by Rosie Praks
And prepared she was. With three suitcases. She had to pay extra for two. The flight attendant even gave her the shifty eyes when he saw how many cases she’d brought with her.
“Are you sure you need all three, madam?” he’d asked.
“Yes, all three.”
In the luggage, there were mainly thermals, scarves, and gloves. And lots and lots of puffer jackets. She couldn’t afford to go without puffer jackets, especially with winter in Queenstown or anywhere in the South Island.
With the amount of baggage she’d brought, she was late for check-in. The taxi driver didn’t have enough room to store the baggage. Thank her mother up in heaven she was saved by hair’s breadth. The plane was already filled with passengers by the time she got seated.
Breathing calmly, she told herself today would be fine. The plane would get to Queenstown in one piece.
No sooner had it leveled in the sky and she began to relax again, taking out her laptop to start working on her many articles, did she feel someone kicking her seat. She gave a yelp.
“Sorry over there. Just stretching.” Someone apologized from behind her.
Well, at least he’s considerate, Whitney thought. Otherwise, she would have to give him a warning. She was about to get on with more work when someone kicked her seat again. She couldn’t help giving another yelp, startled.
“Sorry again.”
Whitney, by this time, was getting a little upset and mad. One more kick and she would definitely need to have a word.
And just five minutes later, there was another.
For goodness sakes. Whitney had had enough. Someone was definitely kicking her seat on purpose. So she launched out of her chair and was prepared to berate that person occupying the seat behind her, when the sight of that person sleeping made her shrivel back.
“Darcy,” she whispered nervously, chewing on her bottom lip. “What’s he doing on this flight?”
She did tell him she would be taking a vacation for a week.
Did he take that opportunity to ask for a vacation, too?
No. It was none of her business. If he’d decided to take a vacation, then that wasn’t her concern. She’d stay out of his affair. But as long as he didn’t interfere in hers, her status as the tyrant boss wouldn’t be affected.
Plus, who’s to know he’d be in Queenstown? This flight would be passing through Dunedin to drop off and pick up passengers to Queenstown. He might be one of few who would depart in Dunedin.
Assured, she lay back and relaxed. But try as she might, she couldn’t relax that easily. She was all too aware of the young man sitting behind her. She could remember those hot lips breathing down her back as she was changing. The image was still too raw.
After that episode, she didn’t interact with him much. She tried to avoid him at every turn, going into meetings and acting all professional. Little did he know she was a crumbling mess inside.
When the plane landed, she unbuckled her seat belt and waited to leave. Since she was at the rear of the plane and departed last.
Whitney couldn’t help glancing behind her just to make sure Darcy was still sleeping.
And he was. Snoring away like the broken engine of a car.
When the last of the passengers left, she moved down the aisle and was about to leave too when an idea popped into her head. She took out her glow-in-the-dark pen and approached Darcy’s sleeping form.
“This is for kicking my seat three times, Darcy,” Whitney muttered to herself while writing ‘I’m an idiot’ on Darcy’s forehead.
She couldn’t help sniggering at her marvelous idea.
Good. Now tonight, when all the lights are off, you’ll learn your lesson.
Seeing Darcy sleeping so peacefully, annoyance crossed her features.
What are you dreaming about? I hope you dream about me haunting you.
Since Whitney was feeling brave today, she decided to poke him in the face, too. With her pen. When Darcy started stirring, she hastily made her escape, dashing down the aisle. Once she collected her luggage at baggage claim, she headed straight to the Silverton Hotel, not waiting for a minute more to see her submissive assistant fully awake at baggage claim.
“Hi. A reservation for Whitney Madigan, please.” She approached one of the receptionists when she arrived at the hotel.
The young girl with auburn hair checked her computer. Whitney guessed she looked no more than nineteen.
“I’m so sorry, madam. But we haven’t got a booking under that name.”
“Can you check again, please? My friend booked it for me.”
While the young receptionist searched through the system again, Whitney checked out the hotel.
Clarice was really one lucky gal. Looked like she caught a rich young man, too. The hotel was fit for the royal family. It was beautifully decorated in gold, red, and white. Such simple colors but very classic.
Whitney was interrupted from her viewing when the receptionist said she couldn’t find her name in the system. Again.
“Look.” She leaned in closer, speaking to the young girl. “My friend—”
And that was when she caught sight of Darcy in the corner of her eye.
Whitney panicked. She didn’t want Darcy, her submissive assistant, to see her in this outfit. She looked more like a polar bear than a tyrant boss, all wrapped up with scarves, a wool hat, winter boots, and thermals gloves.
The receptionist was saying something, but she couldn’t hear. Her eyes and mind were focused on Darcy. And the bad news was he was heading her way.
“Fudge!” Whitney quickly turned back to the receptionist and said, “That’s fine. There must be some mistake. I’ll just go check with my friend. I’ll be right back.”
After that, it was a mad dash to the nearest potted plant.
Except her so-called mad dash caused some commotion along the way, with her tripping over her own feet, followed by her three bags tagging along, too.
The pain was substantial as she fell face first. There was a small crowd already forming around her, asking if she was all right. Whitney quickly got up from her fall. Breaking through the crowd, she hid behind the large plant just in time for Darcy to make his appearance at reception.
“Oh, why is Darcy in this hotel, too?” she mumbled to herself as she watched him talking to the auburn-haired receptionist.
There were too many hotels in Queenstown. Why the Silverton? And why must Clarice get married in this wretched cold town. It was freezing.
Wait! Did someone blast an air-conditioner on me?
Looking up, she saw she was standing right underneath the air vent, where cold air blew into the lobby.
Fudge. What a perfect place to hide.
Freezing cold, she made a call to her friend, her eyes were still glued on Darcy.
“Clarice, is that you?” she wheezed into the phone.
“Whitney? Is that you? You sound like you’ve got a cold.”
“Never mind that. I tried checking in and they don’t have a reservation for me. Didn’t you say you had a room booked for me?”
“Wait a minute, Whitney. I’ll talk to Hunter. He was supposed to arrange all this.”
While her friend was away talking to Hunter, she checked the reception area again. Darcy was still there. Damn. When is he going to finish checking in? She was about to freeze to death here. Not a minute later, Clarice came back on.
“I’m sorry, Whitney. I told Hunter to book a room for you, but clearly he’s forgotten. Just use the room he booked under his name. We won’t be in until the day after tomorrow. Conrad is getting his outfit adjusted. He grows so fast the seamstress had to redo the whole outfit again. It won’t be ready until tomorrow. I’ll see you there the day after tomorrow, then. Elise will fly with me. We’ll see you there.”
“Sure. Fine,” Whitney said drily, her eyes checking the reception area again.
Oh, good. He’s gone.
Heading to the receptionist in a hurry, just in case Darcy was a
bout to make another uninvited appearance, she said, “I’m sorry. The reservation is under Hunter Silverton’s name.”
“Oh. Mrs. Hunter.” The receptionist looked surprised and offered her apology. “I should have known. I’m so sorry about before, but I’m new here. My name is Harley Davidson. We have organized a room for you both already.”
“You don’t have to call me Mrs. Hunter. My name is Whitney,” she supplied, not wanting any confusion in their names. But Harley was more interested in telling her about how fully booked Silverton Hotel was.
“Our hotel is fully booked out for the next three months, Mrs. Hunter.”
“Oh, fully booked? How about the other hotels?” Whitney got curious on the subject since she might have to get another room when Clarice and Hunter did show up.
“I’m not sure. But since it is peak season, I would assume all the other hotels would be booked, too. Accommodation in Queenstown is so hard to come by when there’s no booking.”
Well, she was saved, wasn’t she? If Clarice hadn’t offered her use of Hunter’s room, she would be sleeping outside on the freezing concrete.
“Mrs. Hunter, would you like to make use of the spa, restaurant, bar, or pool?” Harley asked before handing her a room card.
“No. No gym, bar, or restaurant. I’m tired. I may just stay in my room for the rest of the day.”
“Well, if you need anything, just dial one-two-three to reach reception. My name is Harley Davidson, just in case you forget. I would be happy to serve you. Please come this way, Mrs. Hunter,” Harley said, leading her into the posh elevator. “Jeremey, our bell boy, will take you to your room. Mr. Hunter will follow you shortly.”
Did I hear that right? Hunter will follow me shortly?
Wait! She got it. Clarice did say both Hunter and herself wouldn’t be in until the day after tomorrow. She guessed that was what Harley had meant.
Still, this whole random mistaken identity thing was frying her brain. She was just so tired; she didn’t want to think about anything anymore. So she only sighed tiredly when Harley called her Mrs. Hunter again, then followed the bell boy to her assigned room.
She couldn’t wait to sit back and relax. What she needed most was to get this gel out of her hair and let it free for once. For the duration of one week, she could be herself, Whitney the at-home persona. No more madam witch.
Slum on the couch, chunk in the ice drink, and bump up the volume on the stereo. Ahh. What a beautiful thought. She couldn’t wait.
The first thing she did when she entered her room was turn the heat up to high. How she loved warm air. It always made her feel warm and cozy inside.
After a quick shower and putting all her luggage away in the wardrobe, she poured herself a glass of pinot noir from the alcohol cabinet, climbed into bed, and relaxed, letting the warm air dry her hair naturally.
Beautiful. What a pleasant and relaxing feeling.
Taking out one of her favorite mystery books, she started reading. And was so absorbed in the world of mystery she didn’t realize the once blue sky was already turning black outside.
Time sure did fly when one was relaxed. No wonder her stomach was making growling noises for some time.
Whitney rang Harley on one-two-three and ordered her meal in. A full roast pork with crackling and everything. Harley was ever so helpful in suggesting the type of wine to go with her meal.
Not ten minutes passed before the meal was delivered to her room. Whitney jumped off her bed, her stomach pulling her forth to the smell of succulent food at the door.
Inhaling the aroma, she gave the bell boy his tip and sauntered back to bed, digging into her food in good order. Wine followed after.
The meal was delicious, with a capital D.
All filled up, she decided to retire for the night. Picking up the empty tray, she flew to the door with her renewed energy.
Except she didn’t get to the door before she spotted an unfamiliar green bag inside her room.
Shaking her head at the bell boy for making a mistake, she dumped the bag outside the door, along with her empty food tray.
Washing her face and brushing her teeth again, she climbed into bed and fell asleep right away.
She had a pleasant dream actually. Of good food filled with calories and high fat. Oh, how she missed those foods. And then that beautiful dream turned into a nightmare. She was getting fat. And heavy. She could hardly roll herself off the bed. And then she realized something.
Oh my God. She wasn’t dreaming. Something heavy was rolling on top of her. A lump of flesh to be exact. She gasped in fright. Whatever was on top of her was big.
But suddenly, something that felt like human lips were sealed to hers, and now she couldn’t move, speak, or scream. It was seriously cutting off her oxygen. Luckily, those lips retracted from hers and went to kiss her temple.
Whitney drew in air to refresh her lungs. And just when she was about to scream for help, those lips sealed to hers again. And this time, a tongue even probed into her open mouth. Hot, wet, and so velvety it made her whole body drum with a desperate need.
Oh. My. Fudge. She felt like having sex. With this lump of flesh on top of her.
Oh God. How embarrassing. When was the last time she had sex? Over a few years when she had dated Johnathan. And now her body was so primed for it that even with the smallest of touch on her skin, her virginal wall was already wet with want.
But she couldn’t have sex with any stranger. She had told herself already she wouldn’t have sex after that breakup. The pain was too unbearable to accept. Plus, she wasn’t the type to be actively involved in one-night stands. She preferred to stay like her spinster aunts forever.
But her body now betrayed her. On all counts. Her insides were all soft and mellow like a marshmallow. One small prod, one small push had her skin flushing hot and heart beating so fast.
Hard, cold hands roamed her body, feeling her breast, the curvature of her bum, and back again to cup her face, the stranger kissing her fully on the lips again.
And then she was lost. In fact, numb was the word. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. All she wanted was to feel. To feel this amazing sensation that was lost in the past so many years ago.
Suddenly, something shaped like a phallus was poking between her thighs.
Oh. My. Fudge. It’s a man’s shaft. This is a man kissing me. And his shaft is poking me.
He must want me the way I want him, too.
But he’s a stranger. And said stranger was now threading her hair with his fingers, nose lightly brushing her cheek and lips beside her ear. Softly, with a voice filled with lust, he huskily said, “Hello, sexy.”
Whitney froze.
Oh God. It’s not Hunter, is it?
What would Clarice say if she found out her best friend had an affair with her fiancé?
Wait? Her rational mind came back to her. Hunter is in Auckland with Clarice. Then this man is someone else.
But still. She couldn’t just give up her morals for a one-night stand.
So with this conclusion in her head and her senses back in full play, she kneed that man in the groin. The man keeled over in pain, rolling off her body and down the bed, landing on the floor with a loud thump.
Whitney was scared. Her heart was pounding so loud the sound still buzzed in her ears. She couldn’t believe she almost slept with a drunken man who’d mistaken her room for his.
And just when she’d enough courage to peek over the edge of the bed to view whoever was inside her room, her mouth ended up hanging open and her lips ran dry. Because, right there on her culprit’s forehead, glowing in the dark, was written, in her very own handwriting, ‘I’m an idiot.’
Oh my fudge. In all the world. Why does it have to be him?
Chapter 8
It was one of those mornings when even the laziest person alive would have to wake up because the weather was just so damn beautiful. Blue, cloudless sky, a nice calm breeze, and even the birds were fully awak
e by six in the morning, chitchatting to each other as if they were having the sweetest time of their lives. If only that could be the same for Darcy.
“Loud! Way too loud,” he grumbled and dug his head into the pillow to try and stop the sound. But it was no good. His apartment was directly near the cherry blossom tree, where all sorts of birds liked to hang out.
And why did he feel the need to pee now?
Argh. Sighing heavily, he dragged himself out of bed, put on his glasses near the bedside, and went to the bathroom to relieve his full bladder. Since he’d already made his way into the bathroom, he might as well wash up, too.
Staring at himself in the mirror, he wasn’t pleased to see his mohawk hairstyle was sticking at all angles. And there were shadows under his eyes. His hazel eyes were also lackluster, as if he had no spirit from within.
Some people called him vain, but he really liked to look after himself. All sorts of facial creams and gel for his hair were displayed in his bathroom cabinet. But these last few weeks, leading to Hunter’s wedding, he hadn’t looked his best at all.
The cause would be his boss, Whitney Madigan. Since that episode with her ivory globes exposed, he just couldn’t see his boss the same way anymore. She was just—
He couldn’t think anymore. Maybe she knew he saw that Australia-shaped mole on her bottom, and she was acting all hostile toward him. Thank the Lord he didn’t have to see her this weekend. He couldn’t tolerate her behavior anymore. Grumpy, moody, bossy, tyrannical. All those negative adjectives described her bad character. But the thought of his trip to Queenstown today, though, brightened his mood instantly.
Yes. Queenstown. Foreign girls and one-night stands. Possibly with the bridesmaids, too.
His flight was due to leave at eleven in the morning. Goddamn, he was early for once in his life.
Darcy flicked his eyes around the airport when he arrived. It was already packed with domestic passengers flying out to different cities. Quickly blending into the background, he thought he saw his boss, Whitney Madigan. But then he chuckled to himself.
Is she going to Queenstown, too? Yeah right! The witch going to Queenstown. That is so unreal.