Catching Preeya (Paradise South Book 3)

by Rissa Brahm

  “Wait.”

  “What? Are you all right?”

  “Condom, in my purse. It’s by the door.”

  How the hell could he have forgotten?

  Because he was two years—no, fifteen years—out of that line of thinking. And drunk off his ass. But thank the Lord that this gorgeous, fiery, intelligent, and forward-thinking creature had a condom in her purse. If she was a little philandering, at least she was safe about it. But he didn’t want to think of her with another man. No. Now, she was with him. Only him.

  He looked at her, ready and waiting for him, lying on top of the tight white duvet cover, smiling at him coyly, like a cat waving its sly tail for him to come to her. To take her.

  And he was hard as steel for her.

  Grab the condom and take her, then.

  He swallowed back the last remnant of anxiety sticking in his throat and went to her purse. He secretly hoped that she had two condoms in it. If not more.

  Woozy and sweating hot, he crouched down at her bag, nearly falling over, when his necklace, with his wedding ring, fell out from under his shirt.

  It dangled. He stared.

  Do it, Ben. It’s okay. It is. The voice.

  He swallowed and slammed his eyes shut. Up and over his head came the chain, quick, like a bandage. He clutched the chain with his gold wedding band in his hand, then stood—God, too fast—took three steps toward his messenger bag and slowly placed the chain into the innermost pocket. And zipped it. And exhaled hard.

  Condom. Go.

  Damn she was demanding, and that’s just one thing he fucking loved about his wife. His late wife. And for Jamie, and really only for Jamie, had he always done what he’d been told. He stumbled back to the purse. Of Preeya’s. The vibrant and amazing woman waiting for him on the hotel room bed.

  *

  She could kick herself for breaking her new rule—self-focus only. But his pure, unadulterated focus on pleasuring her was just…unreal. Yes, she could justify this—a doctor-prescribed and customized therapy session of cathartic self-focus.

  Then add the good doctor’s stamina—and he was sloppy drunk, too. Men under the influence, in her experience, usually took forever to come, if they even came at all before surrendering to sleep, and all the while she could have been a hole in a wall for all they knew, pounding and thrusting away.

  But not Dr. Ben. He was there. All there. And detail-oriented. Masterfully precise in his direction, his pacing and positioning. Like a good, attentive doctor, he cared for her, all the way in and out of her. His fine, throbbing length, and what he did with it, took her breath away. Over and over and over again.

  And adding the other things he did to her while pumping her to the peak again and again—she was undone. The twirling and pressing of her sensitive bud, and the caressing of her slick lips with his surgeon hands.

  This man, she thought, could take as long as he damn well pleased. Because five orgasms to none—none yet, though she intended to make him wail by the end—she was in ecstatic bliss and was inhumanly ready for more. Not sore, not tired or spent, just energized and delirious with…something.

  Was it joy?

  Joy was the only word that fit.

  And God, how he fit. So fucking well, he fit in her.

  “So, the flight’s at two?” he panted, moving his mouth down her bodice.

  “Yeah, in the afternoon,” she added, writhing under his delicious control.

  “Oh, God, that’s good. Just so, so damn good,” he said as he nibbled above her hipbone, making her squeal. “We can do this all the way to noon p.m., then.”

  She laughed at his totally drunken state as she went to look at her wrist for the time, but caught herself—and her phone was too far away. Her eyes scanned the room. The neon-red alarm clock on the other nightstand read 1:00 a.m. “You can go for fourteen hours? I mean, one to noon…nine, no ten hours. Hell, whatever, I’m game.”

  “I feel like I could go nine or ten or fourteen hours.” He looked at her face from between her thighs. “It’s been…a good long while for me…doing this.” He sucked the soft part of her inner thigh just below—and so close to—her aching core. “I’d say I’ve got some catching up to do.” He smiled, then refocused on her tensed thigh, giving her the most sensual and sweet plowing of kisses she’d felt—maybe ever. “But I’ll need to maybe…break. To eat,” he said, smiling up at her again before switching to her other thigh, again teasing her to the edge of madness.

  She threw her head back in total elation.

  How was he doing it? Making her forget everyone and everything. No Josh, no Evan, no fucked-up family or flights or failures or fears.

  There was only Dr. Ben Trainer and his powerful focus on pleasing her. His energy and attention. His ravenous hunger for her, and for at least right now, only for her.

  *

  The experience in her, with her, over her, was so different, so immensely, amazingly different, that the guilt had just subsided, drifted away. He felt freer than maybe ever before.

  For what seemed like hours, they moved together in perfect rhythm, like ocean waves brewing before-then-during-then-after a storm. Again and again—crashing pleasure with easing calm in between.

  He hardly knew this woman, this exquisite being, but their bodies were intimate and in such sync—as if they’d known each other for all time.

  He recognized something in her, a deep-seated need that he was all too familiar with. The same need to flee, to fly, to run—to escape at all costs. Medical school to…flight attendant training? Why? She was so bright and strong and grounded. What the hell was she running from? What had caused that lingering pain he’d spotted behind her ocean-deep eyes?

  He swept her hair away from her face and kissed her cheek, her bare shoulder, then the crook of her neck. She lay tight against the length of his body, her deep and sated breath soothing him to join her in half sleep. His top arm ran along her curves, his fingertips drawing figure eights on the soft, taught skin of her hip. His other arm went under, up, and around her, draped across her middle like a sash, her breasts spilling over his forearm, creating a spectacular tangle of mocha and cream. Such contrast and complement at once. He breathed her in while sinking deeper into the bed, into the pillow, and into the fit of their bodies.

  The euphoria from their sensual dance maintained its vibrancy even after the buzz from the liquor had worn off. And with the radiance of their connection came a sense of clarity. He could now let it all sink in. That this was the first time since his wife’s passing that he’d stopped running. Paused for a breath. His own life’s marathon had become a compulsion, one that had taken over without him realizing.

  He took her top hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles one at a time through a muted laugh. How strange and lucky and good for him and for her—two marathon escape artists in peak escapist condition and form—to crash into each other, head-long, on a flight to Houston, Texas, via Boise, Idaho, the Great American Potato Capital of the World.

  He pressed her hand to his cheek. “Glad we skipped the potato conference,” he whispered.

  Through her half sleep she hummed in response.

  He didn’t aim to wake her but, well, yes, he did. No longer under the influence of anything but the raw energy and comfort between them—the fit of them—he began a new round of kisses, one to each finger, then down the length of her hand, her wrist.

  She moaned.

  He parted his lips, his teeth, his mouth, and took her thumb in, surrounding and sucking and nibbling it.

  He heard her swallow then sigh long and sweet.

  His cock became solid hard desire again.

  He closed his eyes, relishing her taste, her scent and sound. And when he opened his eyes again, she was facing him, eyes wide. Needy again, too.

  *

  Sleep had been conquered by limitless desire. True desire. No more alcohol buzzing through her now, just pure and unadulterated want. Want for this man.

 
; And she sensed his raw, unaffected need, too. His soft caress and tight hold of her, his warm breath and rolling vibe, his solid steel pulsating against her thigh—God, her heart and head and core were ready to burst. “I want more, Doctor Ben.”

  He growled deep down in his throat and gave her a wicked smile. “I want more, Preeya Patel.” His eyes locked on to hers with unrelenting angst, he slid his hand up her cheek, down her throat, across her collarbone to her shoulder. “All of you.” He pushed her shoulder down to the bed, flat on her back, then moved over and down her. “Every last drop of you.” Her anguishing arousal clenched and pooled with need for him. Ready to give him everything, every last drop. Like he wanted.

  And so the master surgeon got back to working his miracles. He and his delectable tongue whirled and sucked and spun her into a river of release she’d never dared to imagine before.

  “Be in me. Come with me, Ben.”

  “Not yet.” He dipped his tongue deep into her sex and pressed into a hot point. Her hips thrust up hard. He moaned with pleasure—God, that got her so much wetter—then he lifted his head. “See, I’ve got a lot of work to do down here before I leave the operating theater,” he said in a British accent.

  She laughed and heaved and wriggled as he did what he wanted to her. What she apparently needed, so said her doctor.

  And round after torrential round, his fingers, his lips and tongue, and finally his magic, maneuvering steel dipping in and out of her, too—yet still insistent on his own delayed gratification—brought her to higher and higher peaks. Loftier peaks meant farther and deeper falls into endless bliss. God, he drove her to the brink and back again.

  After countless releases—she felt so goddamn selfish—she had nothing left in her to release—no tension, no worry, no question. All that remained was that same joy he’d injected her with when their lovemaking had begun hours ago. Her body seemed to permanently hover at that joyous peak now.

  But there was more pleasure to be had. His pleasure. She needed him to explode and shake inside her again. She craved his satisfaction—satisfaction gotten by her, from her, in her.

  *

  Their eyes were locked—their bodies, too—and as she rode him, rocked him hard and deep from above, he went to a new realm, a new stratosphere.

  “You like this, Doctor? Or…” She slowed her rolling hips and brought her breasts topped with her dark-cherry nipples, down to his chest then mouth while sliding back and forth along his solid and trembling length.

  “Oh God, yes. Like that. Slow like that.” Long and slow and forever.

  But he couldn’t hold on forever, though he’d give anything to work that miracle. “I’m coming, Preeya.” He gripped her ass so hard she squealed. He grunted and grunted again, and again with each constricting, convulsing release. Inside her, surrounded and devoured by her tight, hot embrace.

  *

  His eyelids showed heavy after they’d flowed together a third and maybe final time for the night. Maybe. She looked at him and giggled, not quite believing the level he’d taken her to, she’d taken him to, they’d taken each other to.

  It shocked her when she looked up at the red neon clock. 3:00 a.m. Two hours had gone by in a fantastic, dreamlike blink of an eye.

  And now Ben held her in his arms. He didn’t make it fourteen hours, but he definitely made her night—no, her year. Who was she kidding? He’d blown her decade—her entire sexual lifespan was rocked by this man. Practically a stranger, but too familiar for her to put into words.

  Words. At the bar. Words and judgments had been spoken and made and unleashed, and all very likely true. Brave, true words from this doctor, this tall stranger, this man with the forever-sun in his eyes.

  CHAPTER 12

  She couldn’t see the clock in her current and extremely delectable position—spooning and safe in Ben’s grasp. And even though the soft sunlight creeping under the blackout drapes gave her a general gauge, well, based on yesterday’s guest room surprise, she needed to check just in case. She shifted only slightly as not to wake him. But the neon digital numbers were still halved from her vantage point. She lifted up onto her elbow so she could see over Ben, onto his nightstand. 10:00 a.m.

  Okay, plenty of time.

  Her eyelids sank back down like a cozy blanket, her body still entwined with his, at home in a hotel room, as if they had been there forever.

  He stirred then smiled, a slight hum escaping his lips.

  “Mmmm, Jamie—I could lie here for days and days with you in my arms.”

  Jamie?

  A quivering scowl swallowed her smile as her heart rammed her rib cage.

  Mmm-hmm, his “sister.” Right.

  Goddamn prick.

  And fuck me! Too good to be true usually was. Her chest heaved with silent regret and disdain and more sinking disappointment. To let herself go wild about this man. Ugh, she could just strangle herself.

  How had she let this happen? A married man? A married passenger man. And a doctor? The doctor from her flight! Medical report cosigners. She’d crossed so many lines she could hardly count—or breathe.

  Too much and too depressing.

  She rolled out of the bed, sly and stealthy, and threw on just enough clothing for the quick escape to her hotel room down the hall. She found her room key, tucked her panties, bra, and shoes under her arm, and slid out, shutting his hotel room door behind her with the quietest, most anticlimactic click of the latch.

  *

  Brushing his teeth, he didn’t go over it again in his head for the fifth time that morning—her leaving his arms, his bed, his room before he woke. And after eating breakfast alone in the barren bar, he didn’t analyze the why or what behind the lack of handwritten message on the pillow, the counter, the bathroom mirror, or…maybe in his shoe? And no answer when he knocked at her door or called her room.

  But by noon when she wasn’t down in the lobby to catch the minivan to the mini airport, he wasn’t angry or self-conscious that she’d left him cold. No, he was worried for her, that she’d miss the flight. And maybe that he’d done something, said something, or hadn’t?

  But they’d connected. In his gut he knew they’d connected. So something had to have happened. She left some message or note of explanation at the front desk. No doubt.

  Reluctant but compelled, he went to the front desk clerk with the dangerously flirty eyes. She leaned forward as he approached, her cleavage too pronounced for his comfort. Jesus, this generation…

  “Yes, hello. Can you try calling room one twenty-three? Preeya Patel should be down here by now for the airport shuttle.”

  “Ms. Patel has already checked out, sir.” The girl’s voice was too breathy for the context.

  What the hell? Had the airline rerouted her? Yes, that must’ve been it, and she just didn’t want to wake him. And now he knew he’d missed a note with her phone number somewhere in his room, or maybe even with Miss Young Thing here, and she was withholding Preeya’s message, playing with him.

  “What time did she check out?”

  The girl looked at her screen. “At ten thirty, it says here, sir.”

  “Any messages left by her, for me? I’m in room—”

  “One eighteen. Yes, sir, I mean Dr. Trainer, I know,” she said with a wink. God, this was bordering on awkward. She started typing, shaking her head from side to side. “No, Doctor. No messages. But is there anything I can get for you?” Head tilted, lashes batting.

  He heard a car pull up to the automatic entrance doors, which slid open on cue. “No. Thank you, though.” He placed his room key card on the counter and sighed. “Take care, now.” He took himself and his roller bag out to the shuttle, confused and fighting disappointment. No message. No number. What the hell? What the hell had he missed?

  *

  When her flight team arrived, a proud smirk took over her face.

  “Kell!” Jess from San Diego called over her shoulder. “Do you see what I see?”

  “I’m not sure,
Jess. It looks like Preeya beat us here, and seems to be done with seats, carts, and, Jesus, bulkheads, too? But, you know, I had a crazy night with John from Atlanta—it could be all that leftover adrenaline flowin’ through me, making me see things,” Denver Kelly teased. Preeya had worked with the two enough times over her FA stint for the expected reaction.

  “I can get here on time! Even early! It’s not unheard of,” Preeya defended with a light huff.

  “Preeya, love, it really is unheard of. But yes, you’ve always been able to.” Kelly cracked up. The tall, slender blonde swayed her narrow hips down the aisle toward her and kissed her cheek. “Good to see you, girlfriend. And thanks for hitting the check sheet for us.”

  True motivation be told, Preeya had done everything possible to avoid the main concourse, and the plane served as the ultimate hideout. Plus, busywork took her mind off her fury.

  When she’d gotten to the airport way early, she’d had no cover at all to escape a run-in with Ben. There was no Jetta Air lounge in damned Boise, Idaho. For a couple of long hours she hid behind her book while tucked away at a back booth in the airport’s one bar, figuring that he’d never gravitate to it—if he came looking for her, which he wouldn’t because he’d already gotten what he’d wanted. So yeah, the bar was a safe bet—he’d probably revert back to rigid and responsible as soon as he stepped out of the hotel. Into the real world. The world where he’s married or involved or whatever the fuck. Asshole.

  Dr. Ben Trainer, just another damn cliché.

  Which made her into yet another cliché. Dropout, trolley dolly, flaky fiancée, has-been groupie. Ugh. Now Dr. Ben’s on-flight medical assistant turned off-flight side fuck.

  Just, no!

  Hey, Pree, no regrets. And live and learn—another mom-ism.

  Okay, fine…learn then! Stop making the same fucking mistakes, and learn!

  She’d gnashed her teeth hard realizing that waiting until Vallarta to begin her whole self-focus thing had been a stall tactic. No more waiting, no more excuses. That’s when she’d stopped thinking and started moving. Through the terminal at top speed-walk-in-heels speed. Long before the ninety-minute mark for her shift’s check-in, she’d rolled her little carry-on to her gate while praying that the aircraft would be early.