“So why the action movie requirement, Mr. Hamilton? I suspect it’s not because you’re an overzealous fan of the genre?”
“Very astute, Ms. Morris. My startup company does stunt work. Swimming with the sharks, jumping from helicopters into the ocean, run of the mill stuff.”
“Really.” An entrepreneur, too. Much more promising. “For what films?”
“A recent Bond flick, some disaster movies. You probably aren’t much of an action film kind of girl, though, are you?”
“Honestly, I don’t get to see many movies at all, unless they’re in-flight.” Another hazard of her job.
“What brings you to Hawaii, Ms. Morris?”
She held up the articles. “Duty calls.”
“Damage control.” He pressed his lips in a thin line as he reached for them.
The photo of topless Michelle looked obscene in his hand. Allison felt embarrassed for her. How had she sunk to such a spectacular low?
“No, you don’t understand…” Under usual circumstances, she’d snap into PR mode in an instant. With him, it would be a useless exercise. He saw right through her. Besides, she hadn’t even devised a plausible excuse for that photo yet. A wave had taken away her bikini? Then why was Michelle smiling, arms open wide, instead of ducking under the water? Detractors would accuse her of partying so hard, she didn’t have the good sense to realize what she was doing. The attacks on Michelle felt like the ocean, washing wave after relentless wave against Allison, trying to stand between. Soon, erosion would reduce her to a miniscule grain, undetectable among the sand.
“Are you all right?” His concerned look touched her.
“Sorry. I’m very tired, that’s all.” True enough. Or it was, until she began talking to him.
“Why don’t you rest? I’ll be quiet.”
“You’re very kind. I can’t sleep on flights though. Too nervous.” She sighed. “Anyway, I’m supposed to be working.”
“So. You need to defuse the situation.” He studied the photo. “My guess is, she’s… hmm. Well, let’s rule out the things she’s not doing, for starters. Escaping a shark.”
This game was fun. “Unless he’s a well-endowed shark.”
He tilted his head toward hers. “Or has a huge inheritance.”
His hair brushed against hers, made her giddy. She laughed. He’d nailed Michelle.
He turned his attention back to the photograph. “Hmm. Not saving a child by using her breasts as floatation devices. Not testing a new sunscreen.”
“Although… no, guess you’re right. Though that’s a refreshing angle. Were you ever a publicist?”
“No, but I’ve heard some of those excuses before. Used a few myself, in fact.”
Had he been photographed nude? The image of him lying naked on a beach tantalized her, though he appeared immune to her fantasies.
Holding a finger to his chin, he continued. “It’s conceivable she’s shooting a tourism promo. The natural wonders of Hawaii. Though one could hardly call her natural. And the paparazzi caught her at an angle not intended for public consumption?”
“Not bad.” With a little canoodling, and a quick deal with the Hawaii Tourism Authority, it might even work.
He handed her the copy. “It would go over better than admitting she’d drunk a few too many.”
“Absolutely.” She stacked the sheets and closed her portfolio. “So are you surfing competitively in Hawaii, or just for fun?”
He brushed a wrinkle from his shorts. “I’m visiting family. My mom, actually. She’s been ill.”
“I’m so sorry.” Score another foot-in-mouth goal. Every time she opened it to speak, she instead revealed her amazing breadth of ignorance. Amateurs assumed; professionals gathered facts.
His smile looked grim. “I should have come home sooner, but I had a shoot in California.”
“A shoot.” Repeating his words seemed safer.
“For my sponsor, Horizon beachwear.” His hand swept across his body.
A ha. The designer beachwear.
“So you model, too? You’re a busy man.”
He chuckled. “Model is too generous a term. I put the stuff on, do my thing and they take pictures.”
“Don’t be so modest. I’ve heard modeling can be grueling work. And I’m sure you’re very photogenic.” Her cheeks flushed warm again. God, she sounded pathetic.
She was paid to thrive in social situations. And she did. She was a talented speaker, at ease with anyone.
Anyone but Wes Hamilton.
She cleared her throat. “Did you grow up there, then?”
“Yes, on Oahu’s North Shore.”
“That must’ve been…” Her language skills must have been laid over at New York.
“Great.” He grinned. “It was. It fostered my respect for nature. The interrelationship between man and nature. The critical balance we need to maintain.”
She leaned away to look at him critically. “Sure you’re not running for office?”
“Not yet anyway. I never rule anything out entirely. I tend to evolve in ways that sometimes surprise even me.”
She found her nerves uncoiling, the dread of what awaited her less important than the moment.
Until the moment turned bumpy. For seconds that slowed torturously to feel like minutes, the plane bumped through the clouds. She gripped the edge of her seat, and replayed in her head which parts of it would support her weight in water.
He laid a hand atop her white knuckles. “Hey. Are you okay?”
Her voice squeaked. “Mmm hmm. I’m…”
“Now I know you’re not great this time.” He leaned closer. “We hit an air pocket.”
“I know.” His soothing voice reassured her and she tried to smile, but was afraid her face might look like some funhouse mirror version of her normal self.
He held out his hand, palm up. “Here.”
It looked inviting – wide and strong, with long, smooth fingers. “What?”
“Take it.” His steady stare held hers.
Sliding her hand into his brought an immediate calm. He winked and closed his hand around hers. Warmth infused her blood stream.
The flight attendant made her way down the aisle, asking if anyone needed anything.
He held up a finger. “We could use drinks here, please.” To Allison, he asked, “Vodka and cranberry juice?”
She nodded. Sure, what the hell.
He squeezed her hand. “The juice is an excellent antioxidant.”
With a smirk, she asked, “And the vodka?”
He whispered, “To settle your nerves.”
“Sounds perfect, then.” Although breakfast had been coffee and lunch had been vending machine crackers. A few sips wouldn’t hurt, would it?
When the flight attendant returned, he thanked her and touched his plastic cup to hers. “To Hawaii.”
“I’ll drink to that.” The white sands, blue waters, exotic flowers and gorgeous sunsets. Maybe she’d get to look at them while driving to and from media events.
She sipped. “Though I normally don’t have anything so strong. I don’t exactly have an iron stomach.”
“Have a little, to take the edge off.”
Why it felt perfectly natural to still be holding his hand, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to venture a guess. The moment might be ruined.
The muscles in his forearms and calves were well-defined. An image of him on a surf board, riding the inside curl of a wave made her smile.
“Tell me about surfing.”
His face lit with his passion for the sport as he detailed his path to the present. Still holding her hand, he gestured, mimicking the crests and swells.
She felt as swept away by his description as if a wave had tumbled her beneath it. “You make it sound like a spiritual experience.”
“It is. You against the ocean and the wind, but also working in concert with both, knowing every movement counts. I never feel so alive as when I’m on my board.”
&n
bsp; He was more alive to her than anyone she’d ever known.
“Wow. You should be a spokesperson for surfing. You make even me want to try it, and that’s saying a lot.” Straying into the deep end of a pool was the farthest she’d ventured.
“You should. Come with me tomorrow. You’ll love it.”
She frowned at the articles. “I can’t. I’ll be working.”
He cocked his head. “All day?”
“Oh, yeah. And then some.” Unfortunately.
“Your boss must be a tyrant, sending you to paradise and not letting you play, even a little.”
“A tyrant. That’s a tactful way of putting it.”
He leaned close. “I could convince him to let you off for awhile.”
This guy was used to getting what he wanted. But what did he want from her?
She pointed to Michelle’s image. “Her. And I’m sure you’d have no trouble convincing her. Your problem would then be how to get rid of her.”
“Ooh. A tyrant and a lech.”
“Basically.” Other descriptives had been applied to Michelle in the past, but with less kindness.
“Regardless of her, I’ll take you whenever you’re free.”
Free. What an intriguing concept. She hadn’t experienced freedom in two years. When she wasn’t with Michelle McCarter, she was writing about her or strategizing or talking her down off some manic ledge of near-hysteria – her typical overreaction to James’ quotes in the press about her, or photos of him with someone else. Someone younger. Prettier. A stadium full of younger, prettier girls awaited guys in the spotlight. Wes must have at least as many as James, if his beachwear ads appeared in magazines, or online – that encompassed a global stadium.
She sighed.
“Feeling okay?”
“Yes, but an unfortunate side effect of alcohol is the one that forces me to excuse myself.”
“Ah. I understand.” He stood.
She set her portfolio on her seat, lifted her purse from the floor and squeezed into the aisle. Her foot caught on the end of the row, and his hands shot out to steady her. In that moment, his eyes met hers, his mouth opened as if ready to kiss her.
Her head swam with a rush and her breath caught in her chest like a thousand butterflies. “Sorry.” The only thing she was sorry about was having to let go.
The flight attendant’s cart rattled in the next aisle.
The few feet to the rest room looked like half a mile. Vodka on a plane — never again. Steeling herself, she walked toward it, grabbed the handle and looked back.
Wes stood in the aisle, a crease between his eyebrows, watching her intently. Something wrapped around her beating heart and expanded in her chest, and flowed down her legs. Even as her nerves steadied by the surety of his gaze, her internal compass spun and locked itself on him. Knowing he waited for her sent a thrill through her as she stepped into the tight space.
Thank God she wore her short skirt. Her life was complicated enough. Whatever she could simplify, she did.
What about Wes? A relationship, on any level, would present definite complications. Maybe the only relationship he wanted was confined to the span of this flight. He probably picked up a girl on every trip. She shouldn’t read so much into his attention. His natural charms.
She wet a paper towel and touched it to her neck. Stop overanalyzing, she told her reflection.
A loud crack sounded on the other side of the plane. An awful metallic crunch. At the same time, the jet tilted slightly toward that side.
“Oh!” She braced her hands against the wall, afraid to move, afraid of what might be happening on the outside of that door.
Other passengers exclaimed the same noise of surprise. No one screamed. A good sign. Maybe it wasn’t catastrophic, whatever it was. The pilot’s voice came over the intercom, something about the oxygen masks deployed, ask the flight attendance for assistance. Dizziness swept over her.
A knock at the door. “Allison. Open up.”
Wes.
She quickly unlatched and opened it.
In one fluid motion, he pulled the door open, squeezed inside and locked it again. “Are you all right?” Even with his arms slipped around her waist, there was barely enough room for them both.
Thank God he was here. “What’s going on? That noise…” She couldn’t imagine what had caused it.
“I don’t—”
The plane tilted sharply downward and lost altitude fast.
Her stomach flipped in tandem. Her palms landed on the wall behind him above his shoulders. The plane’s dive placed him beneath her. He widened his stance to brace against the unnatural angle.
Panic rattled her nerves. “Oh my God.”
He commanded, “Allison. Look at me.”
Her eyes locked on his. Her mouth moved but only babbling nonsense – not even words – streamed forth in a breathless stammer.
“Allison.” His calm, deep voice reached deep inside her. “We will be fine.”
Her face must’ve crumpled with mounting hysteria.
His hand straddled her chin. “It’s not our time to die.”
“I wish you hadn’t used that word.” Thinning air deprived her brain of rational thought. Images flew faster than reflections from a disco ball: her life, her family.
All she’d done for the past two years was rescue Michelle McCarter from her own bad judgment and indiscretions. Was that all she had to look forward to?
His gaze steady on hers, he smoothed her hair from her face. She leaned above him, freefalling into the blue of his iris flecked with black and gold felt like diving in a deep cove and floating to the sun-kissed surface.
Going with gravity, she settled onto his chest. With his bottom lip fuller than his top, his mouth gave him a determined look.
“In case you’re wrong…” Her lips met his, and she unleashed years of repressed desire on him.
His hands traveled up her bare leg. His fingers met flesh where her skirt had pushed above her thighs as she straddled him. She gripped his head and moved her tongue against his. He moaned as his fingers dipped into the back of her thong. A guilty pleasure, she’d thought they were cute, but despaired no one would ever appreciate them but her. If she’d only known.
She fumbled with his zipper.
He twisted his head back to look at her. “Allison. Are you sure?”
How could he even ask? He was the sexiest guy she’d ever met. And they might only have minutes to live.
“Oh, yes.” She adjusted her knees on the sink behind him.
He held up a finger and produced a small plastic packet from his pocket. “Safety first.”
Arguments lined up in her head, but she held her tongue, not wanting to delay the moment any further as he quickly slipped on the condom.
He smiled and ripped her panties away. “I’ll buy you new ones.”
As she reached to guide him into her, the plane leveled off.
“No!” she whimpered as gravity forced her away.
His smile widened. “No?” He gripped her ass in place.
She slid her legs around his waist and thrust against him. “Oh yes.”
A rush of breath escaped his open mouth. “Shhh…”
The pilot announced they’d dropped from thirty thousand feet to ten thousand, and would make an emergency landing.
“Not yet, please.” She bit her lip. Almost there. Talk about a dream destination.
Wes guided her hips as she took him deeper.
He shuddered, and his grip tightened. “You ready?”
Moaning, she nodded, cursing her body for giving in so soon.
“Good, ‘cause I can’t hold out much longer.” His lips brushed her ear as he spoke, his words more powerful than any drug. He was holding back, waiting for her. No guy had ever done that for her before. Especially not under dire circumstances.
She moved against him, and he matched his rhythm to hers, perfectly in synch. She clutched his shoulders, grateful for his strength as spasm
s erupted from her core and trickled outward, traveled across her skin. Her knees tightened with the last few shudders and her breaths relaxed. He focused on her as if nothing and no one else existed in that moment, and smiled as if he took delight in her own pleasure. When his lips enveloped hers, thoughts of what now? melted away.
A loud knock froze them, eyes wide.
“Everything okay in there?” asked a woman.
She stifled a horrified laugh.
He mouthed flight attendant. “Yes. Be out in a minute.”
“Don’t rush. I was just checking.”
He exhaled, his hands roaming across Allison’s ass. “No rush.” His mouth reached for hers.
She closed her eyes. Damn. Reality awaited. If only the freefall could have lasted another half hour. But that would have brought certain death.
It would have been worth it.
Another knock sounded, more insistent.
“In a minute,” he said with irritation.
She slid away. He zipped up and looked as good as he did when he walked on the plane.
He kissed her. “I’ll go first. Stall them so you can have a minute.”
His frame filled the doorway for one second, then he shut the door behind him.
Her purse sat relatively unscathed on the countertop corner. Her panties were a total loss. She giggled. Well, not total.
She smoothed her skirt, wrinkled but passable, and ran a quick comb through her hair.
The girl in the mirror resembled her outwardly, but not at all otherwise. Change had been overdue. At twenty-eight, her relationships had all been casualties of her career. Her personal goals had waited on the sidelines far too long. Regardless of what happened with Wes, she had to strike a balance between the two.
***
When the plane touched down in San Diego, all three hundred fifty-six passengers clapped and cheered. Allison and Wes exchanged a smile, cheering for an altogether different reason.
Reporters and photographers waited on the tarmac. As they walked toward the shuttle, an anchorwoman shoved a mike in Allison’s face. “What is your reaction to the fuselage being torn from your plane in mid-air?”
Going with Gravity Page 2