by Julie Cannon
Now that Jordan didn’t need her every moment of every day, the reality and loneliness of her life had started to set in. At times she felt guilty and almost resentful of Andrea’s death. Her friends were right. She was too young to continue to live under the ghost of Andrea. The cracks in the façade were starting to splinter.
“We’re here for you, Mattie. To support you however you need and to kick you in the ass, which is what we’re doing. But don’t worry. We won’t cramp your style…”
“Or your ability to get laid.” Sandra said.
Matt rolled her eyes.
“Or your ability to be alone,” Becca said, emphasizing the word but with still the same meaning. “We have a three-bedroom suite, and we can giggle and gossip like we did in college.”
“I don’t even know where we’re going.” Matt had read the departure date was in ten days and that the final destination on her ticket was Providenciales, but she had no idea where it was.
“Providenciales is one of the islands in Turks and Caicos. It’s a territory of the UK and is southeast of the Bahamas. You’ll love it there,” Becca said.
Matt looked at her friends, who had always supported her. They’d been there for her, helped her pick up the pieces when Andrea was killed, and sat with her when Jordan had a raging fever in the middle of the night. They babysat when she had to go on a book tour and listened to her vent about the unfairness of Andrea dying. They were more than her friends; they were her family.
It would be good to get away for a while. The press was clamoring for a statement, and the Military Times was waiting for her comment on the article they’d written about Andrea. She’d read it three times, and it still sounded cold. Her wife had died, for God’s sake, and all they were focusing on was that Andrea would be the first open lesbian to be awarded the Medal of Honor. They’d just stated the facts, included no emotion. No mention of the wife and young son she’d left behind when she was killed. Andrea was a vibrant wife and mother, with hopes and dreams for them as a family. Yet the article painted a flat, one-dimensional picture of the thirty-eight-year-old army nurse who had lost her life saving others.
It had been six years since Andrea came home in a gleaming metal coffin covered by the American flag. She was flanked by eight honor guards, the edges of the stars and stripes flapping in the light, afternoon breeze.
Reluctantly Matt took the envelope Becca and Sandra had left and set it on the seat next to her under her phone. She had zero chance of returning it and found that she didn’t want to. She needed to get away, out from under the sweltering blanket of her in-laws, her responsibilities of taking care of everyone else before herself. She needed time for herself. Everyone did. She planned to enjoy this vacation to the fullest. Sun, sand, and sex.
“When do we leave?”
Chapter Two
Other than several businessmen typing away feverishly on their laptops, the first-class lounge was nearly empty. Kelly Newsome had arrived in plenty of time for her 8:15 a.m. flight and enjoyed the complimentary breakfast and delicious coffee. She’d traded Suzanne’s ticket for an upgrade to first class. She deserved it.
She and Suzanne had planned to spend the next two weeks enjoying everything Providenciales, one of the main islands in Turks and Caicos, had to offer. They had reservations for a jet-ski tour to the adjacent islands, snorkeling in Turtle Bay, trying their skill at kite surfing, wandering the city streets, museums, art galleries, and even taking a day trip to the island of Grand Turks to watch the cruise ships arrive and depart. They’d also talked about making love in the warm sand on a secluded island and a chartered sunset dinner cruise for two.
Along with the hotel, deposits for these other activities had been paid, and when she’d called to cancel, she’d found out they were non-refundable. Kelly had enough to deal with and didn’t want to humiliate herself further by begging for a refund because she’d caught the woman she’d been involved with for the past three years having sex with one of her good friends. Or at least she had been one of her friends.
“Miss Newsome?”
A beautiful young woman in a crisp airline uniform stood in front of her, an expectant look on her face. Obviously, she’d called her name more than once.
“I’m sorry. Yes?” Kelly said, wrenching her mind back to the present.
“Your flight to Miami will be boarding in a few minutes.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I get you anything before you board?”
Other than a do-over of the past few years but with a completely different ending, she thought. “No, thank you, Pam,” she replied, looking at the gold nametag perched above her perky left breast.
She made a stop in the ladies’ room and caught her reflection in the mirror as she washed her hands. Kelly, always on the lean side, had lost more than a few pounds in the past few weeks. She wasn’t heartbroken or paralyzed with grief; she simply didn’t have much of an appetite. Her shoulder-length blond hair was up in a ponytail, her green eyes sharp but tired. She’d long ago stopped trying to cover the scar on the left side of her neck that ran from just in front of her ear to three inches below her jaw. The bright-red, ugly scar from the stick her brother had thrown at her when she was six had faded to a pale, thin line that, as she got older, would look just like all the other lines in her neck. She was not looking forward to that.
Kelly owned a small women-only electrical company, and as her company grew, her time outdoors had dwindled, but she tried to get out on a site as much as she could. No way could she come back from two weeks on the beach without a spectacular tan. She’d picked up two thick books at the local indie bookstore to read while doing nothing but soaking up the warm sun and drinking exotic, fruity drinks with umbrellas. Kelly took her hair down, picked up her backpack, scrolled to her boarding pass, and set off for the gate to paradise.
She stowed her carry-on under the seat in front of her as her fellow passengers jockeyed for the overhead storage space. She always traveled light, typically checking one medium-sized bag and carrying a smaller one for her laptop, iPad, and snacks. She gave her drink order to the attentive flight attendant and wiped her seat belt, tray table, and the arm of her seat with the disinfectant wipe she pulled from the package.
“Do you have one of those to spare?” the woman across the aisle asked, pointing to the bright-yellow package in Kelly’s hand. The woman was in her mid-sixties, with jet-black hair and penciled-on eyebrows. “That’s a great idea,” she said pointing to the package in Kelly’s lap. “Don’t want to get sick before we even get there.”
Kelly handed her one of the damp wipes.
“Are you headed to Miami for business or pleasure?”
“Just a connection,” Kelly said, hoping to end the conversation.
“Someplace fun and exotic?”
Before she had a chance to answer, the woman continued. “My husband and I are staying for a week in South Beach. He had a meeting he couldn’t get out of. He’s flying in tomorrow.”
“Enjoy yourself,” Kelly said, hoping she didn’t sound too rude. The other passengers were starting to file in, and she didn’t want to spend the entire flight talking with a stranger. She wanted to relax and enjoy the bestselling lesbian adventure book in her lap.
Kelly occasionally glanced up as dozens of people passed her row, chatting and looking ahead for their seat. Rollaway suitcases were pulled behind personal travelers, some in shorts, others in jeans. Briefcases stocked with laptops and paperwork hung over the shoulders of business travelers dressed in Brooks Brothers’ suits or expensive classic dresses.
Two women obviously traveling together walked by, but not before one of them gave her more than a passing glance and a knowing nod. Jeez, did everyone cheat, Kelly asked herself. An overweight man in a rumpled suit stopped in the aisle and rudely tossed his briefcase onto the seat next to her. It took him two attempts to heave his carry-on into the bin above her. Every time Kelly flew, she was always afraid of a suitcase falling o
n her head and breaking her neck. If there ever was a time to worry about that, this man was it. Finally, he fell into the seat behind her.
She scrolled through her phone for any last-minute messages or crises from one of her foremen. Since she had an all-female workforce, forewomen was probably more accurate, but it was a pain in the ass to say. She wasn’t hung up on labels. She trusted her crew, yet things did come up that needed her attention or approval to move forward. It was her company, and she shouldered all the responsibility.
Her parents had sent a note telling her to have a good time, and one of her brothers said to make him proud and fuck everybody who was willing. Joe could be such a crude ass sometimes, she thought. No. Strike that. All the time. But he was her favorite and only eleven months younger. One of her friends was still hinting she’d gladly take Suzanne’s place, not in her bed, but in the upscale room at the resort. When Kelly had booked the trip, she had shared the link with her friends, who went gaga over photos of the rooms, grounds, and beautiful women. The trip had cost a small fortune, and Kelly had originally balked at the idea, but now, she was definitely ready for this trip.
She’d worked practically nonstop through high school to afford four years of college. Her scholarship was only for tuition, and she still had major expenses to cover on her way to a teaching career. She’d discovered her interest in electricity and shifted her focus. Unlike most of her friends at Logan High and those that had gone on to traditional college, Kelly had saved every penny, nickel, and dollar she earned, getting her union card with far less student-loan debt than her peers. She had made her last loan payment eighteen months after starting her first job and was thrilled to be out from under that albatross.
Kelly turned off her phone, pushed all negative thoughts aside, and opened her book, symbolically beginning her vacation.
Chapter Three
The throng of passengers surged toward the gate attendant, jockeying for position to get in front of the person behind them and secure the coveted overhead storage space. Matt didn’t understand why they didn’t just pay the measly twenty-five dollars and check their luggage. It would certainly make for a smoother and quicker boarding.
When she was a member of the corporate life, she’d traveled several times a month, and flying had become nothing but a pain-in-the-ass hassle. After getting knocked in the head by a wayward backpack or oversize shoulder bag wielded by a rude or unsuspecting passenger heading down the aisle like they were the only one on board too many times, she always boarded last. When she flew first class it was worse, with everyone looking at her and her fellow passengers to see if they were someone famous.
Matt handed her boarding pass to the gate agent, who scanned it. When the green light lit up, she looked at her screen. “Have a good flight, Ms. Parker.” Matt murmured her thanks and followed Becca and Sandra down the jetway.
An overweight, rude man, wearing a suit that might have fit him thirty pounds ago, jumped in front of Matt just as she was about to enter the aircraft. He was juggling a cup of Starbucks and a phone, dragging a carry-on that should have been checked. Becca and Sandra continued down the aisle to their seats. She exchanged a look of disbelief with a fifty-something flight attendant with dyed red hair and too-white teeth. The man stopped at the last row in first class, blocking her path as he struggled to get his bag into the overhead space. The flight attendant watched him, then looked at Matt. He was in first class, and she probably should have offered some assistance, but she turned her attention to passengers stacking up behind them instead. Matt couldn’t blame her. The guy was an asshole.
Her gaze wandered and landed on the passenger in the sixth row. The morning sunlight streamed through the window onto her blond hair. From what little Matt could see, she was attractive and had a copy of the latest book of one of Matt’s favorite lesbian authors in her lap. The woman had good literary taste, she thought. When Matt glanced up, the woman was looking at her. Matt’s pulse skittered as the woman’s green eyes met hers. An electric current passed through her. It was a familiar yet dormant sensation she hadn’t been sure she’d ever experience again. Her breath hitched, and her mouth was suddenly very dry.
“That’s a great book,” she somehow managed to say. Her hands were sweating, and little butterflies were dueling in her stomach. Tingling was also going on farther south of the butterfly fight zone. A puzzled look crossed the woman’s face.
“Renegade.” Matt pointed to the book in her lap. “I love Joanna Baines. She’s a great writer.” Matt had no idea she was going to say any of that and was shocked the words appeared to flow smoothly out of her mouth. She was so rattled by her instant attraction to the woman, she had a hard time remembering her own name.
Recognition flashed across the woman’s face when she realized Matt must be a lesbian. Why else would she have read the lesbian romantic-intrigue novel? Like her short, spiky haircut and her tailored shirt and shorts weren’t enough of a clue. The woman smiled, and two dimples appeared in her cheeks. Matt’s pulse skittered a little more.
“Don’t tell me how it ends,” she said, her eyes sparkling.
She had a soft Southern drawl, and Matt immediately thought of honey on a hot summer day. A tickle ran down Matt’s spine. “My lips are sealed.” She used her thumb and finger to mimic locking them with a key.
The woman’s eyes shot to her lips, and from this angle, Matt saw a spark. The butterflies in her stomach swarmed.
Matt wanted to say more, but the man chose that moment to flop into his seat, and Matt had no choice but to continue down the aisle.
“Enjoy” was all she was able to say, but their lingering eye contact said much more.
Her shaky legs carried her to her aisle seat next to Sandra. She pulled out her iPad, then stowed her bag beneath the seat in front of her.
“What took you so long?” Becca asked from her seat next to the window.
“She was making time with the blonde in first class,” Sandra said.
Matt’s head turned. “What?”
“The woman, in first class,” Sandra repeated. “I saw you talking to her.”
“What? What did I miss?” Becca careened her neck over the seat in an obvious attempt to see who Sandra was talking about.
“Give it up, Bec. You’ll never see her from where you are,” Sandra said, pulling Becca back into her seat.
“I was just making conversation while that guy was hogging the entire aisle like he owned it,” Matt said, hoping she didn’t sound as rattled as she felt.
“I don’t know,” Sandra said in a conspiratorial tone. “Your face lit up like you saw presents under the Christmas tree.”
“And what am I going to do about it?” Matt said, then realized she’d just admitted to the attraction. The best defense is a strong offense was the theory, anyway. “I don’t even know her name, and we are in an airplane, for God’s sake.”
“Ever heard of the mile-high club?” Sandra nudged her with her shoulder.
“Ew,” Becca said. “An airplane bathroom? How romantic,” she added sarcastically.
“Romance has nothing to do with it.” Sandra winked at Matt. “There’s something to be said about anonymity. You never have to worry about the awkward morning after, and you can really cut loose.”
Matt was spared any more conversation about sex and airplanes as the recorded pre-flight announcements began.
An hour into the flight, she was still thinking about the woman in 6B when she saw her step into the aisle and head for the lavatory. If she were honest with herself, Matt would have admitted she’d thought of nothing else since she’d sat down. She saw attractive women every day, and more than a few flirted with her, but what was it about this one that had caught and held her attention? She wasn’t pretty. She was gorgeous. Her dimples added to her beautiful face, and her hair looked thick enough to glide through her fingers. Matt didn’t believe in love at first sight and knew her pheromones had been sorely neglected, but was it something else? She wrote
about instant chemistry, and her books flew off the shelves, so there must be something to the concept. When she’d met Andrea she’d felt a jolt of attraction, but nothing like the earth-moving thunderbolt she’d experienced an hour ago. With all the talk about sex on her vacation, her mind had to be playing tricks on her body. Yes, that must be it.
Just before she opened the door, the woman turned and looked directly at her.
Matt’s row was only a few behind the first-class section, and even from this distance she couldn’t miss the expression of interest and maybe even invitation in the woman’s eyes. Even if she were up for it, a quickie with a lover would be exciting, but it seemed downright crude otherwise. Even if it was the first-class bathroom, a toilet was a toilet anywhere. However, when 6B turned and looked at her before she closed the lavatory door behind her, Matt almost changed her mind.
Chapter Four
“You were right,” Kelly said to the woman who had commented on the book she was about to read. They were the only two at the checkout counter of a small kiosk. When the woman turned, Kelly was looking directly into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
She’d intentionally taken her time departing the aircraft, hoping to run into the woman again. After their brief conversation when she’d boarded, Kelly had turned in her seat and watched the woman walk down the aisle. When the woman sat down, their eyes met again. Kelly’s pulse rate had rocketed, and she hadn’t minded getting caught looking.
The woman was in her mid-thirties and several inches taller than Kelly. Her dark hair and blue eyes were an unusual combination, and she wrenched her brain back to high school biology to remember if that was even possible. It didn’t matter. The woman was captivating. She was wearing a pair of shorts that showed long, tan legs, a long-sleeve shirt, and well-worn deck shoes. The bag over her shoulder was expensive but well used, her perfume light and alluring.
When Kelly had seen her, the first thing she’d thought of was the phrase that the best way to get over someone is to keep your mind occupied and focus on something else. Her “something else” that had kept her mind busy was imagining the way the woman’s lips would feel trailing a fire down her skin, how her desire would increase and match the rapid cadence of her heart. How it would feel to have hands roam freely over her soft, smooth skin. The sight of an erect nipple, the first touch of the woman’s warm, wet center, the taste of desire. Kelly didn’t need to get over Suzanne. She was old news. They’d planned this trip months ago, and it had been shortly after everything was paid for when she told Suzanne to get lost.
