by Amelia Wilde
I'm breathless at his touch, need surging through my body, knocking me down and making me breathless, like a tidal wave. This is the man you can trust, my heart sings in my chest, even as my mind blares a warning signal that I'm already too invested, I'm in over my head.
Then Gideon sets my hand gently back onto the surface of the table and returns to his seat. My face must be a fiery red, but he looks into my eyes like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
“What’s—” It takes me a minute to snap back into control, but when I do, I'm determined to counter him. “What's your favorite color? I need to know, Gideon. It's important.” I’m teasing, but barely.
He leans in close again, his eyes flaring a deep, jungle green, the color of new life and adventure, and lowers his voice. “Right now it’s the hot, lovely redness of your cheeks.”
14
Gideon
The more we talk, the more Kennedy settles into herself. Once I steer the conversation into more neutral first date territory, she starts to answer my questions with an easy confidence. For a while, we stick to the basics. How many siblings? Kennedy, one sister. Me, no siblings. “My dad wanted all of his eggs in a single basket,” I tell her with a shrug.
By then, we've each had two glasses of wine, and the color in Kennedy's cheeks is a shade I associate with hot parties on a cold night. She looks divine as she says, “You are one hell of a basket.”
I laugh out loud.
We trade the names of our hometowns. For Kennedy, it’s Westport in upstate New York. For me, it’s Seattle. Pets? No and no. Kennedy wrinkles her nose. “Too much fur, and the walking—did you know some people hire babysitters for their pets?”
“I can believe it. But I'm gone too much, living my adventurous lifestyle. I don't want to drag a poor dog all over the world.”
“Hmm,” she says, leaning back to let the waiter pour her a third glass of wine. “I'd have taken you for a cat person.”
“A cat person?”
“I’m kidding,” she says with a laugh that makes me want to keep talking to her, like this, at this table, at this restaurant, on this night, forever. “I'd have expected a man like Gideon Hawke to have a pet that's—that's—” She sips her wine again, rolling it over her tongue. “That's so exotic and dangerous that the world thought they couldn't possibly exist. Like a dragon.”
“Fire-breathing, of course.”
“Oh, no,” Kennedy says, looking mildly horrified. “Can you imagine all the damage that would cause? You'd have people's homes and businesses going up in flames every time—” She stops when she sees that I'm looking at her with wide eyes.
“Kennedy Carlisle,” I say gently. “I think it's pretty obvious that you have an obsession with staying safe, but hypothetical fire-breathing dragon scenarios shouldn't be causing you even a moment of worry.”
“You're right about that.” She spears another bite of steak with her fork and pops it into her mouth. Every bite she takes, Kennedy closes her eyes. “Mmm...”
The sound of her deep satisfaction resonates from somewhere deep in her throat, and all at once, I'm nearly over the edge, my cock straining aggressively against my boxers, against the hard zipper of my pants. “Jesus, Kennedy. Are you trying to drive me insane?”
Her blue eyes fly open, and the expression in those eyes exudes need, pure and simple. “I think I'm past trying.” Her voice is soft, and it takes an extra moment to realize she's shifted the conversation to a level like the one we were flirting with at the club, our bodies consumed by lust and want.
“You're right.” I give her a grin. “So what are we going to do about it?”
“I'm not doing anything about anything until I finish this steak.” She winks.
My God, this woman is amazing.
The waiter comes too quickly to clear our plates. Not too quickly—right on time—because the service at the Pearl is the best in the city. But something about the way he reaches down for the plates causes cold disappointment to form in the center of my gut. I don't want the dinner to be ending, so even though Kennedy protests—a mild, unconvincing protest—I order the chocolate cake for dessert.
When it arrives, we both look at it. It's the most decadent piece of cake I've ever seen, the frosting intricately decorated and fresh, the cake itself so moist that it's practically sweating. The two forks perched on the side of the plate are an open invitation.
“Well,” Kennedy says, and I know exactly what she means. All evening, we've been promising one another that we'd get to the deeper questions—and the deeper answers—when dessert came. Now that it's here, sitting in front of us, I'm having second thoughts.
Not about whether I should tell Kennedy everything, but whether I should do it right now. It seems like a great way to put a damper on a surprisingly hot date. The fact that we haven't kissed, or fucked, seems secondary to the fact that Kennedy is slowly beginning to let me in, and the more I learn about her, the more I want.
When all that remains of the chocolate cake is nothing but a few errant crumbs in the decorative swirl of frosting on the plate, we've declined coffee from the waiter, and he's billed my card with a sleight of hand that lets me avoid the awkwardness of having to sign the slip so I don’t have to consider it in front of Kennedy, she rises gracefully from her chair, gathering up her little purse from the floor.
She remains silent as I offer my arm to her, silent as we walk through the three small dining rooms that make up the Pearl, and silent as we cross the sidewalk toward the car, where John waits to open the door for us.
We're only a few steps away when she hesitates, coming to a complete stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Something shifts in the air, like a cold front about to move in, like a burst of electricity, and when I look down at her, I'm caught up in those blue eyes, the determined expression on her face. “Gideon—”
“It's the same car as before.” I try to keep my tone soothing, staying far away from anything that smacks of condescension.
“No. No.” She waves her hand between us like she can wipe those words right out of the air. “Gideon—I don't want this to end.” Her voice is taut with urgency, and her grip tightens around my arm. “I haven't felt like this—” She's trembling a little, searching for the words. “I don't want it to end.”
It occurs to me to tell her that we can go on another date—go on a million dates—but the look in her eyes tells me it's more than that. It's something specific. Kennedy doesn't want this evening to end, and she wants it so desperately that she's willing to stop me like this, willing to delay getting into the car if getting into the car means that it's over.
Sheer electricity jolts down my spine, and I feel the grin growing on my face even before I realize what I'm about to say, what I'm about to do.
“Kennedy,” I say, a matching urgency in my own tone that has John lifting his studied gaze from the sidewalk to us. “It doesn't have to be over.”
15
Kennedy
“It does,” I argue lamely, my heart beating solemnly in my throat, while I try to quell the jolts of electricity arcing down from my shoulders to my fingertips. “It would be…” My need to be with him is battling with the urge to go home with him, to see where this really goes, even though it’s hardly a good decision to go home with a man on the first date. I shake my head, as much to convince myself as to communicate with him. “I can’t go home with you.”
That half grin slides over his face again, and there’s a fire glimmering in his green eyes that makes me think of cabanas on the beach surrounded by a sheer drapes swaying in the breeze, as Gideon’s mouth claims mine as we lay beneath white sheets that wisp gently like a thousand thread-count whisper against my skin. “We don’t have to go home.”
I swallow hard, knowing that my cheeks are flushed and burning. I don’t know what it is about him that made me stop him abruptly like this on the sidewalk. I don’t know why I felt such a wave of dread washing over me at the thought of getting into the car an
d then of me getting back out again once we arrived at my apartment.
You do know, says the voice in the back of my mind. You know it’s because he’s sweeping you away, because he chose this place out of all the places he could have taken you, because he has not once needled you for being overly cautious.
“Where else is there to go?”
Gideon swings his arm out wide. “Did you forget, Kennedy Carlisle? I’m Gideon Hawke. I can go anywhere in the world, any time I wish.” He laughs out loud, and the sound rings out, echoing in the night and vibrating through my core. A warm breeze sweeps its way down the street, curling itself into my hair, and my heart pounds heavily against my ribs. My gut is a churning mix of excitement and fear.
“I—” I shake my head, letting out a laugh that feels small and timid. “I don’t want this date to end.”
Gideon steps closer to me, wraps his hand around the back of my neck, and presses his lips against my forehead. “I don’t either. So get into the car, and I’ll show you how it never has to be over.”
This is a bad idea.
This is a terrible idea, as much as drinking at the bachelorette party would have been, as much as submitting to all my urges about Gideon at once would have been…might still be. But once I’m in the car and we’re sailing through the streets of New York City, there’s no backing out.
Gideon whips his phone out of his pocket and punches in a number. A voice on the other end of the line picks up on the first ring. “Fuel her up and have her ready to go.” A pause. “Within the hour.”
“Gideon—”
He ends the call and looks into my eyes. “You don’t want to go home, right?”
“No, but—”
“We only have to stop at your place for a few essentials, then. Where do you keep your passport?”
My passport? “There’s a drawer in the desk in my bedroom—” I put a hand on his arm. “Why do I need my passport?”
“To leave the country,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“I can’t leave the country!”
“You can. And you will.”
From anyone else, those words might have seemed threatening, but coming from Gideon’s lips, it seems like an invitation. A warm excitement thrills through my gut, but seconds later it’s bowled over by a wave of guilt and fear so intense that I gasp out. “Tonight?”
“We have three options,” he says, looking evenly into my eyes. “I can take you back to your place and you can go inside. We can go back to my place, together. Or…” He pauses, the corners of his mouth turning up into a grin. “We can board my private jet and fly off into the night together.”
“But I’ve never—” The panic rises in my throat and suddenly I’m having trouble breathing. What’s Abby going to think if I flee the country without telling her? “I’ve never been out of the country, and this is our first date. I can’t go on a spontaneous vacation with you.”
His lips press against my temple. “I’m not kidnapping you. But Kennedy, you’re a grown woman, and you can do whatever it is that you want. So, yes, you can come with me tonight. Don’t worry about a thing. I can have a wardrobe packed and on my plane in forty minutes.” His body heat, so close to me, is turning what little resolve I have into liquid.
“If I’m going to do that, I need to make a call.”
His grin grows wider, and I know he’s taking this as a firm yes. “Make the call.”
I reach into my clutch purse and pull out my phone. Gideon turns toward the window and starts dialing another number on his phone, and in a moment, he’s looking back at me, his eyes flicking up and down the length of my body. Then he’s murmuring instructions into the phone. “Three bathing suits,” he starts out, and I shift my attention to my phone and start dialing Abby’s number.
When she answers, she’s a little out of breath. “Hey, sister. What’s up?”
“Abby, I have to talk to you.”
“Okay…” There’s a new tension in her voice that matches mine.
“That guy I met at the club last weekend? It was Gideon Hawke. Do you know who that is? He’s—”
“You met Gideon Hawke at a club and didn’t think it was important enough to call me and tell me about it?” Abby shrieks into the phone. I pull mine away from my ear. “Of course I know who that is. What happened? Why are you calling to tell me this now?”
“I’m—I just finished having our first date. Not really finished, actually... He took me to dinner at this place in the city called the Pearl, and I said I didn’t want the night to end, and…” I’m babbling and probably not making a whole lot of sense. I stop and take a deep breath, turning my body so I’m turned farther away from Gideon. Dropping my voice, I say, “He’s inviting me on a…on a kind of spontaneous vacation.”
“Oh. My. God.” Abby says, her voice rising to a shout. “You’re going, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know!” My hand trembles on the phone. “I need to stop and get my passport, and then—Abby, he has a private jet, and we could leave in an hour.”
“Where is he taking you?”
“I have no idea, but he’s—he’s having clothes sent to his plane for me, and he mentioned bathing suits.”
“Holy shit,” Abby breathes. “Is he a good guy?”
I don’t know him well enough to give her a firm answer, a truthful answer, and my mind races with everything that could happen if I get onto this plane with Gideon. “I think so.”
“This kind of thing is once in a lifetime, Kenn.” She takes in a deep breath. “If you don’t go, I’ll be so pissed at you.”
16
Gideon
It’s not until the plane is actually taking off that Kennedy’s shoulders relax. She looks out the window, the lights of the cityscape spread out before us, and lets out a little sigh.
“If you really don’t want to go, I can always have the pilot turn the plane around.”
She turns to me, a tentative smile on her face. “I do want to go. This is by far the nicest plane I’ve ever been on.”
“It’s a far cry from coach, isn’t it?”
She gives me a look and rolls her eyes. “You’ve never flown coach.”
“Not true.” I reach for her hand and curl my fingers through hers. She squeezes mine, like a reflex, and blushes a little. “Once I went on a backpacking trip across Asia with a college buddy who had a thing about not spending other people’s money. We flew whatever class he could afford.”
Kennedy nods. “I’ve actually only been on a plane once. Not counting right now.”
“You really do love to stay home, don’t you?”
“My parents usually drove if we went on vacation. And after—” She stops herself short, frowning, and a strange look drapes across her face. It disappears almost as fast as it appeared, and then she continues. “They took us to Disney World once, and the plane got delayed on the tarmac at Orlando for three hours.” Kennedy is moving her fingers against mine, absently working them together and then apart, and her touch is setting my entire body ablaze. She doesn’t seem to notice until she does, her eyes flicking up to mine, her eyes deep blue pools of desire. ”I think after that they…” Her breasts rise with a deep breath. “They decided it was more convenient to drive.”
“Private planes are more convenient than anything.” I lean in close to her as the pilot announces that we’ve reached cruising altitude. “Would you like a tour?”
She lets out a little breath, tearing her eyes from mine to glance around the interior of the plane. “This isn’t all of it?” We’re in two of the seats, and there’s another seating area with a small table where two more people can sit, another row of seats, and a sofa.
“No.”
I pull her up by the hand, guiding her toward the back of the plane. Outside the door in the center of the cabin, I pause, looking down at her with the most terse expression I can muster. “Are you ready?”
She nods, looking back at me with a playful
seriousness that nearly sends me over the edge.
I push open the door and lead her inside.
Kennedy’s mouth drops open.
The back section of the plane is a bedroom that’s all clean white lines, clean white sheets, and neat compartments for clothes to be stored. Her eyes go immediately to the bed, which is made up so tightly that it’s practically begging to be destroyed.
When she speaks again, her voice is low and sexy. “This is a gorgeous bedroom.”
“Nothing is more gorgeous than you are, Kennedy.”
And then, because we’re flying through the night to a tropical destination that I’m going to convince her that she loves, because her body in that dress has been tempting me all night, because her nipples are hard under the fabric of that dress, because I’d bet a thousand dollars that Kennedy Carlisle hasn’t been truly kissed in months, maybe years, I put my hands around the sides of her jawline and claim her mouth with mine.
It’s like fireworks, a tidal wave, and stepping onto the surface of the sun, all at once.
Kennedy gives way underneath me, her sweet lips parting to let my tongue explore her mouth, and she throws her hands around my neck like she’s getting sucked away by the undertow and I’m her only hope of survival. The icing on the cake is the little moan that escapes, right into my mouth.
I reach behind her and push the door closed, then back her up so that her spine is pressed against the surface of the door. She pulls back, gasping, and then leans forward so that she can drag her lips down the side of my neck, leaving a searing trail of desire wherever she touches me.
I run my hands down her sides, right to the hem of her dress, and as our lips crash together again, I tug it upward, yanking it toward her waist, and knock her legs apart with my hands. She’s wearing a scrap of lace that could generously be called panties, and as her tongue meets mine, I tug them down, giving me all the clearance I need to slip my fingers between her legs, stroking her slit.