by Nina West
She spends the next ten minutes sucking him off while I answer Henry’s questions about the interview.
Wondering how the hell these kinds of things keep happening to me.
~ ~ ~
“Thanks so much for giving me the opportunity, Abbi.” Ryan sets the dozen Farm Girl sample bags I prepared into the back seat of the Jag.
The opportunity to what? Interview me? Or to fuck Margo?
I force a wide smile. “Of course. I hope the article is worthwhile for you.”
“It’s a great story. And Margo loves your products.”
“So do you. Remember? You complimented me on the smell of my skin.” She grins.
Ryan has the decency to blush. “Right. Well... thanks again.”
Margo tosses the keys to him. “You drive. I am tired.”
“Sweet. Don’t have to ask me twice.” He rounds the car and jumps in to the driver side. The engine starts with a purr.
Margo turns to smile devilishly at me. “Today was fun, oui?”
I heave a sigh, and then laugh. “It was something, all right.”
Grasping my biceps, she leans in to place kisses on both my cheeks, before leaning in to murmur in my ear, “He will write a magnificent article for you.”
“You don’t have to screw guys on my account, Margo.”
She winks. “That was for me.” With one last kiss, this one flat on my lips, she slides into the passenger seat. They pull away shortly, honking the horn several times on the way.
And I’m left shaking my head. Thank God Jed left when he did. Though he has stopped running to Mama about these kinds of things. If she knew what’d happened here today, she’d have Reverend Enderbey in to perform an exorcism on the land.
Chapter Nine
I tap my foot impatiently on the tarmac, watching the Wolf private jet as it glides off the runway and turns toward me. Henry’s flight from Barcelona was delayed by three hours due to poor weather. I should have just flown to New York and met him there, instead of having them stop at this small airport outside Pittsburgh to pick me up, but Henry insisted.
The plane’s engines are barely shut off when the exit door pops open. Jack Rodan, one of Henry’s regular pilots, pulls the stairs down. I assume that means it’s safe to approach, and so I do, not waiting for the attendant to give me the okay.
One by one, they all file out—first Miles, who’s practically running to get away, then a flight attendant I don’t recognize but whose face is filled with trepidation, then Jack and a slender graying man who must be the other pilot.
Henry’s voice carries all the way down. He’s yelling at someone.
I hesitate at the bottom of the steps, looking to Miles. “Who’s he talking to?”
“He’s on the phone. Something to do with Scott.” Miles gives me knowing look. He must have some idea about what’s going on. “He said to send you up right away, though.”
Jack takes my suitcase out of my hand. “We’ll be back in the air to New York as soon as he lets us back on.”
I climb the steps, my excitement over spending a few days with Henry now marred with worry.
Henry’s back is to me when I step inside the plane. His phone is pressed to his ear, his other hand settled on top of his head. “I don’t give a fuck! No! You and I both know there was nothing wrong with his mind in the week leading up to his death.... No....”
I toss my purse onto the seat, earning a glance from over his shoulder.
I smile warmly at him.
He turns away. “There’s no way I’m going against my dad’s wishes. You’ve seen the audit.... Are you fucking kidding me?” He roars. “Downing is one of the most reputable audit companies! I don’t have time for this bullshit. Shut it down, now!” He ends the call, then whips his phone at one of the white leather reclining chairs. “Son of a bitch!”
Knowing better than to ask him what’s wrong, I quietly make my way to him and reach around his body. Every muscle in him is tense, and his chest is heaving. I press my face into his back and smooth a hand over hard the ridges of his abdomen, hoping that might calm him down.
“Jesus, Abbi. I’m really not in the mood,” he mutters.
“Shhh... I know. I just missed touching you,” I whisper softly, my other hand going to his chest, pulling him closer into me. I inhale deeply, his scent alone stirring my blood.
Several silent, tense beats pass.
And then suddenly I’m being pressed up against the wall and Henry’s mouth is on mine, his lips forcing mine open, his tongue plunging inside, barely giving me a chance to breathe.
“Henry!” I gasp, breaking free, only to have his mouth move to devour my neck while his fervent hands unfasten the buttons of my blouse in seconds, then my bra. His stubble scrapes across my skin as he takes in a breast, even as his hands yank on my belt.
“Henry!” I glance over at the gaping doorway. “They’re coming back any second!”
“Why the fuck would you wear tight jeans to see me?” He curses, ignoring my worry. He yanks them down over my hips roughly, pushing them all the way down to my knees, taking my panties with them.
“Henry!”
He grabs me by the waist and carries me around the corner to a tiny service area, hidden from view of the plane’s entrance.
The miniscule metal counter is cold against my bare flesh as he hoists me onto it. He yanks off my shoes and then my jeans past my ankles, throwing them to the floor. “Dresses, Abbi. Skirts. Make it easy for me.”
With a sharp tug, the tiny service area curtain closes. He hastily unbuckles his belt and zipper.
“I thought you weren’t in the mood,” I mock, looking down to see his hard length jutting out.
He hooks his arms under my knees and hoists my legs back, testing my flexibility as he opens me up to him. “I changed my mind.”
I cry out with his first hard thrust into me, the intensity almost too much.
“It’s been weeks, Abbi.” Another hard thrust, and I bite my lip to keep everyone from hearing me. He’s tense and angry—not at me, I accept—and he needs a release.
And, I’ll admit, this ruthless side of Henry every once in a while is a turn-on. So I brace myself on the narrow counter, and I watch as over and over again Henry drills into me, my body growing more wet with each thrust.
“I had you in France, whenever and however I wanted you, and then in New York, and then nothing for almost three goddamn weeks! I don’t like it,” he growls as his hips hit my thighs over and over, our skin slapping against each other’s. “I’m done with this long-distance shit. I’m done with phone calls and texting, and watching you touch yourself over a fucking tiny screen.” He releases my legs and slides his hands around my hips to grip my ass, changing the angle. I moan as he gets deeper inside me, his eyes glued to where we’re joined, not relenting the pace as he begins hitting that spot that only he seems to know how to hit. “We need to figure out another plan, because I can’t take this anymore.”
“Sure. Whatever,” I pant, the back of my head smacking against a tiny cabinet, the pressure building deep inside. I won’t even need to touch myself to come this time around, if he keeps at this pace.
Ten brutally hard and fast thrusts later, I’m coming on him, trying not to make too much noise. Almost immediately after, Henry’s teeth grit together tightly and his thrusts slow. I feel him pulsing inside me.
And then our ragged breaths are the only sound on the plane.
“God, I hope no one came up those stairs,” I mutter, the embarrassment of Jack and Miles hearing any of that burning my cheeks.
“I told them not to step foot on here until I signalled that they could, or they’d be looking for new jobs,” Henry mutters, leaning in, his forehead pressed against mine.
I rub my hands up and down his biceps. “Do you feel better now?” There’s certainly less tension in his arms.
“For the moment.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
With a heavy
sigh, he slides out of me and tucks himself back into his pants. “Scott is arguing that my father might have been mentally unstable, and that the audit was false and that I had something to do with fabricating it. He says he has proof.” He shakes his head. “I don’t even want the goddamn mine, but there’s no way I’m letting him have it.”
I brush a wayward strand of hair back off his face, and then another. “I’m sorry.”
His gaze rolls over my naked body, still perched on the counter, my legs splayed. I don’t think I have the strength to move right now. He cups my heavy breasts in an almost reverent manner, tenderly smoothing his thumbs over my nipples. “I’ve missed you.”
“I noticed.” The fact that he’s freely admitting to it feels monumental. I hesitate. “Did you mean all that before? About being done with the phoning and texting and—”
“Ignore me. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” The last thing I want is for Henry to decide this isn’t worth it anymore. That he’d rather find a woman who’s free to follow him around the world. To be there whenever, wherever he needs her.
“Yes. It was in the heat of the moment. I normally have more control than that.”
Control over what?
His words? Or his emotions?
I swallow away my relief. “Just remember, this isn’t forever. Daddy’s doing really well and summer harvest is coming to an end soon. So if you want me there... I’ll be there. Soon.”
He chews his lip in thought. “Did you get any grief for coming out to see me?”
“No, oddly enough. Mama’s been a lot better lately. I think she might be coming around.” Between my dad’s physiotherapy appointments, and harassing him about speeding around in the golf cart, and complaining about everyone not “mindin’ their business” and telling her what to eat and drink and when to go for walks, she seems too preoccupied for thoughts of all the sinful things Henry might be doing to me to fester in her brain.
Of course she turned sulky when I told her I was heading to New York for a few days. She felt the need to vent to Aunt May in the kitchen that same night, loud enough for me to hear from my bedroom. And Aunt May—God love her—put her stubborn sister in her place quickly, reminding her that I love Henry and nothing Mama says or does will stop me from running to him, but the things she says and does will make me run from her.
Mama’s mood was improved the next morning, even if it was only a brave front on her part.
With a sigh, he grasps my hips and pulls me down. My legs feel like Jell-O. “Come on. Let’s get home.”
~ ~ ~
“So what exactly do you need me to do?” I ask as I settle into the golf cart.
Henry slides into the driver side. “Amuse me.” He’s in a better mood this morning than on the plane yesterday, though I did hear him raising his voice with someone over the phone while I was eating breakfast.
The golf cart lurches forward and I grasp at my hat before it flies away. It’s one of those floppy wide-brimmed sunhats that I’d never choose for myself. I asked Margo what one wears to a golf tournament when they’re not playing, and the next day a package arrived at my house in Greenbank with this inside. She insisted it would look “incroyable” on me, and I trust her judgment far more than my own. As far as style goes, anyway.
We speed along the paved path of the elite golf club, an hour’s drive from the city.
“Do you golf a lot?” I ask, mesmerized by the rolling hills and perfectly manicured grass, a bright green usually reserved for early spring months.
“Not if I can help it. It’s never been my thing.” Henry looks as enticing as ever in a fitted black golf shirt and dark gray pants that hug his ass.
“What does it involve exactly?”
He throws a surprised look my way. “You’ve really never golfed?”
“Does mini putt at the church’s charity picnic count?”
He makes a sharp right. “Concept is the basically the same. We go from hole to hole, trying to sink our ball with as few swings as possible.” He smirks. “But there aren’t any clown heads or train sets to aim for.”
Up ahead of us, seven men loiter on the embankment.
“Is that your team?”
“Along with the caddies, yes.” The young blond guy who swooped in to grab Henry’s clubs from the trunk of our car is busy organizing his bag.
I frown, eying the empty golf carts. “Where are the other.... I mean, did anyone else bring their wife or girlfriend... or whatever here?” How does Henry classify me, exactly? We’ve never talked labels, and the last time we had the relationship talk, it was, “let’s see where things go.”
“I’m sure they’re getting drunk in the clubhouse. The girlfriends are taking advantage of the spa and conspiring about how to swindle a marriage proposal. The wives are bragging about all the money they’re spending and the pool boys and landscapers they’re fucking behind their rich, ambivalent husbands’ backs. I can drive you back to the club house if you’d rather—”
“Nope. I’m good here.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “You sure?”
“As charming as they sound... yes, I think I’ll stay with you.”
I note everyone is dressed in similar fashion to Henry, in pants and collared shirts and special shoes. I adjust my seat, tucking my skirt beneath myself. “Am I dressed appropriately?”
“You’re with me. You can wear whatever the fuck you want.” He told me to choose something comfortable but nice enough for dinner in the reception hall, so I went with the modest emerald green sundress that Margo sent along with the hat, and strappy flat sandals. “But, yes. You look fine.” His eyes settle first on my chest, then farther down, to my lap. “How are you feeling today?”
“Still a little sore,” I admit.
“Hmmm... I’m sorry about that.”
“Are you?”
“Depends.” His lips twitch. “Will I be able to fuck you tonight?”
I keep my voice light and indifferent, even as I feel his words right between my legs. “Probably not until tomorrow. Or even the next day. I guess we’ll see how I feel.”
His jaw tightens and I start to laugh.
“Do you really want to play this game, Abbi?”
“Maybe.”
He reaches over to slip his hand beneath my skirt, settling it between my thighs, inches away from my panties. “You’ll break long before I do.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
He drags his thumb back and forth against my skin, oh so close, and I instinctively open my thighs wider, inviting him in. “I think I know you pretty well.”
“Care to bet on that?”
“Winner decides on the prize?”
I hesitate. Agreeing to that last time is how I ended up with Margo. But this time, I can win. “Deal.”
With a sigh, he slips his hand out and sets it on the steering wheel once again.
I distract myself with the men ahead. “So who are you playing with?”
“The guy on the left is George T. Rowling. He owns Dillon & Wells.”
“The bank?”
“That would be the one. And the guy in the red-striped shirt is Rick Newman. His family owns the firm that manages most of my investments.”
“So, another rich guy.”
He smirks. “They’re all rich guys. And important business partners for me, especially now, with the mine. Which is another reason why I had to come to this tournament.”
“And that last guy?” The tall, wiry man who watches us quietly. He must be in his forties, his dark hair graying at the temples. There’s no hint of a smile.
“That’s Dyson, a Wolf lawyer.”
I feel my brows lift. I saw plenty of confidential mails between Dyson and Henry, back when I was Henry’s assistant and Henry was dealing with “the Kiera mess.”
“Does he know we’re together?”
Henry pulls the cart up behind the others and hops out. “If he doesn’t, I’m guessing he’s
figured it out now. Why?”
“Just wondering what he thinks about it.” Henry’s romantic involvements with his staff were termed “indiscretions.” Does Dyson consider me nothing but an indiscretion?
“He gets paid to cover my ass, not to have an opinion about my love life.”
Henry’s love life. That he didn’t say “about who I’m fucking” makes my heart swell.
He pauses. “What’s that smile for?”
“Nothing.”
His narrowed gaze tells me he knows where my head’s at. He opens his mouth and I hold my breath.
“There are drink carts at almost every hole, and food stations along the way. And you can’t ask for better weather than this.” He glances up at the blue skies, not a cloud in sight. It’s going to be a nice day—eighty degrees Fahrenheit, according to the weather channel. “I’ll introduce you when we move to the next hole. Unless you really want to come up there and listen to a bunch of guys talk business.”
“I’m good right here.” I hold up the paperback I tucked into my purse. “Mama insisted I read it.”
“What’s it about?” He smirks. “How to become a nun?”
“Funny, but no, she would never suggest that. She’s desperate for grandchildren. No, it’s some crime thriller she picked up.”
“Well, enjoy it. And don’t get too drunk.” With a fast, hard kiss against my lips, he marches through the grass toward the group. I watch him exchange handshakes with the men. This is the business-savvy schmoozing version of Henry that I’ve seen before. He doesn’t kiss ass, he doesn’t fake laugh. He carries himself in a cool, calm way that seems to earn the respect of everyone around him.
After five minutes of chatter, someone flips a coin and Dyson slaps Henry on the shoulder. Henry hollers something at the caddy. The blond guy moves fast, grabbing a club from the bag and running to hand it to him.
Henry may hate golf but I watch him tee the ball and swing like a man who looks like he was born to do this. He sends the ball sailing into the air. I squint, trying to see where it lands. I can’t see it.
