by Kate Kisset
She closed her eyes wanting to get lost in his fresh, orangey scent, moaning when he parted her lips with his tongue and slipped a hand beneath her. In a haze of quick breaths between kisses, she gyrated against his palm. Eyes half closed, and deliriously on the edge of that almost-ecstasy plane, he slipped one, and then two, of his knowing fingers inside her and stroked.
Need, lust and love ripped up her spine like a fiery bullet as he stroked her, taking her to the edge—never stopping their kiss—“I need you inside now.” She shuddered, already so unglued she thought she’d come without having him inside.
He tightened his grip around her. “You sure you’re ready?” he said with a hint of a chuckle.
She nodded with a smile and straightened, spreading her legs around him, then leaned over to swipe one of the condoms he’d taken out of his jeans and left on the coffee table. Enough light from outside blanketed the room so she could see Boone staring.
Loving how he was watching so intently, Becca tore the packet open with her teeth. She savored Boone’s smooth, hard cock and the way it jumped against her hand, and slowly slid the condom over him. “Don’t forget me,” she said, and, without meaning to, felt the tears coming as she lowered herself on top of him, feeling him fill her.
He gasped in pleasure. “Never. Not in a million years,” he moaned, clasping her hips with both hands, guiding her up and down. Boone’s eyes were watering too.
They stayed locked in each other’s stare, moving together perfectly in sync. “We’re going to come at the same time tonight,” she whispered, rocking faster, moving in the same way that had transported them to the stars for years.
They didn’t leave each other’s arms until it was time for Becca to go home and pack.
Chapter Sixteen
Becca wiped away the tears from her third round of crying. She already had a major meltdown when Boone dropped her off at the airport, and another before she boarded.
She pulled the soft blanket out of her travel bag and stashed the oversized carryall under the seat in front of her. After spreading the blanket on her lap, she plugged her headphones into her tablet and put them on. Becca only took her eyes off the show and grabbed the blanket because she couldn’t bear shivering in her window seat a minute longer.
She’d splurged on Wi-Fi for the long flight to Heathrow, and wasn’t about to miss the Country Gold Awards show and Boone’s big night. The cameras had already panned to Boone, who looked absolutely mouthwatering in a sleek black tux, seated next to his mother. Colt, Harlan and Georgia were in the audience right behind them.
By the time she resituated herself, a middle-aged man in a white Stetson, someone she didn’t recognize, was wrapping up a spiel, looking like he was about to make the big announcement.
“Water?” She heard a muffled voice.
“Ma’am?” The man seated next to her pulled her headphone cord.
“What?” Becca shrugged off her phones, trying not to look as peeved as she was. If I miss seeing Boone win…
“She wants to know if you’d like something to drink.” He pointed to the flight attendant who smiled patiently.
“No thank you,” she answered the attendant. “Thanks,” she said to the man beside her, before quickly slipping her headphones back on.
The man in the white Stetson smiled. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner of this year’s Country Gold Award is…” Becca drew a breath and froze. “Boone Beckett!”
The auditorium erupted in applause and Becca bounced in her seat. “OhmyGod, Boone,” she whispered. “OhmyGod!”
The camera scanned the crowd and moved to Boone, whose charisma beamed at her out of her tablet’s small screen. Looking like a dashing prince, smiling his perfect, white-teeth smile from ear to ear, he hugged his mother and then rose. All smiles, Harlan and Colt wrapped their arms around him and slapped his back. Georgia gave Boone a quick peck on the cheek before he made his way down the aisle grinning, taking confident strides to the stage.
Becca broke into a sweat, about to combust, holding her breath in her heart. What would he say? Please let him be perfect, she prayed. Please don’t let him be nervous.
The man in the white Stetson dramatically presented him his award. Boone solemnly accepted the shiny gold guitar-shaped statue. Holding it like it was fragile and made of precious metal, he stared down at it and grinned before stepping up to the microphone.
Becca cranked up the volume on her tablet.
“This is an honor. Thank you so much,” Boone’s deep voice rolled over the crowd, directly into Becca’s thudding heart. “I’d like to thank my family, particularly a certain singer-songwriter.” He gave a sly smile. “You all might know my brother Harlan,” he teased. “He was pretty much all over the news a little while back.”
A rumble of titters and giggles came from the audience.
“And I’d like to thank you,” he said, looking out over the crowd, “my colleagues and my fans. This award is as much yours as it is mine. I couldn’t have done it without you. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
Boone paused, stepping a little closer to the mic. “You know, they wanted me to play a new song for you tonight, and I have one. I do, but it’s not finished yet,” Boone explained softly.
Becca leaned closer to her screen, feeling like she was sitting in the audience, waiting for a pin to drop, hanging on Boone’s every word.
“The song’s called, ‘Maybe it’s Me.’ I wrote it for the love of my life, Becca Barclay. The only woman I’ve ever loved.”
Becca stopped breathing and brought her hand to her heart. What is he saying?
“Here’s the thing. When I dropped her off at the airport this morning, I didn’t tell her how I feel about her, not really. And we decided on doing a stupid long-distance thing, which is not going to work—not for me, anyway, because I need her like air. I love her.”
The audience ooh-ed and aww-ed,
WhatWhatWhat?
“Before I tell you what I need to say next, I want you to know my band supports my decision, mostly because I’m paying them a shit ton to keep them happy. Ooops.” He brought his hand to his mouth with a sheepish grin.
“Sorry, I hoped they bleeped that. Anyway, I’ve made more money than I ever dreamed I would, so if this is going to tank my career, so be it. You see, I really don’t need much. I’d be happy playing in this little place called The Owl in Lonesome, Montana for the rest of my life, as long as Becca is there with me.
“She’s on her way to England right now, and I’m going to catch a flight in about three hours and bring her back,” he explained. “So I hope you understand why I won’t be able to play for you at Stagecoach this weekend, and, depending on the outcome of our conversation, I might have to cancel my tour. Some people cancel tours when they get pneumonia or something. Well, consider me heartsick, and there’s no recovery without her.”
He took a beat and chuckled to himself. “And if Becca doesn’t come home with me, I’m going to have to stay there in London and talk her into it until she does. I hope you understand. I just can’t live without her.”
The audience roared with thundering applause and hoots and hollers. The camera panned back as the star-studded crowd got to their feet for a standing ovation.
“Thank you everyone! And hey, I found a replacement for Stagecoach. You’re going to love him. He has about sixty of these!” Boone laughed, holding up the golden guitar, displaying it to the crowd in all its shiny glory. “Thanks again, everyone. I love you!” Boone gave the crowd a wave and left the stage.
Chapter Seventeen
Staring up at a cracked ceiling tile at Nashville International Airport, Boone gave her number one more try. Just like the last ten calls he made, this one picked up on the third ring.
“Hi, this is Becca. Sorry I can’t take your call. Please leave a message at the tone.”
Beep.
“Becca, it’s me again. I’m at the airport no
w. My flight’s on time. I’m going to be landing at Heathrow at around five o’clock your time tomorrow afternoon. I need to see you, sweetheart.” He laughed. “I already gave you my flight information in the last fifty million messages. Please be there, baby. I can’t wait to kiss you.”
Boone hung up, shoved his phone back in his pocket and boarded the plane.
Chapter Eighteen
Becca fired up her phone the second the plane touched down. After listening to every single one of Boone’s messages and almost dying of happiness, she tried to call him but couldn’t get through. She finally gave up and shoved her phone back in her purse, then anxiously checked the seat pocket in front of her one last time just to be sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.
Gripping her carryall’s strap in her sweaty palm, she wished she could fly over her fellow passengers who were taking forever and a day to retrieve their bags from the overhead bins. Instead, she refrained from tapping her foot and bit her lip instead, waiting for everyone in front of her to disembark.
Finally, free from the crowded, cramped contraption, she hurried along, dazedly following the signs, making her way to the arrival and baggage claim area, just as her new employer instructed.
And then what? Boone was on his way to the same airport. Why did she have to leave?
Becca hadn’t slept a wink on the flight. Although she desperately wanted to clean up and brush her teeth, she could take care of those needs in one of the many bathrooms at Heathrow.
She stepped off the people mover onto the slick tile floor while rummaging through the different scenarios ping-ponging in her brain. She was going to have to tell her new boss she couldn’t stay.
She might be too tired to think straight, but there was one message coming in loud and clear: Boone. The man who’d decided to give up his dream of playing Stagecoach and his first concert tour to be with her.
He told the crowd last night that he might have to stay to talk her into coming with him.
How could he have any doubt that she’d run to his arms? Adrenaline sizzled through her veins at the thought of holding Boone and never letting go.
After getting her bags and going through a (thankfully) short line at customs, Becca steered the luggage trolley around a corner and found the orange Meeting Point sign she’d been told to keep her eyes peeled for.
A smattering of professional-looking men and women in suits were lined up holding cards with various names, greeting weary travelers.
She scanned the crowd until she found a large, balding, middle-aged man displaying the name Barclay. Becca paused before making eye contact. Would it be too rude to turn around and run back to the gate? Would she be able to get back in?
Deciding to do the right thing, bite the bullet, and explain her situation face-to-face with Liam Edwards, she approached the man with a smile. “That's me.” She pointed to his sign. “I'm Rebecca Barclay. Thanks for coming.”
“A pleasure, ma'am. And you can call me Leopold. I’ll be escorting you to Mr. Edwards.” He shook her hand and then lifted her bags off the trolley. “If you’ll just follow me.”
In another thirty minutes, Becca was settled into the back seat of a luxurious town car with her nose to the window, admiring as much of England as she could take in.
“I trust you had a pleasant flight?”
“Thank you. I did.” She lied. Pleasant didn't begin to cover it. How about mind-numbing and orgasmic? “Is it a long drive?”
“No, luv. We’re going to the Kensington residence. We should arrive in another twenty minutes.”
She tried calling Boone a few more times before arriving at Liam Edwards’ elegant home in the posh district.
Finally Becca sat in the stately living room to await her former new boss. She steadied her breath, checked the time on her phone, and considered calling an Uber. It was already four.
“Rebecca!” The gorgeous, tall, sandy-blond soccer star entered the room, soaking up all the oxygen. Liam Edwards, the man fans referred to as Steady Eddie, gave her a blinding smile and flashed his dimples. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”
Becca gulped, pushing off the plump couch, getting to her feet. “Nice to meet you, too. Thank you so much for arranging the ride, and I’m so sorry,” she sputtered, “so very sorry, but I can’t stay.”
“What?” He pointed to the couch. “Please, have a seat,” he said strolling to the chair opposite her and parked his six-foot-something gorgeous physique. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no, no,” she rushed the words. “Everything’s perfect. I mean. No, not really, not perfect for you, but for me. Yes. It’s, um...”
“Loretta,” he called out with his easy charm. Liam’s casual demeanor didn’t mesh with the formal décor.
A stocky brunette woman hurried into the room. “Yes, Mr. Edwards?”
“Tea, please. And bring sandwiches.”
Lorretta gave him a little bow and scurried back to wherever she came from.
“Tea always makes things better.” He smiled, focusing his attention back on Becca. “Whatever the situation, we can work it out. I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “My boyfriend. Well, he’s not technically my boyfriend...well, I guess he is now.” Her head spun. “He’s on his way to take me back to Montana with him. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know we’d be together when I accepted this job. I didn’t know he still loved me. But then he pretty much told the world he loved me last night, on television.”
Liam studied her for a beat. “You’re Becca? You’re the Becca who’s been all over the news all day?”
“I am?”
“You’re the woman the country star cancelled his gig for?” He rifled through his pocket and whipped out his phone. “Luv, you’re trending on Twitter.” He chuckled, tapping the screen. “Look.” He turned the device so she could see it. “Twenty-three thousand, four hundred twenty-seven likes and over fourteen thousand retweets.” Liam rose from the chair.
“So you’re not mad?” Becca tried to read his reaction.
“No, luv. I’m happy for you. I can find another physical therapist, but you’ll never find the love of your life again.” He grinned. “There’s only one of those.”
Becca jumped off the couch, wanting to hug him. “Thank you so much for understanding.” She fumbled for her purse. “So I’m just going to call an Uber and dash back to Heathrow if you don’t mind. He’s landing in twenty minutes.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Leopold is right outside, he’ll drive you.”
In minutes she was in the back seat of the town car again, calling Boone while they raced to Heathrow in the drizzly mist. Boone didn’t pick up. Maybe his plane was still taxiing?
Because of a substantial downpour that seemed to come out of nowhere, coupled with heavy traffic, they didn’t make it back to the meeting area until five thirty. But after confirming Boone’s flight number and arrival time, Leopold convinced her it was the best place to catch Boone before he left the airport.
After thanking Leopold and saying goodbye, Becca stayed close to her luggage and frantically scanned the crowd for him. Throngs of families and professionals in suits passed her, hurrying to their destinations...but no Boone.
Becca tried his number again, feeling like her heart was about to pound right out of her chest. He didn’t pick up. Keeping an eye on her luggage, she changed her position and thought she caught sight of his dark hair in a crowd by the exit being followed by two photographers. The dark-haired man turned and she caught his profile. Her heart leapt.
“Boone!” she shouted, ditching her bags and hurrying to the doors. “Boone!” Becca raced toward him, ducking through openings in the crowd, past the other travelers, trying not to elbow anyone, but she had to reach him before he left the building. Once outside, maybe he’d get into a tram or—
“Boone!”
“Stop shoving me, lady!” a smelly teenager scolded, clocking
her with his shoulder, not even bothering to take his headphones off.
“Sorry,” she muttered, “but I have to—oh, never mind!” She squeezed past the kid, next dodging a family pushing two strollers.
The double doors opened and Boone disappeared into the crowd. Becca sprinted to the doors making her way outside, where rain pummeled the streets, horns blasted, and a barrage of perfumes and aftershaves assaulted her senses.
She scanned the sidewalk and found him again, just about to get into a black cab. The two paparazzi following him, turned to her. “Boone! No! I’m here!” she yelled at the top of her lungs as the photographers started snapping pictures, and he turned.
He turned.
And saw her.
Breaking into the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen, Boone backed away from the curb. “Becca!” he rushed to her, laughing.
She hurried to him, blinded by his smile and seeing nothing else. “Oh, Boone.” Her eyes filled. “You’re here,” she rushed into his arms, coming home again, a million miles away.
“Becca.” He murmured, clinging to her as she buried her face against his chest, breathing in fresh laundry and oranges.
“I’ll never leave you again,” she sobbed. “Never, ever.”
“Well, I’m going to make sure of it.” Boone cupped her cheeks, looking into her eyes, and she swam in his watery, sapphire gaze.
“Don’t cry,” she whispered, sobbing and laughing at the same time.
“I love you, Becca Barclay. I always have and always will.” He kissed her—a long, tender, sweet kiss—making her feel like a fragile treasure.
“I know we’re well outside of Lonesome city limits,” he chuckled. “So you can bet I’ll be asking you this again.” Boone reached into his pocket and dropped to his knees. “Make me the happiest man alive, Becca.” He took her hand and pulled out a ring. “Will you marry me?”
Becca’s knees buckled, and she dropped down to his eye level, nodding. “Yes, Boone.” she cried, watching him slide the pretty diamond on her finger. “I’ll be your wife if you promise to be my husband always, because I’m gonna love you forever.”
