Mr. & Mrs. Wright: A BWWM Romance (Wright Brothers Series Book 2)

by Stevens, Camilla

  He used the opportunity to seal the deal. “When was the last time you even took a vacation?”

  She blinked at the question. “I—I don’t know. I guess when”—she paused before saying his name—”Clayton and I went with friends to Jamaica.”

  “All the more reason to head to the other side of the planet.” he insisted, growling a little at the name of her ex.

  “But…” She waited, realizing that this time he wasn’t going to interject with another witty remark to win her over.

  Instead, he waited patiently, letting her come around to the idea that, just maybe, it wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Finally, London rolled her eyes and sighed. She gave Michael a quick frown before agreeing. “I don’t have to go topless there do I?”

  “With your assets it would be a shame not to,” he said, giving her a grin.

  She laughed and grabbed a pillow off the bed hitting him with it.

  * * *

  London and Michael, both being workaholics and partners in their respective firms, had far too many unused vacation days between the two of them.

  The law firm of Jefferson, Jefferson, Jefferson & Associates was still getting a spattering of media attention, with reporters camped out in front of their offices hoping for a shot of London making an appearance. As such, her father was more than happy to have her escape to far away lands. This was not the kind of publicity he endorsed, especially when it concerned his own daughter.

  It was a bit more complicated on Michael’s end. Corporate law firms like their corporate attorneys present and accounted for, but being the capable negotiator he was, he managed to make it work.

  The next day they were in the “honeymoon seats” in Business Class, on Iberia Airlines, courtesy of Michael Wright. He had briefly thought about just using a private jet, but had a feeling that London might scoff at that bit of pomp. Besides, they were both enjoying their current situation just fine. The way their seats were situated had them somewhat cocooned in their own little oasis in the middle rows right next to one another for the entire seven hour flight.

  “This is so surreal,” she said. “I’ve never flown like this before.”

  “Well, it’s not completely secluded,” he pointed out, looking across to the man cushioned by the widow in his own little pod. “But I think we can make it work,” he said with a wink.

  “Michael Wright,” she chided, “I won’t have you creating more fodder for the media. After all, this whole trip is designed to repair my reputation, not taint it!”

  He sighed and sat back in his seat. “I suppose I’ll have to hold it in until we get to Barcelona,” he said. “But be forewarned, London. Seven hours with you right next to me and no touching create’s quite the build up.”

  She laughed. “Well, I didn’t say we couldn’t touch,” she said, leaning over to him in the seat next to her and kissing him on his dented nose.

  He took the opportunity to grab her into a firm embrace and deepen the kiss.

  “Michael!” she squealed, causing the men on either side of their rows near the windows to look at them in annoyance.

  The couple ignored them as they embraced one another. Any misgivings about this trip London may have harbored were erased under Michael’s expert lips.

  This was most definitely worth it.

  Chapter 15

  “Brooklyn, do you even have a doctor’s note this time?” George asked.

  Brooklyn tried to put on her best forlorn face. “No, but it’s a…personal issue,” she looked up at him, trying to conjure up an embarrassed, yet “sickly” face.

  “Right,” he said, his face telling her in no uncertain terms that he was no longer buying it. “All the same, I can’t excuse this one. It’s been”— he looked at the computer screen he obviously already had open, waiting for yet another Brooklyn “sick” day—”four days in the past week. That doesn’t even count the times before this. I’m sorry, but if you don’t come back with a doctor’s note this time…well, it doesn’t look good.”

  Perhaps it was the recent developments with Alex. Perhaps it was the stress of trying to make a success at a career she truly wanted. Perhaps it was how much she really hated this job.

  “You know what?” she finally said with exasperation. “Fine. I quit!”

  As soon as the words left her mouth she had misgivings. In the back of her mind, she talked herself out of the terrifyingly negative thoughts that instantly bombarded her.

  No pain, no gain.

  No glory without sacrifice.

  In the end this would all be worth it.

  She saw the immediate relief on George’s face which told her she had just saved him the trouble of having to fire her.

  But it would be okay. She had a gallery representing her and willing to show her art. She had survived in New York City on far less than she had now.

  “Okay,” George said, not bothering to argue with her. “We’ll get the paper work set up. You’ve used up all your vacation and sick time doesn’t get counted in pay after you leave, not that you have much left.”

  She watched him, only half listening as he went into admin-speak regarding the termination of her having-a-job life.

  Dear god, what had she just done?

  * * *

  The good news was, she now had all the time in the world to dedicate to Jared and his absurd whims. He no longer greeted her with a patronizing frown as she now made it well ahead of schedule for his ridiculous timelines. In fact, over the next few days she was early.

  Things that once upon a time she would have complained could have been handled over the phone or email—solely to herself of course—she now actually looked forward to. What else was she going to do with her days after all?

  Yes, she’d be happy to come down to finalize the artist’s statement.

  No, it wasn’t a problem at all to come down to discuss lighting and spacing.

  I think the pictures are best hung in this order. Oh, you prefer it your way? Okay then (what am I even here for?).

  Jared inevitably did what he wanted anyway, completely ignoring her input. Either he was desperate to have his hand held during these discussions, or he just had a Nepoleanic need to remind her who was in charge. Brooklyn was putting her money on the latter.

  Speaking of money, her IT job had provided little in the way of her ability to create actual savings. Before this showing happened, she was going to need to find a way to make money.

  * * *

  That night she was once again circled by her friends. Considering the dual piles of shit that her love life and working life were in, cheap vodka was the main item on the menu.

  Brooklyn winced as she threw back another shot. “I’ve quit both my boyfriend and my job. That’s it ladies…I’ve officially screwed up my life.”

  She had shown them the photo and message. After a momentary bit of awkward and playful chatter about how well endowed he was—which was immediately halted by the glare on Brooklyn’s face—they all agreed, none of it made sense. So naturally they fell on the side of their girl.

  Since then it had become a game of guess the topic as she went back and forth between moaning about her job prospects and getting angry at Alex all over again.

  “As for a job,” Kay spoke up. “My friend works at Joe on the Go. They said the one on 34th St. has an opening and they know the manager there. They could put in a good word for you. Plus, you know they support independent artists, letting them hang their stuff on the walls for sale, so they’ll maybe be sympathetic to your need to deal with the gallery when you have to leave last minute.”

  Brooklyn nodded, holding a shot glass next to her face. “Thanks Kay,” she muttered.

  “I just don’t understand. Why Trina of all people? Does her boyfriend even know?”

  So they were back to Alex, then.

  “You know if it was me, I’d be on a plane to go scratch that puta’s eyes out,” Martina said, raising her shot glass up and then swallowing it wh
ole, with a wince. It was very cheap vodka.

  Brooklyn smiled at the toughest of her friends, enjoying the imagery. Then she thought of planes. Which made her think of money.

  “Right now I can’t even afford to hitchhike to Los Angeles,” she sighed falling back on the couch. “How could I have been so stupid!”

  Now they were back on the job. Annie reached over to pour more vodka in her glass. “Just a thought…” she began. They all turned to look at her. “Doesn’t Alex’s brother work—”

  “No, no, and no,” Brooklyn said, shooting her death stares. “Why would you even—?”

  “We’re just trying to help, Brooklyn,” Justine chimed in, saving Annie from Brooklyn’s growing wrath.

  Brooklyn grumbled incoherently. “I don’t need help. I don’t need anyone.”

  Chapter 16

  “Okay, fine. Babies,” London said, impaling a plump shrimp on her fork and plucking it out of her plate of paella.

  Michael laughed. “So…dive right into the heavy stuff, huh?”

  They had arrived in Barcelona late last night and, after a good night’s sleep, decided to take on the city in full force. After a day spent idly walking along Las Ramblas they eventually found their way to an older section of the city. Now they were enjoying a leisurely lunch of paella and a bottle of Valencian red wine

  London joined him with a laugh of her own. “Well, you won’t let me discuss or even look at the news or social media. No Dion Davis or Richard Wright—”

  “Rules which you’re totally violating right now by even mentioning those two,” he reminded her, scooping the juicy meat out of a mussel shell, and mixing it with the flavored rice before shoving it into his mouth.

  “My apologies, counselor,” London said bowing her head to concede the point. “So answer the question.”

  Michael thought about it. “Well, I suppose it’s one of those things you assume you’ll do but never really think too hard about. You know my thoughts about marriage”—he saw her look and quickly tagged on the necessary addendum—“before you, of course, my dear.”

  London gave him a cynical smile but thought about what he said. It wasn’t a “no.” It was just a “haven’t gotten there yet.” She could live with that. Heaven knows she was used to waiting.

  “And you?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said as though the question was absurd. “To be fair, I have slightly better influences in my life than you do, with Cleve and his two sons. And of course, daddy and my mother, though he’s not without his faults. Mom is great though,” London said, smiling into the distance, “She’ll make a great grandma.”

  Michael watched her from across the table, taking a sip of his wine. He wasn’t sure if it was the half-empty bottle of wine, but he instantly liked the idea of being a parent with London. There was definitely a yin-yang vibe going on between them, and he could see it working out well in raising children. Him having a natural tendency to spoil and be playful while she was the the rational voice of reason, reeling him back in.

  He shook his head, digging back in for another scoop of the paella. When the two of them eliminated their professional and, by default, personal New York lives, things got pretty heavy.

  Still, as he looked at her, currently concentrating on digging her own plump morsel out of a mussel shell, he smiled as he imagined a tiny version of her. One mini London firmly putting him in his place…all while she had him wrapped firmly around her tiny little finger.

  He grabbed the glass of red wine and took a good long swig. God help him if that little vision came to fruition.

  “Okay, so your turn,” London said. “Ask away.”

  He grinned before he responded. “Well, I hear there’s this nude beach somewhere nearby here in Barecelona and I was wondering—”

  “Absolutely not!” she laughed, throwing her empty mussel shell at him. “This is supposed to be serious, Michael,” she chided, though it was tempered by her amused smile.

  “Hey, I take seeing you naked very seriously, I’ll have you know.”

  “Well, I guess you have your answer don’t you,” she shot back, shaking her head at him with a laugh.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, waving the white flag. “Can I at least get a second one in since you refuse to even entertain the idea of—?”

  “Just ask,” she laughed exasperatedly.

  “Does it bother you that my father is Richard Wright?” he asked, all kidding aside. “I mean, don’t you worry about his…influence on my marriage worthiness?

  She looked up at him with a smile. “Michael, if I had any doubts about your marriageability I wouldn’t have flown half way across the world with you. I know you aren’t your father. You don’t have to remind me.”

  “Yeah, he just bothers me so much,” he confessed. “If you’re going to make the commitment to someone, you should stick with it. I’ve seen the destruction it can cause otherwise. If—when I make that sort of commitment, I want to make damn sure it’s for life.”

  That brought a smile to her face, but she hesitated bringing her eyes up to his. He waited, wanting her to see that there was meaning behind those words.

  Finally she looked up and blinked in surprise, looked away in embarrassment, then back at him.

  “So on to your father,” Michael said. “I take it he isn’t too keen on your dating me?”

  “Honestly, it’s surprising how much he’s come around,” she said, which pleased him. “I mean, he’s not particularly fond of the Wright name. And he wasn’t too hot to trot about me getting serious with a white man. But you”—she jabbed her fork in his direction with a wink—”he seems to think you’re alright.”

  “I suppose I have you to thank for that?” he asked.

  “I may gush a little about how wonderful you are,” she said, leaning in toward him with a teasing smile.

  “Gushing?” He laughed. “Now you’re making me feel like I’m in a boy band or something.”

  “Well, if you were, you’d definitely be the cute one,” she winked as she scooped a forkful of rice into her mouth.

  * * *

  They were full on paella and tipsy on wine, wandering the winding streets with random, narrow alleyways that were so different from the perfectly numbered grid of Manhattan.

  Michael was in a simple short-sleeved button shirt, jeans and flip-flops. London looked stunning in the white, sleeveless dress she had on, showing off the brown, glowing skin that was already absorbing the sun of southern Spain.

  Unable to help himself, Michael grabbed her around the waist. She yelped with surprise as he swung her around into an especially narrow, and completely empty alleyway. His body pressed hers against the terra cotta wall.

  “What are you doing?” she laughed.

  “Taking advantage of you Ms. Jefferson,” he mumbled as he leaned down to nibble on her ear.

  She squealed in delight as her body curved in toward his, her arms going around his neck, the momentary bit of privacy loosening her inhibitions.

  His lips made their way down the hollow of her neck, tasting the slightly salty tang of her skin, absorbing the floral hint of the lotion she had put on that morning.

  “Michael,” she moaned as his face pressed into her clavicle. He felt her hands running through his hair which was the tell-tale sign he had come to realize meant she was incredibly turned on.

  One leg came up around him and his hand slid down the side of her dress until it reached skin. Slowly it crept upward, underneath the hem of the white cotton fabric.

  All of a sudden they heard loud giggling.

  “Get a room!”

  The giggling turned into laughter, and the two of them broke apart in frustrated surprised. They turned to see a group of five teenagers, obviously American laughing and pointing at them with expressions that made the two of them feel like they were the ones being naughty teenagers.

  London and Michael turned their heads away with amused embarrassment. He took her hand and they fled do
wn the alleyway, laughing the whole way.

  “I guess maybe we should go back to our room,” he suggested. “The maid is probably done cleaning it.”

  London laughed as they slowed down. “At this rate, she’ll definitely have her work cut out for her.”

  He stopped to grab her again, pulling her into an embrace and whispered in her ear as he nibbled on it.

  “Challenge accepted,” he whispered.

  * * *

  They came back to find their room in immaculate condition. There was a momentary pause of guilt before they threw themselves on the bed, attacking one another.

  London leaned over him, undoing the buttons on his shirt as she kissed the hairy expanse that was exposed in its wake.

  Once his shirt was off he reached around to unzip the back of her dress, slipping the straps down her shoulders. London shrugged it down her body leaving her in nothing but her bra, underwear and sandals.

  “I want to pour sangria all over your body and lick it up, drop by drop,” he said pushing her back against the bed and slipping her bra strap off, tracing the movement with his tongue.

  “Sounds sticky,” she mused, smiling up at the ceiling as she savored his touch.

  “Exactly,” he chuckled as he did the same with the other strap.

  He pushed the cups down past her breasts. “I want to eat tapas off your gorgeous tits,” he said wrapping his lips around one dark nipple that was already hard.

  “Michael,” she breathed, running her hand through his hair and pressing him closer to her. She felt his arms go around her to unhook her bra.

  As she shrugged out of her bra and threw it across the room, he made his way down to her panties.

  “And this,” he said, raising an eyebrow, giving his eyes a devilish gleam, “Well, let’s just say that nothing in Barcelona compares to London where this is concerned.”

  She laughed as he tugged them down, giving the top of her slit a lingering kiss. She moaned under his lips, her body writhing in heated ecstasy.