by S. R. Grey
“Maybe not at first,” Helena said thoughtfully. “But I always suspected it started back up again not long afterward. The crazy thing is that two weeks after that whole incident in Harbourtown, J.T. ran off with Jennifer Weston to Vegas to get married.”
“That’s odd,” I said, trying to sound like I hadn’t already been privy to this information too.
“Yeah, poor Jennifer. Guess J.T. married her on the rebound, probably to one-up Chelsea for getting engaged.”
“Oh, Helena.” I sighed in resignation. “It’s so much more complicated than I even imagined.” I rested my elbows on the table and put my head in my hands.
“I know, Maddy,” she replied in a soothing tone. “But it’s all in the past. Adam really is a good guy. Don’t let those ghosts from the past haunt the present.”
I ventured a tired glance up at Helena. “You’re probably right.”
“Trust me, I am,” she said.
More than anything I wanted to believe Adam was a “good guy.” My heart believed it, but my head was spinning, filled with uncertainty. How much had Adam known? Obviously his suspicions were confirmed by what he’d witnessed at Billy’s. But had he also known when Chelsea and J.T. resumed their relationship? And though I’d not breathed a word to Helena about what I’d discovered at Billy’s, I had to wonder if Adam had been aware of everything Chelsea was up to, including the random men…and the mystery blonde.
Lies, blackmail, affairs, deceit.
Not to mention were things really over between Adam and Lindsey? I certainly had no intention of becoming Adam’s new side dish.
The earlier excitement I’d felt about my impending date with Adam was waning. Sure, the man was incredibly appealing, but it seemed like I was being repeatedly reminded of why I should back off. Like fate was trying to warn me.
But instead of backing off, I chose to dive in deeper.
Chapter 8
Despite my misgivings, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of anticipation when I heard Adam’s Porsche pull into the driveway of my cottage. Seven o’clock sharp, the clock in the front hall confirmed with a series of lyrical chimes.
I smoothed the long, lacy sleeves of the black, crinkled-silk couture dress I’d fortunately thought to pack before leaving LA. Turning to check out the back view in the full-length mirror that hung on the wall near the front door, I was pleased to find the dress fit snugly in all the right places, the short hemline showing off a fair amount of bare leg. Definitely quite a sexy little dress, I thought, hopeful that Adam would agree.
Just then the doorbell chimed. I quickly stepped into my black leather stiletto heels with the trademark red soles. With a nervous touch to the tendrils of my upswept hair that were framing my lightly made-up face, I took a deep breath and opened the front door.
Nothing could have prepared me for the breathtaking sight of Adam dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit; crisp, white button-down shirt; black silk tie; and a pair of what I was sure were exorbitantly expensive black dress shoes. I looked up and caught Adam’s deep blue eyes darkening as they oh so slowly descended down the curves of my body appraisingly.
After a moment of pretty much blatantly ogling me, Adam raised his unapologetic gaze to meet mine. A surge of warmth coursed through my veins, while a crooked, knowing smile played at his lips. “Maddy,” he said in a velvety voice, “you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”
“Thank you, Adam,” I replied, thinking the same thing applied to him. But I kept it to myself; he was cocky enough.
Adam’s eyes stayed on mine for a beat longer than necessary, making me wonder if he could guess all the sinful things I’d already dreamt of doing to him. See, cocky enough, I thought, looking away.
Adam extended his hand in a formal gesture. “Are you ready?” he asked. “Walker is back at the hangar, and Boston awaits.”
“Walker?” I questioned, picking up my black velvet clutch in one hand, while placing the other in Adam’s. The name was familiar; Oh yeah, I read it in the case files. Walker was the name of Trina’s boyfriend back then. Could it be the same guy?
“Walker will be flying us to Boston tonight,” Adam answered as we walked to his car.
He opened the passenger door for me, moving his free hand to the small of my back. “Would this be the same Walker who once dated your sister?” I asked, sliding into the car.
Adam looked down at me, scrutinizing my face briefly. Oops, Adam had never mentioned that bit of information before. As he closed the car door, I heard him mumble under his breath in annoyance, “Helena.”
Nope, Adam, it wasn’t Helena who told me, I thought to myself.
Adam slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. As the powerful engine roared to life, he responded, “Yes, it’s the same Walker, but he’s not just my sister’s boyfriend anymore; he’s her fiancé. In fact, they’re getting married in the spring.”
“And he’s your pilot?” I asked. “I thought you flew your own plane?”
“I do, usually. Walker’s a commercial pilot by trade, but he helps me out when I’d rather be focusing my attention…let’s say, elsewhere.”
“Oh,” I said, fidgeting slightly.
“Like tonight,” Adam added, flashing me a dazzling smile before placing the car in reverse and peeling out of my driveway.
Driving to his private runway, which was located on the far east side of his property, took only minutes with Adam behind the wheel.
“Maddy,” he chuckled when we pulled to a merciful stop at the end of the runway. “I sure hope you’re more comfortable with flying.” Adam nodded to my iron grip on the passenger door handle.
“You’re not flying the plane tonight, right?” I inquired, only half-mocking.
“Ha-ha. Funny girl,” Adam replied as he smoothly exited the car, just as graciously as he’d gotten in.
A Gulfstream III corporate jet sat idling on the runway, bright lights blazing against the backdrop of a teal and charcoal-streaked twilight sky. A smaller Cessna aircraft, most likely the plane Walker flew in on, was visible in the open hangar to the right of the runway.
Adam opened my car door and once again offered me his hand. “Nervous?” he asked.
“About?”
“Flying, of course.” Adam caressed the back of my hand with his thumb. “What else would I mean, Madeleine?” he added with a wink.
“Ha-ha. Funny boy,” I retorted, throwing his earlier words back at him as I swung my legs out of the Porsche in such a way as to afford him an eyeful of thigh. He sure was in fine form tonight, but so was I.
Adam’s eyes raked up the full length of my body. A wicked grin spread across his face as I steadied myself on my heels. “Are you coming, Maddy?” Adam asked in a low, husky voice, leaning in close enough for me to see the mischievousness in his eyes.
Guess two could play at the innuendo game. I blinked up at him as he straightened to his full height. “Coming?” he asked again, this time with no hint of sexual innuendo. But my mind was still replaying the way he’d said it the first time.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded weakly.
Adam laughed, and then we made our way across the runway. “So you really own this jet?” I asked as we reached the base of the aircraft’s metal stairs.
“I really do,” Adam replied.
“Impressive,” I whispered to myself because, really, it just was.
Walker met us at the top of the stairs, and while Adam engaged him in weather condition and flight path-related conversation, I craned my neck so I could glimpse into the cabin interior.
Wow! The jet was equipped with all the expected—as well as some unexpected—passenger luxuries. Plush, oversized leather seats lined the sides of the cabin, some with small tables between them, bolted down to the floor of the plane, of course. Fresh-cut flowers in crystal vases topped most all of the tables, an obvious addition for tonight.
There was one longer table situated in front of two connecting seats that bore a closer resemblance
to a loveseat than to any kind of standard aircraft seating. Atop that particular table, a bowl of fresh fruit, a bottle of iced champagne, and two flutes rested.
Adam cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to the tawny-haired, brown-eyed man in front of me. “Maddy, this is Captain Walker Adair.” Our pilot extended his hand, and Adam continued, “Walker, Ms. Madeleine Fitch.”
We shook hands, his grasp firm yet gentle. There was a kindness in his demeanor, and I found myself instantly liking Captain Adair. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Fitch,” he said.
“Nice to meet you too,” I replied. “And please, just call me Maddy.”
Walker nodded and excused himself to the cockpit. Within moments the sounds of soft jazz filled the cabin. Adam led me to the two connected seats—the ones that looked like a loveseat—and I sat down on the side closest to the window, sinking into the soft, buttery leather.
Adam sat down in the seat next to me and proceeded to swiftly uncork the bottle on the table. “Champagne?” he offered, a crystal flute poised in one hand.
I nodded, and he poured us each a glass as the plane began to taxi down the runway. Our knees accidentally touched when Adam handed me my flute, and a rush of electricity pulsed through my body. “Shall we toast?” he asked, raising his glass.
“Sure.” I raised my glass to his.
Adam hesitated and then said, “To a wonderful start to what I hope will be a memorable evening. Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I said, tapping my glass to his as the plane lifted into the air.
Adam and I tipped our glasses back simultaneously, but while I took a dainty sip, Adam emptied his flute. He then settled back into his seat, loosened his tie, and closed his eyes with a sigh.
Angling to get a better view of him, I shifted in my seat, all the while sipping my champagne. But far more delightful than the sweet, bubbly liquid in the glass, I drank in the glory of Adam Ward at rest. Even dressed in his fine attire, his raven-black hair was still a sexy mess. I longed to run my fingers through it, much like I’d seen him do the night I’d been caught on his property. I bit down on my lip and sighed when my eyes fell upon his full lips, glistening with a touch of wetness from the champagne. Replaying the teasing, feather-soft kisses from our time at the lighthouse sent more tingles through my body than any amount of alcohol ever could. Even so I tipped my head back and drank the last bit of bubbly from my glass.
Leaning forward, I placed my glass on the table. When I sat back and glanced next to me, I was surprised to find a seemingly amused Adam, eyes open and a knowing smirk on his face. A blush rose to my cheeks because, eyes closed or not, he was clearly aware that I’d been checking him out.
“How was it, Maddy?” Adam’s voice was even and betrayed nothing, but his eyes danced wickedly.
“How was what?” I asked innocently.
“The champagne, of course.” Adam leaned his head back against the rest and waited, watching, for my response.
Two could play at this game, so I licked my lips and said, “Mmm, it was amazing. The aroma…the full bouquet…I’d have to say it may have been the most suc-culent thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Adam cocked an eyebrow, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It would seem our dear Mr. Ward was quite enjoying this little exchange.
Reaching into the bowl of fresh fruit on the table, he purred, “Personally I prefer a sweeter juiciness against my tongue.”
I was rendered momentarily speechless by Adam’s suggestive words, and surely that had been his intention. Holding up a plump, ripe strawberry, he added smugly, “I’m talking about the strawberry, Maddy. Would you care to try one?”
I swallowed hard, nodding. Good God, he was killing me. I reached for the strawberry, but Adam pulled it away, short of my grasp, at the very last second.
With a dark smile, he crooned, “Uh-uh-uh. It will be much better for you like this.”
Adam poured champagne into his empty flute. He then lightly dipped the strawberry into the fizzing liquid, tapping the side of the fruit to the rim of the glass before lifting it to my lips. “Open your mouth,” he demanded, in such a way that I readily parted my lips.
Adam brushed the strawberry across my bottom lip, held it still for a beat, and then used the champagne-moistened fruit to lightly trace the outline of my lips, his darkened eyes meeting mine. “Lick the tip,” he said, his voice low and silky.
Eager to comply, I tentatively touched the end of the strawberry with the tip of my tongue. Champagne sweetness hit my taste buds. What we were doing felt sinful and thrilling. Emboldened by the decadence of it all, I artfully swirling my tongue around the tip of the strawberry and met Adam’s gaze.
He pulled the strawberry away. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. I readily acquiesced and felt him shifting in his seat—the heat of his body closing in on mine. A swirl of liquid, a light tapping against the crystal rim of the glass. “Do you want it, Madeleine?” Adam asked, every word laced with the suggestion of so much more.
I nodded demurely, and Adam purred, “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it, Adam. Please.” And, holy hell, I’d never wanted it so badly in my life. I didn’t care about the damn strawberry itself, but every fiber of my body was on fire, and I wanted Adam to be the one to give it to me. “Please,” I whispered again.
Suddenly the champagne-moistened fruit was at my lips—tracing, teasing, taunting. I let out a stifled moan, and Adam stilled the movement of the strawberry. “You’re not peeking, are you?” he asked.
I shook my head, my lips brushing against the pebbly texture of the fruit. “OK, be a good girl now”—Adam prodded my lips open with the fruit— “and suck.”
I squirmed in my seat and obediently wrapped my mouth around the whole strawberry. When I dragged my lips along the length of the fruit, I heard Adam whisper a barely audible “fuck” that stirred me even further. I repeated the same action, and Adam growled, “Just bite the fucking strawberry, Madeleine.”
I bit the tip off the strawberry, and Adam pulled the fruit away. I could hear him biting into what remained.
Just as I was about to open my eyes, heated, strawberry – and champagne-moistened lips crashed into mine. We both moaned as our mouths moved hungrily together. He tasted divine, and I wanted more. I trailed my hands lazily over the lapels of his suit jacket, before curving them up and around to the nape of his neck. Adam’s fingers teasingly brushed the sides of my breasts as he snaked his hands down to rest on my waist, and, in response, I raked my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.
Amid noisy gasps and hot breaths, Adam deepened our kiss, tenderly parting my lips until our tongues met—all strawberries, champagne, and the thrill of uncharted exploration that only those first kisses can deliver.
My body ached for more, much more, but unfortunately the plane was beginning to descend. We’d soon be in Boston. Adam, who must have felt the change in altitude as well, began to slow our kisses.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out against my lips.
I longed to hear more; I longed to say something in return. But Walker’s voice rasping out over the intercom brought me back to reality. “Mr. Ward, we’ll be on the ground in about five minutes. Please prepare for landing.”
We broke apart, leaned back in our seats, fumbled for our seat belts. As the plane touched down, Adam took my hand and brought it to his mouth. “So did you enjoy the flight, Ms. Fitch?” he asked, his lips brushing over my knuckles.
“Immensely,” I responded, smiling. And, boy, had I ever.
Still in a daze from the champagne, the strawberries, but mostly the kisses, I barely noticed as we made our way from the plane to a sleek, black limousine that was waiting for us on the runway. As we pulled away from the jet, I heard Adam instruct the driver to take us to some exclusive, members-only dinner club that was located in a skyscraper in downtown Boston. I’d heard of it before but had never been there.
The club—which took up the entire upper
floor of the tall building in which it was housed—was all dark wood paneling, maroon carpeting, brass adornments. Oil paintings in the style of the Old Masters lined the walls. Everything about the place screamed old money, power, prestige. It was obviously a place for only the absolute wealthiest of the wealthy.
The maitre d’ led us through the main dining room and back to a private dining area. As we stepped into a room, decorated in the same dark wood and maroon palette, Adam informed me he had reserved the whole area just for us.
I glanced around. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed for the lights of downtown Boston to sparkle before us. Classical music played softly in the background, and the soft glow of candlelight flickered all around. “Adam, this is very, very nice,” I remarked as we took our seats.
“I’m glad you approve,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips.
Just then a wine steward entered the room, and Adam engaged him in a quiet discussion. I nervously fumbled with my napkin while they spoke. When the wine steward left, Adam directed his attention back to me. “Maddy, I have a bit of a request.”
“And what would that be?” I asked quietly, somewhat distracted by how painfully gorgeous Adam looked in the warm glow of the candlelight—shadows playing across perfection.
“I’ve ordered a special vintage for us, which I think you’ll enjoy.” Adam paused. “But, if you don’t mind, I’d also like to take the liberty of ordering dinner for the both of us.”
I’d never had a man order dinner for me before, but Adam had impeccable taste, so, trusting him, I said, “Of course. That would be fine.”
A waiter came in with a set of menus, but Adam ordered without even opening one. Observing the interaction between the two—the waiter listening attentively and respectfully as Adam commanded his full attention—I felt the obvious power Adam held over so many people. It was truly impressive, and it allowed me to see why he was so successful.
