jackson’s voice makes me jump. He holds the door open just enough to talk through, but doesn’t come in.

  “Hi.”

  “Do you have everything you need?” he asks.

  “Yes, definitely.” Do you want to join me in the shower and let me lather soap all over that beautiful body?

  “Good. I’ll let you do your thing.”

  The door clicks shut.

  I let out a long breath and finish in the shower. After drying off, I choose the sundress. It fits perfectly, although it shows my bra straps more than I’d like. I decide to go for it and go braless. The dress hugs my chest enough, it holds the girls where they need to be. And it’s way more comfortable.

  I leave my hair wet and emerge into the bedroom. Jackson stands at the balcony, dressed in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, sipping coffee. Luckily I manage to pick my jaw up off the floor before he notices me.

  He grins and puts down his mug. “Hey. Feel better?”

  “Yes, a lot better,” I say. “Thanks.”

  “Good.”

  “Sorry if I woke you earlier,” I say. “I needed to wash the airplane off.”

  “No, it’s fine,” he says.

  He comes closer.

  Keep your eyes up, Melissa. Keep your eyes up.

  Too late. Oh my god, look how he fills out those underwear.

  “Melissa?”

  “Sorry, what?” Oh fuck, he said something and I was staring at his cock.

  “The dress. It looks great. That was in the bag? Does everything fit?”

  “Yes, perfectly,” I say. Even the little thong is surprisingly soft and comfortable.

  “Great.” He holds my eyes and all I can think about is whether I can get the thong off quickly enough. I’m hot and throbbing already.

  “I think you had the right idea with that shower,” he says. “Wash the plane off.”

  He sweeps past me, so close his skin almost brushes against mine. I think if it had, I would have jumped on him and wrapped my legs around his waist.

  He goes into the bathroom, and as soon as he’s out of sight I dive for my phone. It’s about time I check in with Nicole. I think about texting her, but decide I need to call. I need to hear a real voice to make sure the plane didn’t crash and I’m not actually dead.

  “Oh my god, Melissa. Do you need to say the code word?” Nicole’s voice is tinged with panic.

  “There isn’t much point to a code word if you have to ask if I’m going to say it,” I say. I’m pretty sure I can hear Ryan laughing in the background.

  “Well, are you okay?” she asks.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I say.

  “Where are you?”

  I pause. “San Diego.”

  “What? I thought you were going to Seattle.”

  “Well, we went to the airport.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know. We went to the airport and picked a flight. It was ridiculous, Nicole. We flew first class. He drives a fucking two-million-dollar car. Who drives a two-million-dollar car?”

  “He does?”

  “Yes,” I say. “And now we’re in this mansion on the beach and I’m not sure I know what’s happening.” I glance over at the bathroom. Holy fuck, he left the door open. And if I lean, just so … Yep. There he is. He has his back to me and water cascades down his perfect ass. He turns to grab something and—

  Oh my god.

  “Melissa?”

  Fuck, I keep getting distracted by his cock. But holy shit, it’s distracting.

  “Yeah, sorry,” I say.

  “You’re okay, right?” she asks. “You want to be there with him?”

  “Yes,” I say. I was freaked out last night, but today I’m sure. I do want to be here, and only with him. “Yes, I’m good. This is … fuck, Nicole, it’s amazing.”

  “Okay, so how was last night, then?” she asks.

  “Nothing actually happened last night.”

  “Seriously? You spent the night in a mansion on the beach with Jackson Bennett, and you guys, what, went to sleep? Did you sleep in the same room?”

  “Yeah, we slept in the same bed, but he never touched me. I mean, he touched me all day yesterday, but nowhere naughty. Last night, though, I was so overwhelmed when we got here. So he wrapped me up in a blanket and made me tea.”

  “He made you tea?” she asks.

  “Yeah. And we watched Netflix.”

  “Wow.”

  “Right? I know, this is insane.”

  “You know what you need to do, Melissa,” she says. I can tell by her tone she’s going to tell me whether or not I want to hear it. “Go with it. You said you wanted a little crazy in your life. So get crazy. Take advantage. When will you ever have a chance like this again
? Go wild. Have fun. Just be safe, okay?”

  “I will. Promise.”

  “Good,” she says. “I want you to show Jackson how to have the hottest fucking sex of his life. Blow his mind.”

  I glance into the bathroom. Jackson is drying off in front of the mirror, running a towel over all that delicious muscle.

  I laugh to hide the surge of lust that pours through me. “Okay, Nicole. I’ll text you later.”

  I hang up the phone and put it on a table, then set my sights on Jackson.

  10

  Jackson

  “Hi.”

  I stop drying my hair and let the towel hang in front of me, just enough. I haven’t put on any clothes yet—but I also didn’t close the door. On purpose. I want to see what Melissa will do. If she’s still skittish, we can go for a walk on the beach and come back for breakfast.

  I woke up with the scent of her in my nose and I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone—or anything—in my life. But I’m not going to push. I’ll let her come to me. I know it won’t take long.

  And come to me, she has.

  She stands in the doorway, that hot little dress hugging her curves. Her nipples press against the fabric. Fuck, she’s stunning. The lines of her shoulders and arms are strong, showing just enough definition to make her look kind of badass, but still feminine. Her wet hair hanging down is sexy as hell. I wonder if she’ll let me pull it a little. Not too hard—I’m not into pain. But sometimes the line between pleasure and pain is thin. I’m good at pushing to the edge.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Feel better after your shower?” she asks. She leans against the door frame and licks her lips.

  “Much.”

  I wrap the towel around my waist. I’m hard as a fucking rock, but I’ve held out this long. She hesitates, her eyes traveling up and down my body. This delayed gratification thing is way hotter than I thought it could be. I stare at her. Where should I begin? What will she like? How can I make her scream my name? The possibilities are endless.