by Cathryn Fox
I turn back to the newspaper, and while my focus is usually laser sharp, the clanging at the back of the plane pulls my attention. What the hell is she doing back there, busting the place up? Something falls and smashes, followed by a round of muted curses. I unbuckle to see what the hell is going on. Khloe has her back to me as I walk toward her, and I’m about to look over her shoulder when I reach her. But she turns at that exact moment, and the large glass of brandy in her hand hits my chest, soaking us both.
“Dammit,” she says, and tries to jump away, but with the counter digging into her back she has nowhere to go. I, on the other hand, have plenty of room behind me. So why aren’t I distancing myself, putting a measure of space between our vibrating bodies?
My dick twitches.
Ah yes, and therein lies the answer.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Carson,” Khloe says.
“It’s Will,” I grumble.
Back arched, she fishes a cloth off the counter and dabs it to my chest. Tension arcs between us, sizzling down the length of our too-close bodies. I haven’t felt this kind of arousal in a long time. It’s definitely not something that comes along every day.
I slip off my suit jacket and work the buttons on my shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting changed. I’d rather not spend the next four hours in a wet shirt.”
“Oh, right. Of course.”
“Do you have a change of clothes?” I ask.
“Someone on the ground put my luggage in the outside baggage compartment.”
With only a breath of distance between us, I peel my shirt off and take the cloth from her. I mop the brandy from my chest, and a strange little squeaking sound rises in Khloe’s throat.
“You okay?”
She blinks twice, rips her focus from my chest and straight-up asks, “I suppose you’re firing me for this?”
My attention drifts from her eyes to her mouth as she drives her teeth into her bottom lip. “You think I’d fire you for something as trivial as this?”
“I heard things about you.”
I let loose a laugh and shake my head. “What’s the latest I’m being called, Khloe? Asshole?”
A grin flirts with her lips as her eyes cut to me. “Well, maybe.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” I say.
I hand the cloth back to her and step away to grab a clean shirt from my bag. I pull my case from the overhead bin and take out a dress shirt and T-shirt. Khloe still hasn’t moved from her spot.
“Which would you prefer?” I ask.
“Both will probably float on me.” She shrugs. “But I guess I can tie the dress shirt at the waist.”
“Dress shirt it is,” I say, and tug on the T-shirt as I move to the back of the plane to hand the button-down over. Her fingers curl around it, and she glares at me as I stand there.
“Do you mind?” she finally blurts out.
“Mind what?”
“I’m not about to get half-naked in front of you. I don’t even know you.”
“Are you saying if you knew me, you’d get half-naked?” I ask, and keep the smile from my face as her cheeks flame red. Look at that. I guess now I do know how she’ll react when I push her buttons. Truthfully though, I shouldn’t be teasing her.
“Either turn around or point to the bathroom so I can change.”
I jerk my head to the left. “Bathroom’s right there.”
She slides past me, her warm body brushing mine, and her sweet vanilla scent reaches my nostrils.
“What do you like to drink?” I ask, switching focus.
She turns back to me. “I’m easy.”
That makes me smile, because I don’t get the sense that anything about her is easy.
“But leave it. It’s my job. I’ll fix us both a drink after I change.”
“And I can fix us both one while you change.”
She eyes me like she doesn’t know what to make of that. “Fine, I’ll just have what you’re having then.”
“Brandy on the shirt?” Her eyes widen at the joke. “See, not always an asshole,” I say, and turn my attention to making the drinks. I reach for two tumblers and add a splash of brandy to both. I take a sip of mine as I head back to my seat. Newspaper back in hand, I begin to read again. My mind drifts to the real reason I’m headed to Saint Thomas. While I have a home there and plan to work on my algorithms, I need to check on Granddad’s luxury hotel. It was destroyed by hurricanes, and a lot of people were out of work because of it. It’s back up and running now, and I want to make sure everything is proceeding smoothly. I also need to work on staffing for Leonard Elementary, the school we’re building to replace the old moldy one. As I consider that, I realize Khloe hasn’t returned to her seat. What the hell is she doing in that bathroom? I check my watch. Christ, she’s been in there for a good twenty minutes.
Pushing from my seat, I go to the door and knock. “Khloe, is everything okay?”
“Uh, just not sure about this shirt.”
“You’d prefer the T-shirt?” I ask, and reach over my shoulder, about to peel it off.
“No, that won’t help either.”
“Come out here. Tell me what’s going on,” I demand. A second passes, and the sign on the door finally changes from Occupied to Vacant. Her damp T-shirt is balled up in her hands, and she’s pressing it hard against her chest as she steps from the lavatory.
“I had to remove my bra,” she says, “and this shirt is white.”
“All my shirts are white. So are my T-shirts.”
“That’s why I said nothing you have will help.”
“Help with what?” I ask, and when her chest heaves, understanding dawns. She’s worried her nipples are going to be visible. But now that I’m thinking about her nipples... Shit, that’s a distraction I don’t need. “Hang on.” I open the overhead compartment again and pull out a blue blanket. “This should help.”
For the first time since she boarded the plane, a smile makes an appearance, and something inside me twists. “Thanks, Will.” She adjusts the blanket over her shoulders, and my gaze drops to take in a hint of pink brushing against the fabric before it’s hidden from my view.
Jesus.
Her body is ripe and lush, and my hands itch to slide down her back and grab a fistful of her sweet ass. Not only is she different from the young, fresh-out-of-college girls who do temp work for me, she’s the opposite of the rail-thin women in my social circle. I loved Naomi, but she needed to eat more than a salad. No matter how much I encouraged it, she always refused.
I clear my throat. “When we land, I’ll get your bag, and you can change before you deplane.”
I wave my hand for her to sit, and she tightens the blanket around her shoulders as she hurries to her seat. I follow, all the while admiring her curves. As she settles herself, I wonder what her story is. Married? Single? Boyfriend? Then again, it’s none of my business. Still, I might ask Granddad how he found her and why he thought she was a good choice. I hand her drink over, and she takes a sip, her skin paling even more. Something buzzes in the back of my brain, something just out of reach as my gaze rakes over her white face.
“Do I know you?”
CHAPTER THREE
Khloe
“AH, I’M NOT SURE,” I say, the cold pizza I’d eaten for breakfast threatening to rise up and make a second appearance. I thought I was nauseous from my ordeal at Starlight this morning. Now I think I might be coming down with something. Either that, or I shouldn’t have eaten that leftover slice sitting on the kitchen counter all night.
Will’s eyes narrow in on me. “Khloe,” he says, and the way he says my name, like he’s savoring it, does the weirdest things to my insides. Then again...leftover sausage pizza.
He sits forward, and I catch a hint of his aftershave. Sandalwood,
beach and... Will. I inhale slowly. That scent could magically melt the panties right off a woman. I’m pretty sure mine are currently on fire. Honestly, if someone bottled it and called it Panties Be Gone they’d make a fortune.
Strength and power radiate from Will’s hard body as he inches closer, his long legs stretched out before him. I do my best not to envision them wrapped around my body.
Sometimes my best just isn’t good enough.
“I think I might know you,” he says.
“You...think?” I ask, trying to focus on what he’s saying to me.
“Is your last name Davis?”
Oh, God, he knows. He knows I’m Khloe Davis, sensationalized crime reporter from Starlight. He’s liable to open the deck door and toss me out mid-flight. But I don’t think that’s possible at our flying altitude. At least I hope not. I gulp, and the world spins around me.
“Yes, it is,” I manage to get out as bile punches into my throat. I’m not sure if it’s from his revelation or my upset stomach. Either way, this isn’t good. Not good at all. James wanted to keep my identity a secret, and this man hates reporters.
“Your father used to work for my granddad, right?”
“He did,” I say quickly and realize there is no way he could put it together since I use a pen name. A wave of relief hits me, but it’s short-lived. I take a few deep breaths as an invisible fist grips my tightening throat.
“You were in the car that day Granddad picked me up from swimming lessons.”
“That was you?”
“Yeah, and you were as pale then as you are now.”
“I...I had the chicken pox.”
Don’t get sick, Khloe. Don’t get sick.
“Right, I remember.” Alarm widens his eyes. “Wait, you don’t have them again, do you?”
“No, I think I have...” We hit an air bump, and before I know what’s happening, Will has me by the elbow and is rushing me to the bathroom. No. No. No. I am not going to throw up in front of the hottest guy on the planet.
Wrong.
Two seconds later I’m on my knees bent over the toilet heaving my guts out, and Will is standing directly behind me. He pulls my hair back, and in that instant, with my head buried in the porcelain bowl, I pray to God I get sucked out into the abyss. But no, I don’t have that kind of good luck.
“I’m...okay,” I say. “Can you please leave and shut the door?”
My hair tumbles gently over my back as he lets it go, and I’m grateful when he leaves me to die alone. I groan, but then he’s back. He’s saying something, but I can’t quite hear with my head in the toilet.
He drops to his knees behind me, his pelvis pressed up against my rear end as he leans over me and puts a cloth to my forehead. I moan against the damp coldness. “That feels soooo good,” I say. Will’s body goes rigid, and a soft hiss leaves his mouth.
Oh, wait, crap!
“I mean the cloth,” I hurry on, my voice muffled as I stick my head deeper into the bowl. “The cold cloth feels good.”
“You probably shouldn’t talk.”
No kidding, since I’m not thinking with any sort of clarity, and my words could be construed as sexual. It’s not like I was saying it felt good to have his pelvis pressed up against me.
Even though it does.
Good God, how desperate am I that I’m enjoying the feel of Will’s body—well, one part in particular—while I’m losing my breakfast in his toilet? Even if I had a chance with this guy, not that I want one, my current predicament would no doubt quash any interest on his part.
“I think you have the flu,” he says.
While I’d like to come back with some smart-ass comment that involves Einstein, the sarcastic retort dies on my tongue. We might have gotten off on the wrong foot, but he’s trying to take care of me as I die a slow and agonizing death. I vomit again, and Will reaches past me to flush the toilet. I heave a grateful sigh and wait to get sucked into space, but no. Like I said, I don’t have that kind of luck.
“Here,” he says, and puts a plastic cup to my mouth. I take a drink of water, rinse my mouth and spit. Not a dainty girlie spit either, if there is such a thing. No, it sounds more like a baseball player hacking up a sunflower seed.
And this, my friends, has become my life.
I moan and lift my head from the bowl.
“Feeling better?”
“A little.” I take another big drink and spill half the water over my shirt as the plane lurches. “Goddammit.” A sound crawls out of Will’s throat, and I glance at him over my shoulder. “Are you laughing?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Never thought it was. But I have to say, you’re handling it better than most.” Concern dances in his eyes.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t laughing, but I’ve been on the defense with him since I boarded the plane.
“Mouthwash?”
“Yes, please.” He pulls a travel-size bottle from the vanity, opens it and hands it to me. I rinse repeatedly and go back on my heels, only to end up sitting in Will’s lap. I’m about to apologize and slide off when his hand goes around my waist to hold me in place.
“It’s okay. I got you,” he says, and my heart does a ridiculous thump at his thoughtfulness. Truthfully, I’m not used to anyone taking care of me, and this is actually kind of...nice.
Nice? What the hell am I saying? I just vomited in front of Will Carson. There’s nothing nice about that—for either of us.
“You don’t have a parachute on this thing, do you?” I ask.
He chuckles slightly. “No, why?”
“I’d like to get off.”
I’d like to get off.
“I mean...”
“I’m actually getting a complex,” he says, a hint of teasing in his voice.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve met you twice now, and you vomited both times. How’s a guy not to take that personally?”
I groan and reach for a paper towel. My cheeks burn from sheer mortification. “I am so embarrassed.”
He puts his hand to my forehead. “You’re cold and clammy and slightly warm.”
“Pizza for breakfast,” I say. “Wasn’t my best decision.”
“If it was food poisoning, it would have hit you earlier. How about some ginger ale?”
“Not a bad idea.”
“Maybe some toast? It might help settle your stomach.”
“I don’t think I can eat anything.”
“Do you think you’re going to be sick again, or do you want to go lie down? The sofa opens to a bed.”
“I think I’d like to lie down. I guess now I know why I was so tired when I met with James today.” Worry grips my stomach, and I clutch Will’s arm. “I hope I didn’t give it to him.”
Will holds me by my hips and repositions himself so he can stand. “I’m sure he’s fine, but I’ll call him just to make sure.” He hauls me up with him and turns me around. With infinite tenderness, he slides a strand of damp hair from my face, and I let out a shaky breath. His arm drops, but his gaze stays locked on mine. His gorgeous blue eyes bore into my face, his gaze probing, searching.
“I’m okay,” I say. “My stomach is settling.”
“Yeah?”
I nod, and he slides his arm around my waist, but the damn plane hits another air pocket, and Will stumbles backward. I fall with him, until he’s splayed across a table and I’m on top of him.
I yelp and unsuccessfully try to push off of him. “I can’t get up.”
His arms lock me in place. “Hold on,” he says, his voice a degree deeper. What the hell? Why is he still holding me? Does he like me on top of him like this?
“Rough air,” he explains.
Guess not.
The plane b
umps again, and for a split second I’m floating over him. But then I drop, press down on his hardness, and arousal slams into me as our bodies collide.
“We need to ride it out for a second longer,” he says.
Ride it out.
A strange, inappropriate giggle rises in my throat and a crinkle appears between his brows at my bizarre reaction. I swallow—hard—and pull myself together. Good Lord, this flu has me acting completely out of character.
Yeah, blame it on the flu, Khloe.
“How long do you think it will last?” I ask, and when a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, my cheeks once again flare hot.
What is wrong with me? No matter what I say, it comes out sounding sexual. Why is that? Oh, probably because I’m flat out on top of the sexiest man alive, and even though I just finished losing my breakfast, everything about this guy reminds me I’m still a woman—one who hasn’t been touched in a long time.
“Shouldn’t be too much longer,” he says. “The pilots will adjust flying height to get us out of the wind shears.”
“I’m probably squishing you,” I say, and wiggle as I try to shift to the side of the table.
“Please stop moving.” His hands tighten around my body, and that innocent touch seeps beneath my skin and burns through my blood. “At least we managed to get you horizontal.”
“For your sake, you’d better hope I don’t get sick again.”
He laughs. An honest-to-God belly laugh. “You’ll give me a heads-up, right?”
“It’s possible. But the words might come out too late.” I emphasize the last word to let him know I’m still pissed off at his greeting. And seriously, James totally misled me with this assignment. I thought I’d be attending board meetings and taking notes, but no. I’ll be getting this man his brandy and whatever else his assistant does for him. Why would I need writing skills for that?
“Khloe,” he says, his voice a bit more serious.
I blink slowly, and when my lashes lift, I’m staring at blue eyes brimming with questions. “Yeah?”
“It’s not my business, but you’re different from the other girls who apply for temp work.”
