I spent the last two days of our make-believe honeymoon trying to keep my distance from him—from us. It was like trying to put a Band-Aid on a cut before it ever happened. It was impossible. And the more I tried to get away, the more he was near me, next to me, deep inside me.
Secretly, I loved it—every minute of his attention. But the thought of him taking it away had me locking myself in the bathroom, rocking in the corner.
We couldn’t even board the plane without him pulling me, laughing, into its poor excuse for a bathroom.
Tugging the hem of my shirt with one hand, he pulled open the bathroom door with the other. “Go in first and face the back wall,” he spoke quietly against my ear. He slid in behind me, causing me to shove in all the way up against the toilet seat. His hands gripped mine and placed them over the handrails on either side of the walls. Beads of sweat and heat coursed over my skin. The room was too small to even turn around to face him. His hands dropped to my waist and slid my shirt up in a rush, just as the plane started bouncing toward the runway.
His hands cupped my breasts and his fingers deftly flicked over my nipples. The sensation fluttered straight to my groin and I leaned over more to press my ass against him.
But that only made me get a face full of airplane toilet. “James. My face is in the toilet. This is gross.”
He leaned into my back, laughing. “And that’s not sexy to you?”
I burst out in a fit of giggles, trying not to breathe in too much. The smell of being in an airplane toilet was finally getting through. I slammed my hand up against my nose to stop the horrible scent from making me sick. “Ugh. The smell!”
He leaned against the door, laughing loudly. “How the hell do people do this?”
I tried to turn my body to face him. But the plane bounced and I bumped my elbow into the counter of the small sink and stubbed my knee into the wall.
“Mr. Moneybags, next time your family goes to buy a private plane, you should get bigger bathrooms,” I teased when I finally managed to face him.
“I’ll definitely let my father know they are unsuitable for sexual encounters.” We laughed together, but only for a few moments, until we gradually stopped and the rush of the air through the vents was the only sound besides our breathing. Neither of us moved—we just stood in the small space saying so many things to each other with our eyes. A small bell dinged over our heads and the fasten seatbelt sign lit up. His eyes darted up and he smiled, then cupped my face with his hands and kissed me. I just wished it didn’t feel like it was a goodbye.
“Come on,” he said, “this wasn’t even a fantasy on your list.” He held my hand and led me back to our seats. I quickly buckled myself in as the pilot peeked his head out and blushed. “We’ll be taking off in a few minutes. I’m just waiting on clearance. Please stay in your seats, sir.”
James laughed loudly. “Sure thing, Marco.”
As soon as we were alone again, he leaned over the seats closer to me. “This was the best honeymoon I’ve ever been on,” he said low, combing his hands through my hair. “Thank you for letting me make some of your fantasies come true.”
“Some?”
“Yeah, well I couldn’t do number ten, right?”
“Right. Number ten.” Yeah. But number ten? That was the most important one for me, though he’ll never know.
He looked down at his watch and smiled. “We land in about three and a half hours. Any last fantasies before we go on with our separate lives? Is there anything else I could give you? Anything you want?”
Flashes of heat raced along my face and down my neck. Yes. Fall for me. Fight for us. Want me. Don’t let me go. Please don’t let me go. My hands became sweaty and I wiped them down the front of my pants. “Um…” I tried to find the words. A dozen of them swam in my brain—all the right words to let him know how I felt—but none of them would ever make a difference to him. I didn’t want him to throw me away like all the other men in my life did. I needed to walk away first, before he could say anything that could hurt me. Before he could make me feel even more unwanted. “How about letting me do the job you want Alex Kavon to do?”
The corners of his mouth pulled down as if I said something wrong. “I wish I could, Lex. You’re not the one my father wants.”
“I could help the magazine, Jameson, I think I really could. If everyone would just listen to—”
“Lex, stop. I know your heart is in the right place, but there’s nothing you could do to help us.” He leaned his head away from me and gazed out the small window. “Not unless you could get me Alex Kavon’s direct number.”
A hard lump formed at the back of my throat, burning my chest and making it hard to breathe. “I’m sure if I had the chance to—”
“Lex,” he interrupted me, again, leveling his eyes on me, “do you know how to get in contact with him?” The words were mocking—taunting me—like he had no confidence in me telling him the truth or didn’t believe I’d be able to have information worth his time.
“Maybe I do,” I said, pressing my lips together and grinding my teeth.
“Lex, if that’s true then please get me his private number. Or even his personal assistant’s number. Anything. You owe me that much.”
I jerked my head back as if he’d hit me. The skin along my collarbone tingled with what felt like fire and my heart raced. I owe him? “I owe you?”
“Shit. Lex, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said as his gaze wandered back over to the window. He poked his finger at something near the window, as if the object was more important than fixing the stupid crap that just spewed out of his mouth.
He didn’t mean it like that. No, of course not. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. I tried not to burst into tears. “But, you’re right. I do owe you, don’t I? You did me a huge favor by sleeping with me so...thoroughly. So I will definitely try to set up the appointment for you.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with what we did. It wasn’t a favor. We had fun, right? Don’t take it personally. I didn’t mean it like it sounded. I’m just a little frustrated.”
Sure. Whatever you say, boss.
21
James
“Is there a polite way to dislodge your foot from your mouth or should you just choke on it and die?” @Kavon #DeepQuestionOfTheDay
As soon as the landing gear touched the ground, I turned on my phone. At least a hundred emails, missed calls, and texts poured through. Lexa scowled at my phone like it committed some heinous crime against all of humanity. I ignored the glare. She sat through the whole flight stiff and distant. There was a ton of reasons why she would be acting that way. It could have been the things I said that I explicitly explained weren’t meant as they sounded. Or, the sudden flat look and catty behavior could be her way of getting back to our normal, nonsexual relationship back home. It could maybe even be her resenting me for not letting her try to write for the magazine. I’m sure she’s got a little talent, but if I had a dime for every writer who had ever told me they could bring my magazine from death’s door—I’d be one hell of a rich man. We needed Alex Kavon’s following, not a new writer. We needed readers. Kavon was a last ditch effort. My father already had me heading up the other offices in his mind. Shit, all I had to do was move my stuff. That was his new plan—just scrap InTrend and focus on the media that made him the most money.