Jessie

by Karen Botha

  Jessie

  Karen Botha

  Contents

  Hello from London

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Zac

  Jessie

  Jessie

  Zac

  Zac

  Other books by Karen Botha

  THANKYOU

  special thanks

  About the Author

  Hello from London

  Hi everyone,

  Good to meet you!

  Jessie is a break away from the style of some of my other writing. As a therapist I am lucky enough to be privy to the internal dialogue many of us have to deal with throughout every day life.

  In Jessie, I wanted to bring out the infuriating way this can conflict with the expectations we have of ourselves, that others have of us, but also the way we want to be perceived.

  When you’ve finished, I’d love to hear what you have to say about the characters. What you must not do is take anything that I write too seriously, because whatever I write, it is only ever for our entertainment, yours and mine. You’re meant to be able to pick this, and all my books, up and not be challenged. Life is crazy enough without me adding to any kind of mental thought processing. Other than that, the gloves are off. Go for it, buy into Jessie’s inner demons and escape your own.

  Likewise, everyone in this book has a story of their own, so if you find someone you want to know more about and they don’t already have their own book, then let me know. All my contact details are at the back of this novel and I love to hear from you all, so feel free.

  So, all that’s left is for me to wish you happy reading and I’ll see you on the other side.

  Mwah

  Karen x

  Jessie

  Bloody budget airlines. They’re not even that cheap. By the time you’ve finished with a surcharge for taking clothes on vacation with you, and for the privilege of standing in line in conditions not unlike being a caged hen, I’m surprised we bother with them anymore. But, we’re conditioned into believing the inexpensive cost quoted online and book regardless of the last minute surcharges.

  To be fair, this service did have the best flight times, so I’m just whining because I’m hot and frustrated. To top it off, my fellow passengers will not stop whacking me with their heavy, over-stuffed bags. I can’t blame them for over stuffing them. Who wants to pay the charge for an extra bag?

  At least the seat next to me is available. I close my eyes, hoping that like our glorious London Underground service, if you pretend you’re sleeping, everyone will leave you alone and you’ll get to take up more space than normally allowed. I plug my earbuds in. That might just do the trick.

  But, it’s not to be.

  “Excuse me, I think this seat is mine.”

  I pretend not to hear although I haven’t actually gotten around to selecting my music choice yet. Nevertheless, I keep my eyes tightly closed, and my head tilted back against the headrest. Ew, who knows who was seated here before me, my clean hair which was shining a radiant brown with a tinge of red will be dulled and I won’t have time to restyle it before the wedding. My eyelids spring open and that’s when I see him. Smiling down at me, all smoldering handsomeness.

  “This is my seat.” He points and repeats himself.

  I would normally sulk at this point, then make a show of huffing and puffing out of his way. Today, I match his smile with my own. “Oh, sorry.”

  I’m smart though. I don’t step out into the aisle. Instead, I shuffle my knees, so he has the tiniest of gaps through which to slide past. When I’m done with my performance, I meet his chocolate eyes with my own, indicating he’s good to go. I then run them down his perfectly trim body. His calves, which poke out from beneath his salmon shorts, are nicely toned, and although his style suggests he’s a city boy, his frame tells me he hits the gym.

  His skin is warm when our legs meet, and I’m just about to close my eyes to inhale his sweet musky smell, when I realize my line of sight is bang on level with his crotch. I’d be rude not to!

  Impressive!

  I ignore the tingle, and then to hell with it. Why not relish it? It’s not every day you’re squished against a hot man for the best part of an hour and a half.

  When he’s settled, I can’t resist engaging him further, just enough to show him I’m interested, but not too much that my attraction is obvious. “Hi, I’m Jessie.” I stretch my hand out, begging for more contact.

  “Zac.” He folds his fingers around my palm, sending tingles of delight all the way through into my... well, you know.

  I nod. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” He gives me that gorgeous grin again; the contrast of his white teeth against his swarthy skin is startling. My mouth hangs open in awe of this gorgeous man. I close it and pretend I was yawning, placing my other hand over it as though this is somehow the most tiring day of my life.

  Zac

  I don’t get this when I travel on my private jet, that’s for sure. This quirky woman, all bravado and confidence, is just the kind of challenge I adore. The only problem with these budget airlines is that the toilets are nowhere near large enough, and nowhere near clean enough, to indulge in anything other than a quick pee, which is most definitely only made in the standing position.

  “Why are you traveling?” I ask. She’s inserted her buds back into her ears, but is still playing around with the music options on her phone, which tells me she chose to ignore me earlier.

  Not this time though, and a bleat of victory echoes through my insides. Got you.

  “I’m going to my friend's wedding.”

  “Ah, bride or groom?”

  She smirks to herself. “Oh, it’s the groom. My friends are gay.”

  The start of an idea dawns in my head, and I hope that it has the opportunity to play out. It could be fun.

  “When is the wedding?” I ask, in an attempt to clarify my assumptions.

  “This afternoon. My friends have booked an island about an hour from the airport. They’re getting hitched, rustic style, there. I’m later than I would have liked. I had to work at the last minute.”

  “Oh really, how so?”

  “Ah, it’s a very long story. You don’t want to know about my work dramas.” Her cheeks flush a gorgeous shade of pink.

  “Try me.”

  She shakes her head, sighing, trying to work out if I’m serious. “OK, but don’t say I didn’t warn you -- I am about to rant.” Her eyebrows dance and so does my groin. />
  I shift in my seat, “Go for it.”

  “Well. We had a PR drama which I needed to sort. So now I’m late and praying the flight isn’t delayed. I have to catch a coach at the other end, and they’re not all that frequent, so I’m up against the clock now.” We both look at our watches, like that will make a difference.

  I swallow down a little cheer of victory as the pilot announces over the loud speakers, “We’re experiencing some delays with a missing passenger. Please bear with us, while we locate and remove their luggage. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.”

  Fabulous! She’s going to miss her connection.

  “Oh no. I can’t believe this!” As she moans, she scrunches her nose and I want to kiss her there and then.

  Instead, I take the safer option of nodding, non-committal. “Where is the wedding you’re attending?”

  She nails the location. As I hoped, it's the same one I’m going to. She tells me about how both grooms, while being seriously loaded, prefer to have an understated ceremony. It’s all about the sanctity of their love rather than tabloids and press. It all sounds excitingly familiar as a bunch of butterflies collide in my stomach.

  “I’m not sure what they were thinking.” She laughs, but I get the impression she is being one hundred percent honest.

  “I don’t know. I like the simple things; the honesty keeps you grounded. It’s easy to lose your perspective on reality if you believe your own hype.”

  “Spoken like a true pro there?” She lifts one dark eyebrow.

  I need to be more careful. “Oh, no. I’m not speaking from experience. I’m just surmising.”

  She nods, and I think I got away with it. I escaped my home years ago to discover who I am, and found I liked myself. I also found I can be incredibly dedicated and that makes me wealthy. But, I don’t strive for it. I’ve learned from bitter experience that money should never be the driving force to who you are. Sure, I can make a ton of it quickly, and I do. But while the silver spoon, or actually, if I’m being more accurate, my platinum spoon, is still there, poised to feed me, I’m in no doubt that having it isn’t my God-given right.

  I could flounce around commanding respect, but it’s impossible to be an individual. Everyone bobs in my wake and bows down to my every comment, like I own the monopoly on free thinking.

  Jessie

  I’m starting to sweat, and my dress is creasing. I shuffle, trying to straighten out the crotch. When I ordered this online, I hadn’t noticed it was linen. By the time it arrived, we were in the thick of the worst PR nightmare I’ve had to deal with in years. It was too late to order an alternative. I was banking on the humidity of the Scandinavian sun combined with the cool lakes to steam out any wrinkles from my short flight.

  Best laid plans and all.

  Thinking about it, I’m not even sure there is any humidity out there. In the craziness of the last few days, I’d not given myself time to consider that, otherwise, I could have looked it up. I tap my phone to check now, although it’s not much use to me. My plight is thwarted again; the signal has been blocked because we’re waiting on the tarmac. The browser spins and spins then won’t connect. I manage to obtain no more detail about the Norwegian weather and how it will impact my fashion choices.

  “Where are you headed to?” I ask Zac, placing my defunct phone back on my lap.

  He turns to me from where he’d been observing the baggage situation going on outside. “To the same wedding as you, I think. I didn’t want to freak you out by letting on earlier. If you need a lift I have a car arranged.”

  OK, so this is good news on so many levels. First, I won’t miss the ceremony, which is fabulous. But second, and perhaps even more importantly, is that Zac will be with me for longer than this short, if not extended, flight.

  Not once does it occur to me that this man may not be who he says he is. That he may, in fact, not even be attending Elliott and Kyle’s wedding. What if he’s an impostor who will kidnap and transport me to some hole where he’ll bury me behind the Norwegian fjords? None of these thoughts occur to me.

  When we finally land at the other end, we disembark, collect our luggage, and walk to his car together.

  It’s an odd process of events. This whole getting through the airport thing, is something that you normally only do with people with whom you are very close. It’s like going to the supermarket for the first time with your new boyfriend. A mundane process suddenly becomes a new experience. Do you like the same things, will you select the same brands, will he think you extravagant, or worse, tight?

  As I pass through this mundane process with my strange, new friend, I sense myself stiffening. My neck and my back are bolt upright and my body, sticky from the heat, is also uncomfortable from my strangled posture. I can’t relax.

  We walk through customs, an act which usually makes me feel guilty for no reason, anyway, but today it is even more of a trauma. I sense Zac’s hand swinging next to mine as we walk. I feel the heat from his body. If I accidentally touch him, I’m sure I’ll burn from that heat or feel a sharp spark of electricity.

  I struggle with the dilemma; should I let his hand brush mine by accident, or do everything possible to avoid it?

  I don’t even think as we approach the waiting Tesla. It doesn’t occur to me to check my phone’s connection, and that now would be a fab time to call one of the grooms and check out his story.

  So blinded am I by his delicious looks, and the heady connection we have going on, that the thought he could be some maniac killer is the farthest thing from my thoughts.

  Zac

  Normally I’d sit up front and chat with my driver, but today my heart is fluttering so fast, I have to sit in the back next to Jessie.

  Today though, I sit in the back, next to this beauty, unwilling to break the closeness of our contact. Perhaps I’m a little afraid if I do, the connection which is developing will be lost forever. But to feel like that would require me to engage with doubts, an act I avoid at all costs.

  Something about our change of environment has stilted the flow of our conversation, so I work hard to ease the tension.

  “Look how the sun reflects against that lake.” I point, momentarily blinded, as my watch face catches the sun’s bright rays.

  She nods. “It’s beautiful. Have you ever been here before?”

  “No. You?”

  We continue like that, without finding much out about the other for the rest of our journey. Every now and again, I pretend I’m looking out of the window next to her taking in the beauty of the fjords. Really, I’m sneaking a glimpse of her beauty, not the scenery’s. She is the most naturally perfect girl I’ve ever seen. Her skin is dark, tanned, and luxurious as though she’s been cultivating the look for a long time.. Her eyes are beautifully made up to enhance their natural sparkle.

  Her long brown hair is normally straight, but I can see where she’s curled it before getting on the plane this morning.

  She turns, catches my look fixed on her rather than the external view, and blushes. Even under all her makeup, the tone of her skin adopts a beautiful tinge of pink. “You OK?”

  I smile, and move my head slowly up and down. It’s not meant to be a lecherous motion, but I worry it came over like that. I hastily answer, “I’m great.”

  Her eyes soften as her skin tone further intensifies. “It’s a lot warmer than I thought out here. So much for Norway being cold.” She flaps a hand, and the loose hairs not smoothed down to her head, waft from the breeze she creates.

  “Thank goodness for the air conditioning.”

  “I love this car.” As she directs her attention to the vehicle, she relaxes into the curve of her leather seat, then turns to face me. “I’ve never been in a Tesla before, have you?”

  “Yeah, a few times, but it never stops feeling like a space ship.”

  She rubs her delicate hand over the cream leather of our seat, and I watch as her perfect fingers, manicured but finished with a simple white
tip, leave a trail of heat on its surface. I want to put my hand there, to feel how her residue has changed the texture of the leather, but I resist. That would be odd. Instead, I watch as she takes the edge of her nail, and runs it along the stitching, genuinely admiring the quality of the finish.

  And that’s when I stop thinking.

  I grab her hand and press those delicate fingers to my lips as I unbuckle my seat belt and claim her mouth with mine. Far from catching her off-guard, her lips connect with the pressure of mine as our tongues tangle in a dance of desperation.

  My heart is beating out of my chest as I slip one finger out to the left to close the privacy blind while my other hand releases her from the confines of her seat belt. It’s hardly disconnected and I’m tugging her onto my lap.

  She slides back, unzipping my pants as my greedy hands find themselves pushing her beautifully formed breasts together as I nuzzle my face into the soft skin exposed in the ‘V’ at the top of her silky dress.

  My breath shudders as the fingers I’d been watching so diligently earlier wrap around the ache of my throbbing shaft. I need to be inside this amazing woman who has captured every one of my senses. And soon.