by Virna DePaul
“I don’t want you,” she sniffs. “I—”
The plane jolts beneath us. Her eyes widen, and the color in her cheeks drains away when the plane bucks through some nasty turbulence. We bounce in our seats, like someone’s shaking the plane, and I hear a low moan.
I realize it’s Heather. And it’s not a moan of pleasure.
It’s one of fear.
Chapter Three
Heather
All of the banter and arguing and sexual tension with the man next to me—Caleb—disappears the second we hit turbulence. Logically, I know it’s just a storm causing the sensation like some giant has taken the plane in its fist and is having a bit of fun jostling us, but that doesn’t stop the flood of panic that takes over my body.
I grip the armrest until my hands and arms hurt. I hear someone whine, and I wonder if it’s the child behind us. But no, I realize with a start, it’s me. I sound like some wounded animal.
That’s when the plane really starts shaking, and I’m not sure if I’m going to puke, cry, or faint. I rather hope it’s the third option. At least then I’d be unconscious for a while.
But I don’t faint. I’m just gasping for breath, like I’m drowning, and that’s when I feel a warm hand on my back. Caleb’s rubbing between my shoulder blades.
“Put your head between your knees. That’s it. Now breathe in deep…hold it…and then breathe out. Yes, keep doing just that. Breathe in…”
His voice soothes me, even though I’d wanted to slap him just moments earlier. I concentrate solely on his words, doing as he says. My breath becomes less of a gasp, and my heart slows somewhat as well. He keeps rubbing my back in firm circles. If I weren’t so freaked out, I’d be embarrassed this man—this arrogant asshole—is comforting me. But right this second, I’m just glad Caleb’s here.
I’m vaguely aware of the fact that the turbulence has stopped. I hear Caleb ask a flight attendant for some ginger ale, then he’s pressing the plastic glass into my hand.
“Here, drink this.” He has me lift my head slowly before instructing me to drink. I feel rather like a small child doing what he says without protest, but it calms me. For some reason, knowing that Caleb is in control keeps me from feeling like I’m losing control.
I sip the ginger ale until the glass is empty. He plucks it from my fingers when I’m done.
“Doing okay?”
I nod jerkily before letting out a breath and saying in a shaky voice, “God, I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.”
Suddenly I’m all too aware of how close he is to me, how his scent is enveloping me. My desire from earlier roars back. His scent is woodsy and masculine and enticing, and I want to bury my nose in the crook of his shoulder. I can feel my nipples peaking once again. Now the blood that had rushed from my head rushes to other parts of my body, and he’s not even touching me anymore.
I clear my throat. “I’m okay,” I say, even though I’m anything but okay.
“Are you sure? You still look like shit. You want more ginger ale?”
I decide to let him think I’m still freaked out by the turbulence. Easier than admitting I basically want to lick him like an ice cream cone right here in aisle twenty-five, even though he’s insulted me and tried to rile me like no other man I’ve ever met. “I’m fine.”
“So I guess you don’t fly a whole lot?”
I laugh. “You could say that. I haven’t flown since I was a kid.”
“Is that why you didn’t move earlier?”
I bite my lip and tears of humiliation flood my eyes and I refuse to answer, afraid if I do that I’ll start sobbing. I’m so weak. Why am I so weak? I hate feeling this way. Hate that the family behind me and this man thought I was—
“You know what used to scare the shit out of me? Alf, from that TV show.”
I blink then stare at him, wondering if he’s joking, but he seems completely serious. “You were terrified of a puppet from an old ’80s show? Why?”
“Have you ever looked at Alf? That nose? He’s creepy. I watched an episode as a kid and I had nightmares for days. Kept imagining that Alf was going to come to my room and eat me.”
I snort out a laugh, and he smiles at me when I do. “That show was way before my time, but I saw a few reruns. He wouldn’t have eaten you. He only ate cats.”
“Aha! But you know what I mean. Besides, I bet he ate little children. He seemed like the type of puppet to eat kids.”
I shush him, hoping the family behind us isn’t listening to us talk about children-eating puppets.
“I really did have nightmares. I told my mom Alf was under my bed and she told me to go to sleep. I couldn’t, though. Not for hours.”
“You poor thing,” Something that sounds perilously close to a giggle escapes me.
His gorgeous lips tilt into a smile that sets my heart pounding. “And now you’re laughing at me.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. Childhood fears of puppets are very real issues.”
“Now that I’ve been thoroughly embarrassed, you have to tell me what happened when you flew when you were a kid. Maybe it’ll help you feel better now.”
I’m not so sure, but for some reason, talking about it feels like a good way to stay distracted. “I was just scared of the plane crashing, and when I got on the plane, I puked. Then I started hyperventilating and crying. One of the flight attendants had to give me a paper bag to breathe into. I can’t say it helped.”
“And so you haven’t flown since then.”
“Not until today.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Have you watched an episode of Alf recently?”
He shudders. “No, and I have no intention of doing so.”
At the moment, I can’t help but think that Caleb is so handsome and charming that I could listen to him talk about paint drying for hours. I stare at him as he talks about taking photographs at a wedding and I must admit, I barely hear a word he says. I’m looking at how his hair is slightly too long and curls onto his shirt collar, and think how I want to run my fingers through it. And when he smiles! Not only does he have perfectly straight teeth, but he has dimples. I want to kiss those dimples. Hell, I’d kiss his entire face if he’d let me.
When he sees that I’m not really listening to him, his eyelids lower. “Your turn,” he murmurs.
My turn? For what? Kissing? My body heats, but then I realize he’s talking about…talking. “Oh, what do you want to know?”
“How about what you do?”
His questions remind me that soon after returning to LA and my boutique, Talina (that’s my middle name; Heather just sounded too ordinary for a high-end fashion boutique and label), Bella will be sending a team replete with models, makeup artists, set designers, and a world-class photographer to take pictures for the magazine spread. Immediately, nervousness zings through me. This is a huge opportunity, and if it doesn’t go well, it could completely screw me over. My boutique and fashion line have been making strides in the last year, and when I got the call that Bella was interested in my work, I couldn’t believe it. Although I didn’t get a personal call from Rebecca Harris herself, just knowing that she’s even remotely interested in my work is enough for now.
I rub suddenly damp palms on my pants. “I’m in retail,” I say, not wanting to talk about work or the shoot for fear of jinxing everything. “I was in New York on business. I—I took a train there.” I wince when he does. “I know. Only I didn’t have time to take it back. I thought I’d be okay, but I guess childhood fears die hard.” I sigh, but when I think of little Caleb afraid of Alf coming to eat him, I smile.
“Lots of people are afraid of flying. But…” His green eyes gleam at me. “You know what I bet would work wonders in getting you over that?”
For some reason, I’m almost afraid to hear his answer. His gaze flicks from my face to my breasts, and where normally I’d want to slap a guy for doing that, I’m turned on. When my nipples harden, he draws in a breat
h when he notices.
“What would work wonders?” I whisper.
He leans toward me, and his breath brushes against my ear as he replies, “Becoming a member of the Mile High Club.”
My entire body heats from those words. I can’t get the cascade of images out of my brain. Tucked into that tight space, pressed against each other, nothing but our tongues tangling and our hands all over each other, desperate for more. He’d set me onto the sink and as I unzipped my pants, he’d unbuckle his belt and before I could take in another breath, he’d thrust inside me.
I haven’t said anything but he doesn’t take this as a sign that I’m uninterested. He smirks at me, his gaze even more heated than before.
“You have personal experience with this?” I finally croak.
“Surprisingly, no. I’ve never gotten the opportunity. But believe me when I say that I’d love to change that.”
I bet he would. I’d love to change that, too. I’ve always thought sex on a plane sounded cramped and awkward, but with Caleb, it’d be intense. Explosive. He’d give me no quarter. He’d cover my mouth with his hand to keep me from screaming. I don’t know how I know this, but I believe it, deep in my bones.
I lick my lips. He zeroes in on the movement.
“Caleb,” I murmur.
He’s about to reach for me, or maybe even kiss me, when we both hear someone clearing their throat.
“Would anyone like something else to drink?”
Caleb turns and we both stare at the flight attendant like she’s sprouted horns and maybe a forked tail. I’m not thirsty, but I find myself blurting, “A Coke, please.”
Caleb shrugs. “One for me, too.”
After the flight attendant gives us our drinks, I stare at my glass of Coke, rolling my eyes at myself inwardly. I don’t even drink Coke! Keep it cool, Heather, I think to myself. What is it about this man that gets me all tangled up?
Even my ex-boyfriend didn’t get me this riled, this turned on. Bo and I dated for four years, but by the end, he decided to dump me because I was “too into my career,” which was really code for not being there to make him dinner when he got home or wanting to do laundry when I had designs to take care of. Don’t get me wrong, Bo was a good boyfriend in many ways, but when he told me he was done because I was too committed to my career? It hurt.
Remembering Bo gives me a good reason not to get all hot and bothered over Caleb. I’m probably just horny, I tell myself. I haven’t had sex in months, not since my break-up, and my interest in Caleb is just that: sexual. Hoping for anything else would be completely stupid. Besides, Bo was right: I’m married to my career right now. No guy could fit into that.
Caleb sips his Coke. We listen as the pilot announces that we’ll be landing in the next half hour. I sigh in relief. I need to get on the ground and get my head on straight already.
When the flight attendant comes back around, I reach out to hand my still-full glass to her, but in the process, I bump my hand on the armrest. This sends the glass tumbling from my fingers straight into Caleb’s lap.
“Oh my God!” I say just as Caleb curses at the ice bath his crotch has just gotten. “I’m so sorry!” I try to dab at the stain with some napkins, but it’s no use.
He finally pushes my hands away and starts collecting the ice that hasn’t melted, handing the cubes to the un-amused flight attendant. I just dab and dab.
“Heather,” he growls, then grabs my hand. His voice is smoky and seductive as he says, “You’re just making me harder, sweetheart, with your hand rubbing my cock like that.”
I gasp, and he holds onto me tighter.
“If you really want to make it up to me,” he says in a that same hushed voice, “how about you let me put this hard-on to good use after we land?”
I stare at him. My body is on fire, and I’m about to scream YES and throw myself onto his lap.
Instead, I just gape and let out an “Uhhhhhh…” sound at his question.
He chuckles. “You tell me your answer again when we land, okay, sweetheart?”
Underneath my hand, I feel his hard cock through his pants, and Jesus Christ, he can’t be that big—can he? When I look up into his face, he just raises an eyebrow. I snatch my hand back like it’s been branded.
Caleb lets out a sigh. “You know, I should make you pay me for these pants. They were my only nice pair I brought with me, as I’m not planning on staying in LA for more than a couple of days.”
I grab my purse to dig around for some cash to give him. I own a shop but specialize in women’s clothing. Not that I would take him to my store anyway. The guy’s a stranger, after all. A sexy-as-hell, charming stranger who I wish I had the courage to mile-high with…
He laughs when he sees what I’m doing. “I was just kidding, Heather. But do you have some time after we land to go shopping with me? You can help me pick out a pair of pants.”
My brows furrow. “Do you really need help with that?”
“No.”
“Then…?”
He shrugs. “Maybe you’ll want to spend even more time with me. Show me those claws again?”
“You’re disgusting,” I say, mostly because I feel like I should say it, not because I really think he’s disgusting. He’s the opposite of disgusting: delicious, desirable.
Dangerous.
“If you say so, sweetheart. So is that a ‘no’ to going shopping with me?”
I bite my lip, knowing I should answer in the affirmative. But I don’t want to. I want to spend more time with Caleb. I want to know if more time with him will quash these feelings of desire he’s inspired or just fan the flames hotter.
“It’s a ‘let’s see how the rest of the flight goes,” I say.
“Good enough for me.”
Chapter Four
Caleb
I didn’t lie when I said I didn’t have another pair of pants to change into. I wasn’t going to be in LA for more than a few days, just long enough to do a photo shoot for Bella magazine, and I didn’t see the need to pack more than one pair of dress pants for no reason. When I’m doing a shoot, I wear what I’m most comfortable in—jeans.
But let’s be real, this isn’t about pants: this is about getting into Heather’s pants.
Because I’ve decided that I’m going to seduce her. She’s a worthy conquest—beautiful, fiery, smart—and I know she wants me. She can’t stop looking at me as we land, and when she loses sight of me outside in the terminal when I’m grabbing our taxi, I can tell she’s worried. Her face practically lights up when I wave at her and she catches my gaze.
So, yeah, seduction. Definitely. Just the thought of those long, pale legs wrapped around my waist as I fuck her? God, I’m hard as iron. Who cares about the Coke staining my pants? If anyone looks at my crotch, they’ll get an eyeful of something else.
We make our way out of LAX, each of us hampered only by small carry-on bags, and direct the taxi to a local big-box retail store. Heather seems like she isn’t sure if she wants to sit in my lap or get as far away from me as humanly possible while we’re in the car. More than likely, she’s having doubts and freaking out. She seems like the type.
If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s coaxing a beautiful woman to let down her guard, but Heather seems like she’d be suspicious of flattery.
I decide to try a different tactic.
“I have to ask,” I say quietly, although I don’t really care if the driver hears us, “if you poured that Coke on me on purpose. Did you?”
She glares at me. “Why would I do that?”
“It’s obvious: so you could spend more time with me.”
She splutters, and I laugh. She’s such an easy target. I really should leave her be, but I can’t help it.
“Did I already tell you that you are arrogant?” she says in a haughty voice. “Well, you are. An arrogant, egotistical, jerkface—”
“Did you just call me a jerkface?”
“Yes, and you can add asshole, son of a b
itch, and—”
I lean over and take hold of her chin, making her face me. My grip isn’t tight, but she doesn’t try to pull away, either.
“Yet you decided to spend more time with me. Why is that?” I ask.
Her eyes widen. “I wanted to make up for ruining your pants.” She whispers the words, like even she doesn’t believe them.
I duck underneath the shoulder strap of the seatbelt so I can get closer to her. I crowd her into the corner of the taxi. “I think you’re a liar,” I say silkily. I stroke the line of her jaw with my finger.
“I am not!”
I brush my thumb across that full bottom lip. “I think you want me so badly that you can’t stand it. It pisses you off. You’re always in control. But not today.” Leaning so close that I can smell her perfume and the warm scent of woman, I say, “You want me to bend you over and fuck you until you scream.”
She’s breathing hard, practically panting, and I’m about to kiss her when the taxi stops.
“We’re here,” Heather breathes.
“Looks like it.”
I pay the driver, who looks bored by our antics, and we get out of the car. It’s a sunny day—unsurprising for LA—and traffic zooms by as we stand outside on the sidewalk. Heather seems like she’s in a daze, and I chuckle.
Minutes later, we’re wandering the aisles. I make a big show of looking around before picking out a god-awful pair of grandpa pants. She rolls her eyes, glances around, then grabs a pair of slacks. “I think this should fit,” she says as she hands me the pants. “I guessed at your measurements.”
I grin. “My measurements, eh? Is that what you were looking at?”
“Behave yourself.” She walks me toward the dressing room, and I when I peek inside, it looks deserted, all six stalls with open doors. “If you need some other sizes, let me know.”
Before she can walk away, I grab her wrist. “Not so fast. I need your opinion on how they look on me.”
“What?” she sputters, immediately pulling back and wildly looking around to see if anyone is watching us. “Come out when you have them on!”