He positioned his knee between her legs and kissed her briefly. “I have to confess . . . I love long fingernails.”
She scraped him again just to see his eyes widen in the dark.
“And dresses that barely cover a thing.”
“Less material to gather paint,” she said.
“And high heels. I love your legs in high heels.”
Rachel ran her fingernails up his leg and around the front of him. His cock reached forward for her touch. She brushed against him twice, teasing him.
“I’ll see about adding more shoes to my bedroom collection.”
“You do that.”
She ran a nail along the length of him.
Jason shuddered as if he wasn’t able to control himself.
With her thumb, she played with the head of his penis, thankful for the size she felt in her hand.
His hips thrust forward, searching, before he kissed her again.
Legs tangled and hands searched out forgotten places.
Rachel rolled on top of him, let her hair fall forward to cradle their kiss. He searched the core of her.
“Condom,” she whispered.
He moaned, let his hand hang over the bed. “In my wallet.”
Reaching over, she found his pants and handed them over.
Fumbling, he tossed what he didn’t need away and ripped into the prophylactic before handing it to her.
Rachel took her time securing it in position, let her hands play with all the soft and especially all the hard places. Two could play at teasing, and she wanted him to know she could step up to the plate to make him squirm.
When he couldn’t take it any longer, he removed her hands from his erection before lifting her hips over his. She leaned over him, her breasts brushing against his chest, her lips hovering over his as she slowly sank down on him.
He filled her so completely it took her breath away.
Both of them paused, the moment seeping deep into their systems. “So good,” she told him.
“Perfect,” he agreed.
He kissed her, soft and tender as his hips started to move against hers.
She might have been on top, but it was Jason making love to her. He used his knees, his hips . . . guided her with his hands. Everything inside her opened for the length and girth of him. The deeper he went, the harder it was to stay calm.
At some point they both stopped being polite in their quest for completion, and that made everything even better.
She clawed.
He pinched.
She felt a bite that might leave a mark, but didn’t care.
Soon the edge of the cliff rushed toward her, and with one last leap, she was falling into pieces, calling Jason’s name.
His thrusts came harder, his hands gripped firm, and he, too, moaned until his body stilled with his release.
The muscles inside her squeezed him hard, she felt him jump within her with one last surge. Only then did she collapse on top of him and welcome the calm.
Breathless, they said nothing.
And then the sky outside lit up with a crash and pop.
They both looked out the hotel window to see the fireworks signifying the start of a new year.
Rachel couldn’t help it; she started to laugh. “Two more minutes and our timing would have been perfect.”
Jason reached up, caressed the side of her face with the palm of his hand. “We’ll have it down by next year.”
Was it possible they could last that long?
She hoped so.
“Happy new year, Jason.”
“Happy new year, love.”
He kissed her again, then slipped away from her and tucked her into his side.
Together they watched the show out the window after taking in all the fireworks inside.
They made love again, ate the fruit in bed, and sipped from the bottle of champagne.
And Jason knew he was gone. Throw away the phone numbers that came before her. Rachel was the real deal.
They laughed at the fireworks and shared sexual fantasies until she fell asleep.
How was it possible he’d fallen so completely in such a short time? He didn’t know, didn’t really want to question it. Jason also cautioned himself against revealing everything in his head. She’d tossed aside her concerns about him to get to this point. Now he needed to prove himself outside of the bedroom.
As he fell asleep holding her, he let his mind wander to all the things they could share.
The phone in the room shook him awake long before dawn.
Rachel bolted from the bed. “Owen?”
Jason fiddled with the phone and turned on the light. “Hello?”
“Jason, lad.”
“Is Owen okay?” Rachel was practically in his lap, asking the question.
Nathan must have heard her question. “Tell the lass Owen is perfectly fine. Sleeping.”
Jason placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’s fine.”
Some relief washed over her.
“What’s going on?” Because no one woke you up at five in the morning for a good reason.
“A plane went down.”
Jason was wide awake now.
“Where?”
“Costa Rica.”
“Who was on it?”
Nathan hesitated.
“The Lamberts.”
Jason waited for the other shoe to drop as he pictured the couple the last time he saw them.
“Wendy didn’t make it. Ron is in critical but stable condition.”
Jason squeezed his eyes shut. “The kids?”
“They weren’t on the plane.”
Jason’s head fell forward. “Thank God.”
Rachel placed a hand on his forearm, looked at him with concern.
“What about my crew?”
“The copilot isn’t looking too good.”
“And the others?”
“The pilot was in surgery when they called, the flight attendant walked away, but there is a problem.”
More than losing a client on one of his flights? “Tell me.”
“There is already talk of substance abuse with the pilot.”
“That’s hardly unexpected.” Every initial report wanted to blame the pilot, and drugs weren’t ruled out for hours.
“I don’t know, Jason. There is a lot of talk already on this one.”
“When did the plane go down?”
Rachel’s eyes opened wide.
“Hours ago. Glen has been trying to call, he finally obtained Rachel’s number from Gerald and called her house to find me.”
Jason needed to get ahold of his brother. “Wake Owen, take him to the house. We’re on our way.”
“How bad is it?” Rachel asked the second he hung up the phone.
“It’s not good. We need to get dressed.”
Wearing rumpled formal attire at five in the morning took the walk of shame to a new level, although Rachel was fairly certain Jason couldn’t care less.
A Morrison Hotel car was at the curb when they walked outside.
They pulled up to the Fairchild building to find a few men with cameras waiting for them.
“Mr. Fairchild, do you have anything to say about the fatal crash?”
He walked past them as if he didn’t see them.
“Mr. Fairchild?”
Panic rose inside her. This was a PR nightmare in the making. Without thinking twice, Rachel paused, making Jason slow down. She turned to the media and smiled. “Mr. Fairchild has no comment at the moment. He needs to assess the situation and comfort the family before a formal statement can be made.”
“Is it true the pilot was under the influence of cocaine?”
“Again, a formal statement will come soon. Thank you.” Rachel turned and let Jason lead her into the building.
Inside, a security guard opened the door and locked it behind them.
“Thank you, Gunther.”
“Mr. Fairchild. The helicopter is fueled and ready.”
Rachel smiled at the man she’d never given a name to and rode the elevator beside Jason.
He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you.”
“Just doing my job.”
He squeezed her hand. “You’re not my public relations manager.”
“No, she’s in London for the next week, or until you can locate her and drag her back.” All information she’d heard over the water cooler and kept tucked inside her head.
The elevator stopped at the top of the building, they stepped out, and Jason addressed a man who stood just inside the door leading to the roof. “She ready?”
“Checked her myself.”
Jason shook the man’s hand. “No flights in or out until I return.”
“Of course, Mr. Fairchild.”
Rachel ran to keep up, not easy in four-inch heels that were meant for a cocktail party and not running across a rooftop.
She jumped into the passenger seat and reached for her seat belt.
Jason looked over the aircraft, only faster than he had the first time they got in one together. Inside, he put his headset on and immediately started the propeller spinning.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He looked over, grasped her hand. “You’re here, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m fine.”
She wasn’t completely sure what to make of that. In the car over, he’d told her about the crash, about the couple inside the plane. He’d known the Lamberts since before his parents died. Big clients of Fairchild Charters, the couple and the Lambert company used their jets nearly every month.
Jason lifted the helicopter into the air, speaking into the mic. “You worked in public relations before you went into marketing, right?”
“My last job, they were one and the same.”
He pointed the chopper in the direction of home. “I need you to come with me and handle the media until I can get Phyllis on board.”
She hesitated. “What about Owen? I can’t leave him—”
“We bring him with us. He’s out of school until the second week in January, right?”
Could she do that? “He is.”
“Does he have a passport?”
“Yeah. Emily thought she might find new treatments for her cancer overseas and made us all get one.” Unfortunately there wasn’t anything that they could have flown toward to save her.
“Then it’s settled, he stays at the hotel while we deal with this issue. It will be a vacation for him and work for us.”
“Alone in a hotel in Costa Rica?”
“Nathan can come along. I’ll need him to go over the FAA reports as they come in, anyway.”
Costa Rica.
“I need you, Rachel.”
She grasped his free hand. “What should I pack?”
Chapter Eighteen
Owen thought it was an epic adventure, Jason was on the phone even at thirty thousand feet, and Rachel scrambled to write press releases and statements to reflect every scenario they might come across, all while flying in Jason’s personal jet. Nathan acted as copilot.
Three hours into their five-and-a-half-hour flight, Jason stepped away from his computer and to her side.
Owen sat in a leather reclined seat, watching a Marvel action flick while continually looking out the window and making comments about the landscape below.
“This is not how I pictured you in this plane for the first time.”
“I can beat that. I never pictured me here.”
He snuggled her neck. “Well, get used to it.”
Her heart kicked hard against her rib cage.
Before she could say a word, he kissed her cheek and moved behind Owen. “What are you watching?”
The two of them spoke over the movie, and Rachel looked around the cabin.
This wasn’t just a jet. It was a private jet of an owner of a massive company that flew jets. It didn’t boast a few seats; there were a minimum of a dozen, and two bedrooms . . . it was massive. Jason had apologized for the lack of an attendant, as if they needed one. Rachel was fairly certain the only thing different from Jason Fairchild’s private plane and that of the president was the cabinet of people inside.
How did I end up here, Em? the voice inside asked her friend, who couldn’t answer.
Owen laughed at something Jason said, the two of them watching grown men act like superheroes.
She glanced at her notes, reread what she’d written for Jason to say. Do your job, she cautioned herself.
She knew he’d asked her to come along as his support, but he’d also mentioned her abilities at her job. Letting him down, the company down, wasn’t an option.
Without anything else to do, and with fatigue already biting at her head, she sat back and closed her eyes.
Costa Rica was hot and wet. The sun was still up as they shuffled through customs and into a waiting car. Nathan and Owen took a separate car to the hotel so Jason and Rachel could go directly to the hospital.
Jason’s first priority was the people on the plane.
Jason had never met either pilot. On the flight over, he pulled up their employee files and directed his US based staff to expedite transportation for their families to travel to be with them.
In Jason’s time as CEO, he’d only had to go to a crash scene two other times. Both were free of fatalities, both were issues with takeoff. The airplanes in both situations sustained some damage but were by no means a complete loss.
According to the early pictures Jason received in flight, that wasn’t the case with the Costa Rica crash.
The hospital was like nothing they’d seen in the States. Less than six stories tall, with walls that appeared to be crumbling and unsuitable for occupancy on the outside, it had a surprising amount of technology inside.
It took a little time to find the right person to speak to, one who spoke English enough to get the information they needed.
The staff allowed both Jason and Rachel into the large room where both the pilots were being treated.
Neither man was conscious.
Both of them looked like they’d been run over with a truck. Or fallen out of the sky, as it stood.
One of the doctors came to the room when he heard there were visitors for the survivors.
“How bad are they?” Jason asked after Dr. Salvador introduced himself.
“Mr. Hyde should recover without complication. He suffered a spleen injury and some damage to his intestines.”
Jason looked at the other man. “And my copilot?”
“Mr. Berglund is more complicated. There is swelling in his brain and several broken bones. We assumed he wasn’t wearing the safety belts required for flight. There weren’t any abrasions along his pelvis like that which we found on Mr. Hyde.”
Jason shook his head. “I haven’t been to the crash site, or received any information from ICAO or the local agency yet.”
“I understand a flight attendant survived with minimal injuries. Perhaps she can help with the facts.”
Rachel placed a hand on Jason’s arm. “Weren’t you told Ron was in critical but stable condition?”
Jason did a quick scan of the unit. “Where is Mr. Lambert?”
“Ah, yes, the passenger. He was transferred to a lower unit.”
“Lower?” Jason asked.
“His injuries are not life threatening. He is down one floor.”
There was some relief in that.
After the doctor walked away, Jason and Rachel moved to a small waiting room outside the unit.
“I guess they don’t worry about HIPAA laws here,” she said.
“Thank God.”
They took a flight of stairs and found the nurse caring for Ron.
Through the broken English of one of the staff, they were told Ron was heavily medicated and shouldn’t be disturbed for a few hours. Jason was relieved to have a few more hours before he was forced to speak to the man who just lost his wife.
“What now?”
Rachel asked once they left the floor.
Any other staff member, and Jason wouldn’t hesitate, but because he was speaking with Rachel, Jason cringed. “I need you here while I go to the crash site. Try and find the flight attendant and get some information from her. If any of the family shows up, they need to see us on-site. We should have more reinforcements by morning.”
If Rachel was concerned, it didn’t show. “That’s why I’m here,” she told him.
“You have your phone and a charger?”
She patted her briefcase.
“Money?”
“I have a credit card. I’m fine.”
“Okay.” His gut squeezed. “You’re sure you’re—”
“Jason! I’m a grown woman. Go. Do your job.” She smiled.
He pulled her close and kissed her. “Be safe,” he said before he walked out the door.
Several hours later, Rachel had given up on finding the flight attendant. She called around to the local hotels, many of which had people on staff who spoke English, and none said they had the attendant’s name in their registry.
The only hospital information was that she was treated for a few lacerations and a broken wrist and sent away. No one had seen her since. Rachel hoped it wasn’t an omen and was simply a case of not looking in the right places to find her.
Rachel sent several texts to Owen while she sat in the hospital waiting room. As expected, he was overly excited about being in a foreign country and was vowing to do better in his Spanish class when they returned to school later that month. On that, they both agreed.
Jason wasn’t on the radar. Then again, he was traveling to a clearing in a dense forest that probably didn’t have a cell tower for miles.
Around ten, she wondered if she should stick around or make her way to the hotel. She’d give herself till midnight, or until someone on the staff kicked her out. So far, there didn’t seem to be anyone playing police to visiting hours.
Doing everything in her power to keep from falling asleep . . . and only a few minutes from her midnight deadline, two Americans wearing pullover shirts with the Fairchild Charters logo walked into the lobby.
She stopped them before they found the elevators.
“Hello?”
The woman was probably in her fifties, not more than five feet three inches tall. The man looked to be in his early forties and had to spend five hours a day in the gym working out. They turned at her voice and smiled.
Not Quite Crazy Page 20