by R. Linda
My ears perked up as he caught my interest. “Whose photoshoot?”
“Mine.”
“No, really?” He was an Instagram model, a fitness fanatic, and a designer’s wet dream. Why would he want my art in his photoshoot? How would that even work?
He nodded.
I leaned back against the high-backed chair of the booth and frowned. “How would that work? And why on earth would anyone want my art in a photoshoot?”
“Because I told Giovanni…” He stopped speaking the moment my mouth dropped open.
“Giovanni Russo?” I choked on his name. Giovanni Russo was the most talented designer on the planet. No exaggeration. Everybody who’s anybody wanted to wear his clothes, but he sold only to those he deemed worthy of his creations. The fact he wanted Tate to model his designs blew my mind. The idea that he wanted my art pieces incorporated into the shoot was so far beyond belief, I swore a pig flew by Joe’s window.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Why?”
“Because your art is fucking amazing.”
I lowered my face to hide my blush. It wasn’t often that people complimented my art.
“Thank you. But I mean, why would he want my art in his shoot?”
“Because I wouldn’t sign the deal otherwise. It was my only condition.”
“That my art be used?” A chill settled over my bones, and I wondered if all this was a joke. I couldn’t see why he would do that. Why risk his job with the best designer in the world for me?
“Yes.”
I didn’t know what else to say, because I was in a state of shock. My mouth opened and then closed again.
Tate chuckled. “You’re welcome. Think of it as an apology. For me being rude. For Rachel. For everything.”
It was as if he read my mind and answered my unspoken questions.
My lips parted and I meant to say thank you, instead a garbled noise came out, somewhere between a cat on heat and a shriek.
Could I be any less graceful?
Giovanni Russo is going to regret the day he agreed to this deal.
Tate
“ARE YOU READY?” I called through Wren’s open door. “Driver’s waiting.”
“Did you clean the pool shed?” she called back from her room.
“Not yet.”
“Well then I’m not ready either.”
“The pool shed and our flight aren’t mutually exclusive.” I wandered down the hall to her room and leaned against the door frame. She had her suitcase open on her bed and clothes strewn all over the floor.
“You won’t even tell me what we’re doing or where we’re going.” She blew out a breath, grabbed a pair of boots and shoved them in the case before closing the top.
“It’s a surprise,” I told her.
Wren growled, “I don’t like surprises,” and sat on the case to close it properly. It was overflowing and the zip wouldn’t shut.
“Everyone likes surprises. Move.” I pushed off the door, walked over to her bed, and dragged her off the case so I could close it for her.
“Those people are masochists. Thank you.” She smiled. “I’m ready now, which is more than I can say for the pool shed. You’re not holding up your end of the bet, Tate.”
“You’ll forgive me when we get where we’re going.” I dragged the case off her bed and wheeled it down the hall. She followed.
I’d received a phone call the day after Rachel left from Giovanni’s assistant saying he needed us in Italy by the end of the week. They rushed the contracts over for us to sign and Steve arranged everything else. Flights. Accommodation. Transfer of Wren’s art. It was all taken care of. Secretly.
It had been hard to keep it from Wren, particularly when I was sneaking her art pieces out of the house and storage in the basement to be shipped to the studio in Florence for the photoshoot, but somehow I managed to pull it off.
“You know the way to win my forgiveness is through pizza. I doubt we’re going to Joe’s with this much luggage.”
“Good thing where we’re going makes the best pizza in the world,” I said before turning to face her as she locked the pool house. “Got your passport?”
“Yes.”
And then she gasped, and I could see the cogs in her brain turning as she put two and two together. “Passport. Best pizza. Giovanni Russo’s photoshoot. Oh my gosh, Tate. Are we going where I think we’re going?”
I smiled. “Told you you’d forgive me.”
Wren squealed in excitement. “I’ve always wanted to go to Berlin and see the Eiffel Tower!” she announced and threw her arms around me.
I choked back a laugh. Was she serious? She was confusing Paris with Berlin. “Umm, Wren…”
“And hey, do you think we could check out the red-light district and maybe go to one of those coffee shops while we’re there?” She winked.
And apparently Amsterdam too.
“Babe, we’re not going to Berlin. And those coffee shops are in Amsterdam, not Paris where the Eiffel Tower is. Please tell me you know where pizza comes from?”
“Gotcha.” She laughed and elbowed me in the ribs as we walked back down the side of the house to the front where our driver was waiting. “Do you seriously think I’m that stupid? I know we’re going to Switzerland, famous for pizza and scissors.”
“Chocolate and army knives. Some watches too. Not pizza and scissors,” I groaned.
“Have you ever been to Switzerland?” she countered.
“No.”
“Then how do you know they’re not masters of the pizza and scissors?”
“Get in the damn car.”
She grinned at me and then climbed into the back of the car ready for the airport.
IT WASN’T UNTIL we were on the plane preparing for takeoff that I noticed Wren was being unusually quiet. Taking a sideways glance at her, I noticed she was chewing on her nails and bouncing her legs up and down.
“Excited?”
“No. Yes. No.” She shook her head, unsure of the right answer.
She fidgeted her seat, pulled the seatbelt tighter around her waist. “Wren?”
“Shut up.” Her eyes widened as the plane rolled back and made its way to the runway. I was sure her teeth were about to pierce her bottom lip if she bit down any harder.
“You okay?”
“Did I ever tell you I’ve never flown before?” she screeched and grabbed my arm as the plane taxied down the runway, increasing speed.
She failed to mention that she’d never been in a plane before. You’d think that would have been the first thing she told me when I booked our tickets.
Her breath was coming hard and fast. Jesus, she was hyperventilating and I didn’t have the first clue how to stop her. “You know, statistically you’re safer in the air than on the ground in a car,” I offered helpfully.
The plane wheels lifted off the ground, and her nails dug into the back of my hand, almost drawing blood as she squeezed the life out of me, muttering, “We’re all going to die,” over and over.
If she kept going, she would freak out the other passengers. “Relax.” I rubbed my thumb over her skin, trying to calm her down, but it only served to make her panic more.
“Don’t tell me to relax. I can’t relax,” she hissed.
The mechanical whir of the wheels retracting into the plane made her freeze. Her eyes wide, darted around the plane and she gasped, “Oh my gosh, we’re going to die.”
She was going into hysterics and the people beside us were giving her strange looks. She was drawing too much attention. I had to calm her down. Withdrawing my hand from her death grip, she shot me a glare so full of hatred I almost laughed. Instead, I did the first thing that came to mind. I grabbed her face and pressed my mouth to hers mid-sentence.
“I’m too young to di—”
Her lips were frozen, her body stiff.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Not even a blink.
Gently stroking my thumbs
across her cheeks, I whispered against her lips, “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
Her palms came to rest on my chest and her lashes fluttered closed. A small shaky breath and her lips met mine again. Soft at first, tentative, as though she was testing them out. The scent of strawberries and coconut surrounded me. It was all her.
The plane dipped slightly and the wings shook in the wind. Turbulence. It was mild and nothing to worry about, but Wren groaned and suddenly her hands were in my hair and her mouth was needy against mine. My tongue traced her bottom lip and a soft moan sounded in the back of her throat. She parted her lips for me, and I wasted no time sweeping in and claiming her mouth.
Devouring her.
Exploring every inch.
Savoring her taste.
The plane reached peak altitude and the turbulence faded into a smooth flight.
Wren’s fingers released my hair and she broke the kiss.
Fuck.
I never planned to kiss her, but now that I had, I wanted to do it again.
She opened her eyes and looked alarmed as she jerked back from me. With a punch in my chest she snapped, “What the heavens was that?”
I chuckled and rubbed my fist over the spot she hit to ease the ache. “That was you.”
“Me? You kissed me. Took advantage of my weakened state and molested my mouth with your tongue.”
I choked back another laugh. “Took your mind off the flight though, didn’t I?”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You’re welcome.” I smirked at her.
“I’m not thanking you,” she scoffed and sat back in her seat, facing the window.
I smiled and looked down at our joined hands. She hadn’t even realized she’d slipped her hand into mine again.
I knew one thing.
I’d kiss her again before the end of this trip.
Tate
I COULDN’T HAVE been more wrong. I wasn’t going to kiss Wren again before the end of the trip.
I was going to kiss her again before we touched down in Rome.
At least three times.
Because we had a stopover in Madrid, and judging by the way she was squirming in her seat, and the vice-like grip she had once again on my hand the moment the captain called for the cabin crew to prepare for landing, she was just as terrified of landing as she was of taking off.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before releasing her breath slowly, much like the way she breathes when she practices yoga.
Or meditates.
I may have watched her once or twice.
“You okay?” I asked, relaxing back in my seat.
“No.” She shook her head and tapped her foot.
The seatbelt sign was on and the plane was slowly losing altitude. With every few feet the plane dropped, Wren mumbled something about dying.
“Tate,” she whispered and turned to face me. She was white as a ghost, her eyes glazed over.
“Just focus on me, okay?” I wrapped my free hand around the back of her neck and pulled her until our foreheads touched. “Breathe.”
The plane wobbled slightly as it flew through the clouds.
“We’re going to crash.” She squeezed my hand tighter.
“We’re not going to crash.” I rubbed her neck, trying to ease some of the tension and help her relax a little. Her eyebrows pinched together.
“You don’t know that, Tate.”
My eyes dropped to her lips as she wet them with her tongue.
“Trust me.”
“No.”
“Kiss me.” It worked the first time so…
She leaned in and hesitated, her eyes darting from my mouth to my eyes, unsure of what she wanted to do. I could see the conflict in her eyes mixed with the fear of dying in a plane crash, so I made the decision for her.
I captured her mouth with mine, held her close and got lost in the small moans she made every time my tongue brushed against hers.
My heart thudded in my chest, and I found myself wanting to hold her tighter and not let go. She was everything I wasn’t used to. She came into my life a whirlwind of color and eccentricity and unknowingly showed me a different side of myself. A better side. She made me better.
The realization of that hit me like a blow to the head.
When did that happen?
I turned my life upside down for her.
Risked my career and dumped my fake girlfriend, because I didn’t like the way she treated Wren.
Negotiated the biggest contract of my career to ensure she was included and taken care of.
Spent a small fortune paying a dude I didn’t know so he could afford his father’s medical bills, all the while saving Wren from spending unnecessary dollars.
I spent more time in my backyard by the pool hoping to see her than I did in the house. All because I was falling for her.
Her teeth skimmed my bottom lip, pulling me out of my thoughts and back to the kiss. My hand was on her hip, under her shirt, brushing my fingers over her soft skin. I wanted to feel more. I wanted to pull her shirt over her head.
Someone cleared their throat beside me, and I reluctantly pulled back to see who had rudely interrupted us. The air hostess was standing there with an amused smile plastered on her face. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but will you be disembarking the aircraft?”
Disembarking? I glanced around and that was when I noticed the plane was empty. We’d kissed for so long the plane had landed and everyone was gone.
Shit.
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “Sorry. We’ll leave now.” I unbuckled both our seatbelts and pulled Wren into the aisle.
She punched me in the arm again.
“What was that for?” I hissed at her.
“For violating me with your mouth again.”
“I’d like to violate you with something else,” I muttered, slipping my hand into hers and pulling her toward the exit.
“You did not just say that!” She gasped before laughing.
“I did. And it’s terrible. Sorry. But it’s still true.”
Wren stumbled. Probably over her own uncoordinated feet but I chose to believe it was my words that tripped her up.
“Where are we?” she asked as we got off the plane.
“Madrid.”
Wren
UNFORTUNATELY, WE DIDN’T get to see more of Madrid than the airport. Our stopover was only two hours, and by the time we made it through customs and back to the gate to meet our connecting flight, the two hours was up. And I was once again strapped into a flying death machine.
I didn’t know I was afraid of flying. I’d never given it much thought before, but the moment those wheels started rolling down the runway for take-off, it was like a switch flipped, and I completely freaked out.
Tate must have thought I was insane mumbling over and over ‘we’re going to die’ but I really truly believed it.
The seats in first class were admittedly much better than those in coach. I looked through the curtain; the cabin seemed tiny, and everyone was squished together. At least Tate and I had room to spread out and get comfortable, not that Madrid was too far from Florence.
Cold flooded my body as the fear of flying took control again. I knew realistically that we were going to be okay. Thousands of planes flew around the world daily, and very few of them ever crashed. I knew that. I did. But I still couldn’t stop myself from wondering what if.
What if our pilot has a heart attack? Would the co-pilot know enough to land the plane safely? Do they need two people to fly a plane successfully? Because if the pilot has a heart attack and dies, then we’d all be doomed.
What if a wing breaks? It could happen. I’ve seen enough movies. I chewed on my lip and closed my eyes. My knuckles were white rom the death grip I had on the arm rest and Tate’s hand.
What if an engine fails? How many back engines does a plane have?
Or the landing gears stick? We’d crash and burn.
I tightened my seatbelt as th
e plane rolled out on to the tarmac.
What if we run out of fuel? How much reserve fuel was there, and what if that’s not enough to get us down safely?
I reached under my seat to make sure the life vest was where they said it should be.
What if we got struck by lightning? Can that take down a plane? Would we all get electrocuted? My knowledge of conducting electricity was limited, and I was sure that we’d be safe in a lightning storm, but still, what did experts really know?
I placed my hands on my knees to stop them from bouncing. We were gaining speed.
What if the pilot lost control and crashed into a building before we left the ground?
Why didn’t every seat come fit with a parachute? They should. And where were the life rafts?
What if the flight navigation system failed and we crashed into another plane? I mean, it was possible, right?
Holy crap. We were going to die.
My chest tightened and I struggled to suck in a breath. My palms were sweaty, and I wanted to throw up.
Tate pinched my chin and turned my head to face him. His eyes darted between mine, concern etching his face, and I knew what he was going to do. I just wished he’d do it already.
He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. Soft and warm. He tasted like the whiskey he had when we took our seats. His breath was hot, his mouth needy. His tongue was silk in my mouth.
Everything faded.
There was only Tate and me.
All my fears ebbed away. The plane ceased to exist. We were wrapped in our own bubble, and I didn’t want it to burst. I knew he was only doing this to distract me and that it meant nothing, but I was going to enjoy it while it lasted.
How many girls could say they’d had Tate Montgomery’s tongue in their mouth, or his hands gripping their waist so tight it was as though he couldn’t get enough?
A lot, probably. But I refused to think about them.
For those ten or so minutes it took for the plane to reach altitude, nothing else mattered but the feel of Tate’s mouth on mine. His teeth grazed my lip, pulling it into his mouth.
I moaned. Fisted his shirt in my hands. His fingers moved to my seatbelt and released it. I faintly recalled hearing the announcement saying that we were free to move around and the pilot had turned off the seatbelt sign. Tate wasted no time pulling me out of my seat and into his lap.