Fearless Flying (The Vivienne Series Book 1)

by Karen Gordon

  I take the vase from her but have to set it on the floor while I unlock my door.

  “I can’t thank you enough for accepting them for me. They must have taken up a ton of room in your place.”

  She shrugs. “They smelled nice.”

  Once Danny and I and my flowers are all crowded into my living room I search for the mystery card. Not only is it sealed but my name and address are typed on the front.

  Danny takes my suitcases into my bedroom and I wonder if he’s giving me a little unnecessary privacy. I know he hasn’t been dating anyone because I have a Darlene-spy in his department at work but he doesn’t know the same about me. I want to reassure him because I seriously doubt they’re from some secret admirer.

  “I have nothing to hide from you.”

  He shrugs and carries my stuff away anyway.

  He returns to find me sitting on the floor next to the vase, obviously confused.

  “Who they from?”

  “Joel Rockhurst.” I say.

  “Joel Rockhurst? As in the CEO of JetStream, Joel Rockhurst?”

  “Yeah.” I nod still studying the card. “And it’s handwritten. I think it’s actually his handwriting.” I hold it up for Danny to see.

  “What’s it say?”

  “Bob told me why you left the conference early. I’m sorry for your loss. You and your father are an important part of the JetStream family, and it’s signed by him for sure. I know his signature.”

  “I didn’t know Joel Rockhurst knew who your dad was. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him down on the maintenance floor.”

  “I didn’t know he really knew who I was until recently. I got an iced tea for him during the golf tournament.” I study the gorgeous, fragrant flowers. “The man must really like iced tea.” I put the arrangement on my kitchen table where it takes up so much room; I’ll have to move it to eat. I try moving it to the coffee table but it blocks the TV screen. My already tight living quarters just got that much more crowded.

  ✈✈✈

  Danny doesn’t stay with me that night in my apartment or the next night or the rest of the week. I talk to him on the phone or we text but only because I’m contacting him about the storage garage we are renting together. He’s putting a distance between us and it feels awful. He’s still hasn’t given me a direct answer on moving in so I’m going to take that as a yes and move ahead with the plan. I offer to meet him at his place on Saturday morning so we can start packing. He reluctantly agrees.

  When he opens the front door I want to jump into his arms and take a week’s worth of sexual frustration out on him. He hugs me warmly but stops there. The lack of kisses and more is unnerving and I’m not sure how to react. I try to keep things upbeat and make myself useful.

  I follow him around with my iPad as he points out the few things he’s taking with him and what needs to go into storage. I make notes about the number of boxes we will need and sizes. I also start a separate section on repairs and sprucing up that will need to happen before his house goes on the market.

  When we reach his bedroom he stops the tour and finally asks, “What are you working on there?” He glances at the screen.

  “Just taking notes.”

  “Notes about what?”

  “Packing, painting, stuff like that.”

  “Vivey, I got this. If you want to help a little fine, but I know what I’m doing.”

  I minimize my notes but don’t delete them. “Ok, what do you want me to do?”

  He looks around and it’s clear he doesn’t really have a plan. I bite my tongue and wait for his instruction.

  “I guess start in the kitchen, pack stuff up in there.”

  “OK, where are the boxes and packing supplies?”

  “The boxes are in the garage if that’s what you mean by packing supplies.”

  The tension is building between us already but the idea of just throwing breakables in a box is too ludicrous for me not to challenge.

  “Do you have some bubble wrap or old newspaper I can use to protect stuff?”

  He lets out a deep sigh as he puts his hands on his hips, his stance that says he is struggling to be patient but I’m not sure if it’s with himself or me. I assume he doesn’t have anything but boxes when he says, “Fine, start in the extra bedroom and I’ll see about finding some newspapers.”

  I back out of the room to avoid pushing up against him when he’s irritated. My eyes linger on his bed, the one I seriously doubt we will be using today if we keep going like this.

  ✈✈✈

  I make a ton of progress in the room that used to belong to his son. The fact that it’s full of extra stuff now tells me that his ex hasn’t allowed visitation in Savannah and Danny has had to drive to see him for a while now.

  As I sort through boxes of high school yearbooks and sports trophies, it hits me how little I really know about his past and the things that matter to him. I’ve memorized every detail I’ve been able to observe since I’ve known him but he’s never really sat down and opened up to me. If I throw away this plaque he got for volunteer work in high school, would it matter to him? It’s from Habitat for Humanity. I didn’t even know that he knew how to build a house.

  Working in separate rooms is good for us. The tension dissipates and he seems grateful when I offer to go get more boxes and pick up some sub sandwiches for lunch. Of course, I also grab bubble wrap, shrink wrap, packing tape and labels from the store then sandwiches, chips, a six pack of his favorite beer and a bag of his favorite cookies. Before I check out, I toss a box of condoms in the cart too. I can never be too prepared.

  I try to be subtle as I bring all of the packing supplies into the house and he doesn’t mention them but glares to make sure I know he thinks they are unnecessary. I use our lunch time to ask him a little more about his past.

  “I didn’t know you could do carpentry.”

  He seems perplexed for a minute then remembers the plaque. “Yeah, my family was big on doing charity work. Everybody had to do something. Building houses sounded best to me.”

  This is the first time he’s ever talked about his family to me. “You grew up in Florida right?”

  He nods as he takes a bite of his sandwich.

  “Any brothers? Sister?”

  He drinks some beer before answering. “One brother.”

  “Is he still in Florida?”

  He doesn’t look at me and concentrates on tearing open a bag of chips as he says, “No, he died. We were both in the military. He was stationed in Iraq. He didn’t make it back.”

  My heart sinks and my throat is too tight to swallow another bite of food. “I’m sorry. That’s horrible.”

  He shrugs but still won’t look at me. “Comes with the job.”

  I don’t know why he’s being so cavalier; if he never talks about it to anyone or if he is avoiding opening up specifically to me. I feel the same sting of distance I’ve been feeling all week from him. He’s letting me into his life but only so far, only as much as he deems acceptable before he leaves.

  I concentrate on my sandwich and wonder if maybe he’s seeing this all so much more clearly than I am and he’s right. Maybe we should be nothing more than fuck buddies, grabbing at some physical release and some half-assed passion, not getting too close.

  But the doubts in my mind are quickly whisked away by the truth I feel from my gut. We have a chance for something great here, even for a short time and I won’t give up on it that easily. The carpe diem in my soul is a final gift from my dad and I can’t ignore it.

  I change the subject. “Have you ever watched any shows about staging?”

  “Like building sets for a play?” He shakes his head.

  “No, staging is setting a house up to sell faster at the best price.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, they have all these shows about what paint colors to choose and how to arrange the furniture and do things to make buyers see it as their home.”

  “Let me guess, you�
��ve watched them all.” He’s being obtuse, pretending not to know why I brought this up.

  “I’ve watched a few. I mean I’ve already got some great ideas that we could do really cheaply; a little paint, some flowering plants. I’ve seen them use spray paint to make old appliances look amazing.”

  And the patronizing glare is back…

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  But again, he pushes me away. “I know you are but it’s not necessary. You helping me pack some of this stuff up is enough.” He might be trying to tell me that my help will not be needed after today, but I can play at the obtuse game too. I’m doing it for his good and mine, for what I know is right. I’m going to keep showing up and helping until he admits how much he needs me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I pack boxes all day on Saturday and when the sun sets, he offers to take me to dinner as a thank you. It’s a sweet gesture and one I hope will lead to more romance but I can feel that it’s also his way of evening out the score and letting me know he will do the rest himself.

  Amazingly, we drift back into our roles as lovers during dinner. Our conversation is neutral, Savannah news and weather, but we touch and he holds my hand as we leave the restaurant. When we’re blasted by a chilly breeze he puts his arm across my shoulders and pulls me in close. The spark is there, I can feel it but unlike him, I can’t turn it on and off.

  Back at his place, parked in his driveway he hesitates. We sit in silence and I feel like he’s waiting for me to do something but I don’t know what. Is he waiting for me to announce that I’m going home? Because that’s not happening. I can feel his reluctance but it only makes me want to work harder, to show him how great we could be together.

  He finally opens his door and asks, “You coming in?” It’s not exactly seduction but I’ll take it.

  Things are no less strained inside. He seems lost amid the sea of boxes. He doesn’t offer so I don’t take off my jacket. Instead I stand in the foyer waiting for his next move.

  “Thanks for your help today.” He looks around, acknowledging all our hard work.

  “Not a problem. I can help tomorrow too.” As in, why don’t I spend the night and we can get back to work tomorrow. I hope he gets the hint because it’s about as forward as I can get with him. I hate how much I’m still intimidated by my love for him. Will I ever be able to completely relax when we are together?

  He catches my hint but doesn’t grab on. “Vivey,” he takes my hand and studies it as he rubs his thumb across it. His tone is gentle for his brush-off. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let things get to this point.”

  I try to make things lighter. “What? Me helping you pack?”

  He replies with his standard glare. “Us sleeping together. New Orleans was…” He struggles to find the words. I wait, not breathing, my throat closing around a lump of fear. “We were both hurting, needed each other, but…”

  I can’t let him do this. I won’t let him finish dismissing me from his life. I grab on to a final thread. “Fine.” My voice cracks with my lie. It’s not fine but I have to pretend it is if I want to stay in his life. “We can go back to being friends. Friends help each other move.”

  He looks up and shakes his head, possibly pleading for help from my dad to win this argument with me. “That’s just it. I don’t want to just be friends. I feel great when I’m with you, but there is nowhere for this to go.” When he looks at me, he sees the hope in my eyes. The only thing I heard was that he feels great when we are together. Anything after that was lost to me. He fixes me with his gaze. “I’m leaving. There’s no way around it.”

  “So let’s feel great together until you do.” I use his words against him but leave off until I figure out another plan. I lean into him, terrified that he will pull back. He doesn’t but it takes him a minute before he releases his resolve on a sigh and kisses me.

  I’m instantly flooded with a combination of joy and lust. I’m winning. And I’m determined to keep winning. I quickly peel off my jacket and toss it on the floor then reach for his. I know he said he likes to be in charge during sex but I have to be right now. When he admitted that he loves sex with me he gave me ammo and I’m going to use it.

  I’m pouring every bit of sexy I’ve got into this kiss while pulling my tee shirt up. I press myself hard against him when I have to break the kiss to get my shirt over my head. I realize that I’m more into this than he is, but I also feel his resolve melting away. I pop my bra open and it falls between us. He looks down and I follow his line of sight strait to my nipples, chilled and excited and beaded in his direction. He slowly reaches up and puts a warm hand over one and I know I’ve got him just as much as he’s got me. We both moan with pleasure.

  I feel powerful and sexy. I grab the hem of his shirt and push it up until he has to lift his arms so I can get it over his head. I wrap my arms around his neck and graze my nipples against his warm skin and the hair on his chest. I can’t imagine how he’s not feeling the same white-hot need that I am but I still feel his indecision. His arms are around me but not pulling me to him. I kiss him again, letting him feel my desire, and then I add, “Make me feel good.” My voice is muted by my heavy breathing. “Let me make you feel good.” And please, please do not turn me down now because I couldn’t take it.

  My pleading is his undoing. He pulls me in tight, bends his knees slightly, then stands and lifts me with him as he moves toward the bedroom. Yes! Oh, God yes! I might come just from the thrill of victory. I’ve seduced the man of my dreams.

  ✈✈✈

  But my victory is short lived. He’s on board but determined to take over. He can’t let me win and have my way. He tosses me on the bed and I reach for him but he backs away. He sits on the end of the bed, too far away for me to touch him, but close enough that I can see what he’s doing. He leans down and unties his shoe before pulling it off. Then he does the same to the other. It’s a painfully slow process that has me squirming with frustration as I feel my passion starting to cool. I reach for the button on my jeans but he reaches around and stops me. He places my arms above my head one by one, not speaking but also not bothering to hide his agenda. It kills me but I stay put. I lay there and watch as he continues to slowly undress.

  It’s one hell of a show with a finale that has my mouth watering but I hate only being allowed to be the audience. I keep my hands where he put them but I clench my fingers and pop my knuckles in frustration. He goes into his bathroom and I can hear him opening and closing now empty drawers. He has to be looking for his stash of condoms.

  “I moved them to your top dresser drawer.” I call from the bed.

  He doesn’t respond but comes out of the bathroom and glares at me for reading his mind and being right. What was I supposed to do, wait for him to rifle through every box in the room? I keep my hands in place but glare back. Excuse me for solving your problem.

  He tosses a string of three wrapped condoms on the night stand.

  I smile up at him. “Three?” And I wiggle my eyebrows.

  He tries but can’t hold on to his power face and he laughs. “If you’re lucky.”

  I don’t disagree because I can’t. He’s right.

  He lays down next to me and pulls me to him. I wrap my arms around his neck. His look reminds me that that is not where he wants them. I argue, “They were falling asleep.” He studies my face and I feel like a child caught lying, probably because I am. “Don’t you trust me?”

  His answer is a very strong and too honest, “no.”

  I flinch and he softens the blow by kissing me. Then he lays down the rules for the night. “You want me to make you feel good and I want to and I will, but I don’t want to fight you or have to second guess your every move.” He pushes the hair off my neck and kisses me where he knows I love it. I dissolve into liquid. “Relax. Can you do that for me?”

  I nod my agreement even though I’m seriously questioning my ability to do this. Relaxing is a foreign concept to me. Surrendering
is the antithesis of my being.

  Chapter Fifteen

  We used two of the condoms that night and the third in the morning. I definitely won’t say the sex was bad, far from it, but just like our relationship, it was intense. One night with Danny is an opus. There’s lust and power struggles that end in blessed release followed by regret (his), tears (mine) and finally tenderness. I initiated the morning sex, taking advantage of his morning wood. I won’t say he was mad when he was awake enough to realize my plan, but the sex that follows was rough and quick and he might have hoped one-sided. But I loved it. Maybe because it’s Danny and I lust him, but more likely because it’s Danny and I want all of him, even his frustration and anger.

  After a weekend of packing and lust we are both ready for a few days apart, not that he isn’t on my mind most of the time. In my quiet hours alone in my apartment my brain does what it always does; organizes. I create a color-coded, timeline/work chart. I painstakingly research how long it will take to do each task to make his house more marketable, then schedule them in the most efficient order and assign them. I print out two copies to take with me on Friday night when he’s said I can come over again.

  My efforts are so much less than appreciated. We fight over it from day one.

  I call Dom every morning on my ride into work so she can help me analyze everything going on between me and Danny.

  “We’re fighting about the paint again.”

  “Jeeeezus, not the fucking paint again. Is he still mad you made him take that first color back?” Dom must have her own flow chart on her white board to keep track of all our issues.

  “Probably. Last night he took his bed apart and scraped the walls up as he carried it through the living room.”

  “Which is why you wanted to paint it last.” Thank God I have Dom who understands the perfect logic of my plan.

  “I know! I had to literally bite my lip and leave the room to keep from yelling, “I told you so.” But he knew. I didn’t have to say it. Now I have to paint that same fucking wall all over again. Third time!” These talks were supposed to calm me down but I was getting all riled up again. Nothing grates on me more than gross inefficiency. “He fights me on everything. It’s like he hates me now.”