by Laura Carter
I fasten the button of my damson blazer over my dress and pull on my grey mac, releasing my hair across my shoulders. It’s soft and a little wavy after the rush job I made of showering and drying my hair in the firm’s facilities a couple of hours ago but at least I’m clean.
Not having packed myself or watched my suitcase being lugged into a car to go to the airport is making me slightly anxious. I don’t know how Gregory delegates all these things. I really hope Amy didn’t forget anything. A little flutter of excitement comes over me. Lots of people who love Sandy and Jackson in one place to witness their marriage. Eeek!
Before I leave, I hand a manuscript amended document to Margaret in the secretary’s station.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the airport by now?”
I glance at my watch, nine-seventeen.
“Seventeen minutes ago. This is the last thing. Please would you make these changes then save the document to the Constant Sources file and email it to Hugh. He’ll be managing things whilst I’m away but if you get the faintest scent that he’s in over his head please call me. I’ll have my Black—”
“Scarlett, go, now!”
“Okay, I’m going. But call me if—”
“I’m not calling you, Scarlett. Go!”
* * *
A black stretch-limousine, freshly polished for the occasion, waits outside the revolving doors. A grouchy-looking, muscular man who’s making a really poor show of wearing a black suit, white shirt and black tie steps out of the driver side.
“Miss Heath,” he grumbles with a dip of his head.
“Hi, erm?”
“Scott.”
“Nice to meet you, Scott. Sorry for the delay. Where’s Kenneth?”
Scott moves to the back door of the limousine. “He’s driving Mr. Ryans to the airport.”
“Gregory isn’t coming with us?”
“No, Miss Heath.”
Feeling like I’ve exhausted Scott’s desire to converse, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the giddiness inside the car. Oh, how I’d love to sleep.
“Finallyyyyyy!” Amanda leaps from the limousine and wraps her arms tightly around my neck. “Hurry up and get inside, I’ll get hives from being too close to the office.”
Amanda looks, as ever, a million dollars. She’s had shellac put on her finger and toe nails and an extra conditioning treatment on her glossy red hair, “to stop it from suffering in the sun.” Her long flowing striped maxi seems out of place for the beginning of February in England but less so than the over-sized floppy hat that she repositions on her head as she sits back into the black leather of the limo.
“Here,” she says, shuffling a weekend bag my way. “I think it’s stuff for you to change into on the plane.”
I peek inside the bag to see material in summer colours and Harrods tags poking through tissue paper. Julia and Lucas, my knights in Jimmy Choos.
Williams leans forward as we pull away from the curb, airport bound. “You could probably use this,” he says, handing me a glass three quarters full of champagne and dropping a kiss to my cheek.
“Bollinger?” I ask after the first sip, receiving an impressed confirmatory glance from Williams. “Where’s Gregory?”
“He had things to do. Work, I think he said. He didn’t really give me any details.”
“That sounds like Gregory.”
Williams gulps his champagne. “You know what he’s like. He’s as bad as you at switching off.”
We drive past the Royal Courts of Justice, along Strand, then Fleet Street and out towards London City Airport. By the time my glass of champagne has settled on my empty stomach and tired head, I begin to relax.
Amanda holds out her empty glass for Williams to fill with sparkling elderflower water. “Right, so tell me the plan.”
I lean my head back against the seat as Williams appeases her.
“We’re flying out at ten thirty. It’ll take about nine hours to get to St. Lucia.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, at ten thirty? We’re going to be late! If I miss this holiday I swear I’ll, I’ll—”
“Relax,” says Williams. “You can’t really be late for a private jet.”
“A what?” Amanda’s jaw hangs loose, her emerald eyes wide.
Williams and I share a laugh.
“Are we really going on a private jet?”
“Yes. Gregory doesn’t take commercial flights,” Williams explains.
“Holy shit! Ha! Right, so we get to St. Lucia today, late afternoon St. Lucia time?”
Williams nods.
“Girls’ night tonight, then the wedding is tomorrow and we’re all staying at the resort where Sandy and Jackson are now?”
I suspect Williams nods again but I’m resting my eyes.
“Then we have twelve days of St. Lucia beach time. Fabulous!”
“Not exactly. We have one day on St. Lucia after the wedding, then we’re taking the jet to St. Maarten.”
“Right. What’s St. Maarten?”
“Another island.”
“Is it nice?”
“Of course.”
“Why are we going there?”
“Because that’s where the yacht is.”
“The what?”
“Gregory’s yacht. It’s anchored at St. Maarten.”
“Holy shit! We’re going on a yacht? Ha!”
We’ve just passed Canary Wharf and I’m struggling to stay awake when Scott’s mobile rings and Gregory’s voice comes over the limo speakers.
“Mr. Ryans.”
“Scott, I’m at the airport and you aren’t here.”
“We’re on our way, Mr. Ryans. We’re coming past Blackwall station now.”
“Why are you late? Is there traffic?”
“No, sir. Miss...er...we had a delay before we left the city.”
“Make time.”
And then he’s gone but my stomach is still turning like a seashell wind chime in a gale. Sun, sea, sand and Gregory Ryans for fourteen nights. I sit up straight and rummage around in my handbag for my pocket mirror. I force my eyes open with my fingers then tap my cheeks in an attempt to bring some colour. As the limousine nears the airport, I can’t stop a smile from rising on my lips. We finally pull onto the tarmac and Amanda bursts from the car before Scott can make it to the passenger door. Williams gestures for me to go next.
There he is, strong and tall on the top step at the door of the jet. He’s wearing fitted beige chinos and a crisp white shirt, open by two buttons. He watches me and turns his mouth into his familiar, melting half smile. Bell ringers chime tunes in my abdomen.
Amanda bounces up the steps, plants a fleeting and less than heartfelt kiss on Gregory’s cheek, then runs inside the plane. They haven’t exactly made up yet. Scott hands over control of the luggage to a member of the jet crew, the same crew I met on our amazing night at the opera in Rome. I force from my mind thoughts of the day that followed, the pain of discovering Gregory’s betrayal in sending me away.
Williams climbs the steps, shakes Gregory’s hand and says something that makes them both laugh. Then, unusually, the pair share what can only be described as a man hug: their right hands stay in a shake position, their right shoulders lean in to one another, and with their left hands they each pat the other on the back.
“Have a nice holiday, Miss Heath,” Scott says as he walks back to the limousine.
“Oh. Yes. Thank you, Scott.”
The engines purr to life, pulling my attention to the jet. Gregory stands alone on the top step. He flicks his head and mouths, “Get here.”
I cross the tarmac and climb the steps towards him.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
I gaze into his eyes, my tiredness
making me, if possible, even more in love with this man. My breathing has quickened, my heart rate has risen. He presses his lips against my brow, then rests them on the soft tip of my nose. I breathe in his warm, familiar scent, then he lifts my chin with his index finger and places his lips on mine. I mould to the shape of his body as he pulls me into him and I get lost in his kiss.
“Christ, you two, get a room!” Amanda chimes.
Gregory steps back and drops his forehead to mine. Through grinding teeth and a stiff neck, he says, “We could have another murder charge on our hands if I have to spend two weeks in that woman’s company.”
“Stow your Glock for a fortnight, Ryans.”
As soon as the captain announces we’re at cruising altitude, we unfasten our seatbelts and the others make their way to three tall stools that are rooted to the floor around the small bar.
“Virgin mary, sir?” the steward asks Gregory.
“Actually, Michael, let’s make an exception to the rule. Somewhere in the world it’s after lunch already.”
“Bloody mary, sir?”
“Sounds good. Scarlett, bloody mary, baby?”
“Not for me, thank you. I’m going to change into something more comfortable and I’m sorry to be a pooper but I really need to take a nap.”
“Noooo! Scarlett, it’s holidaaaay tiiiime! These next two weeks I task you to drink whenever I can’t.” Amanda squees whilst patting her rounding tummy fondly.
“Amanda, if we’re all going to get through this trip in harmony, you need to calm down.”
She laughs. “Alright, alright, I’m just trying to make the most of my last child-free holiday.”
“By behaving like a child,” Gregory mutters.
“Alright, you two, play nice,” Williams says, pulling Amanda to his side as he perches his long, athletic legs onto a stool.
I shake my head. “I’ll be back.”
“There’s sleepwear on your pillow, baby.”
My pillow? “Naturally, I have my own pillow on your private jet.”
“High and fast,” he says with a smirk.
“I’m beginning to think that’s your trademark, Mr. Ryans.”
“Speaking of my intellectual property rights...”
I rush to him and nip his lips shut with my fingers. “Please. I’ve been dealing with your intellectual property all night. Not now.” I drop a quick kiss to his cheek and make my way through the curtains into the section of the jet that hosts four beds, each with its own set of red curtains, the same colour as the carpet.
On the last of the four, I find a black silk night shirt. Casting my blazer on the opposite bed, I close my eyes and creak my neck, then flip my long hair across one shoulder, struggling to locate the zip at the back of my dress. A strong arm wraps around my stomach, two luscious, full lips meet the naked flesh of my neck, and my zip is drawn teasingly down my back. I could sleep for an eternity but my mind still jumps immediately to lascivious thoughts of the tall, lean, god-like man pressed against me and rolling his hardening length against my arse.
“I wanted to tuck you in,” he whispers, his words a warm mist over my ear.
“Tuck me in, or tuck into me?”
I feel his lips curl as he nibbles my lobe. “The latter.” His mouth moves to my shoulder blade as he pushes my dress down my arms, letting it hang on my hips. “But I’ll be kind.” His tongue traces a lazy line up my vertebrae. “I’ll let you lay back and think of Scotland.”
“England. Lay back and think of England,” I say with a giggle.
“I love that sound. Never stop making that sound for me.”
“I’m going to have to.” I turn and press my chest into his. “If you intend to take me on this jet, I won’t be able to make any sound.”
He drops his head to one side. “Why, Miss Heath, if I didn’t know better, I’d say the thought of voyeurism turns you on.” He moves his hand under my dress, my head rolling back as his fingers push my thong aside and leisurely stroke my entrance. “In fact, I’d have to say it definitely turns you on.”
“It’s illegal in England. Section sixty-seven of the Sexual Offences Act 2003.”
He leans back, keeping one hand tantalising my sex whilst the other strokes my face. “I love it when you talk lawyer to me.”
A muffled groan escapes me as he pushes his fingers into me, bending them, sweeping my sensitive wall.
“I’m going to make this quick, baby, then I’m going to let you sleep.”
“You’re so thoughtful, Ryans.”
He tugs my lower back, pulling me against him, and grinds his pelvis as his fingers mirror the action against my insides. “Thoughtful would be letting you sleep.”
I move my hand between us and cup his solid package over his chinos. “No. That would be very unthoughtful.”
He breathes heavily into my mouth as I hear Jack Johnson’s “Bubble Toes” strike up in the main room of the jet. He pushes my dress to the floor, his eyes black and wild with hunger. Then he lifts my thighs to his hips and lays me back on the single bed—arse, back, head. I lick my lips with desire as he unbuttons his belt and chinos and slips out of his loafers. He crawls between my legs and pulls the curtain closed across the bed, feigning privacy. There’s something about him wearing his clothes, something about the fact that our best friends are just feet away from our frivolity, and there’s definitely something about entering the Mile High Club on my boyfriend’s jet.
Chapter Eleven
Standing in the French doors of the balcony to Sandy’s five-star suite, the warm afternoon Caribbean breeze kisses the skin where my deep purple dress exposes my shoulders.
Pulling my stylist-perfected ringlets across one shoulder, I look over the white sand of the beach in front of the hotel. Gregory surprised me but almost floored Sandy and Jackson by hiring the entire resort for the thirty guest wedding.
The resort’s private beach has been transformed into a picturesque wedding setting. Lara, of course, had to step in to make sure everything was just-so and I have to hand it to Gregory’s mother, the scene is perfect, serene. From the four-post altar, strewn with white chiffon and decorated in all shades of white, purple and violet flowers, to the pillar bouquets lining the walkway. From the wooden chairs adorned with white satin cushions, to the woven beige flooring that creates an aisle. I have to look away before I cry, again.
The door to the master bedroom opens and a nervous looking Sandy makes her way into the lounge, her shoulder-length black hair pinned part up at the back with white flowers and her makeup professionally complete.
“Are you ready for your dress, Mrs. Jackson-to-be?”
She nods twice, quickly, and inhales sharply. I take hold of her hands. “Sandy, this is you and Jackson. Forget everybody else.”
She nods again, so nervous and apprehensive I want to pick her up and cradle her, stroke her hair the way she would for me as a child and tell her that everything is going to be just fine. “Let’s get that dress on.”
“I’m here, I’m here.” Amanda shuffles in a dress identical to mine but for hers being strapless and mine having thin straps that cross behind my back and meet the dress mid-way down my spine.
She hangs the wedding dress on a doorframe and unzips the bag, revealing Sandy’s fifties-style, three-quarter-length ivory dress. Amanda unbuttons the back of the dress and we lift the material carefully over Sandy’s up-reached arms. Once she’s fastened in with no make up on the dress and her hair still in place, I help her into a lace shrug.
“One more thing.” I take a royal blue velvet box from the dressing table drawer. “Go ahead, open it.”
Tentatively, she peels back the lid to reveal a thin platinum chain with a small diamond drop and the matching earrings.
“They’re actually your something borrowed. The
y’re on loan. For now.” I turn her away from me to face a floor-length mirror and fasten the necklace around her soft mocha skin. “Then they’ll be a gift. A thank you for letting me do you the honour of giving you away. But I’ll buy them when we get home. I don’t think that’s cheating, do you?”
Her eyes glaze. “You really did grow into a wonderful woman.”
“That’s because of my stand-in mum.” I wrap my arms tightly around her waist and press my cheek against hers.
“Oh, Jesus, the pregnant lady can’t cope with this.” Amanda wafts a tissue in the air theatrically. “I’m going to head down and give you two a few minutes together. You’re going to knock him dead, Sandy, you’re stunning.” She pecks Sandy on the cheek and gives her a quick squeeze at the shoulders. “And you look a million dollars,” she says, when she pulls the same move on me. “I’ll see you out there.”
“I’m glad we have a moment alone,” Sandy says when the door shuts behind Amanda. “I want to tell you that I’m incredibly proud of you, young lady, for everything you are, and I’m glad you and Gregory have worked things out. He makes you happy, that’s plain to see, and let me tell you, that man adores every bone in your body, like you deserve.”
“Sandy—”
“Let me finish. I’ve watched you grow up to be a beautiful, clever, wonderful woman and I’m pleased now that we both have someone new to share things with and look forward to a new chapter with. Seeing you happy has been my goal for more than twenty years and I’m ready to let someone who deserves you take over that job. And you need to do the same for me, do you hear? I have Geoffrey to worry about me now. You need to have your own life and stop worrying about other people.”
“Sandy—”
She holds up a finger. “A-ah, I’m not done. I know why you want to give me the money from your father’s house. It’s because you’re worried about what I’ll do next. But look outside, Scarlett, I’m going to be just fine. And, I have a little news.”