Bad Apple

by Elle Kennedy

  “You’re borrowing this plane from a rapper who sings about bitches?” I grumble.

  “He doesn’t sing, he raps. And yes, I’m borrowing his jet. Papa made a cameo in one of my films last year, so I called in a favor.”

  “Oh.” There is really nothing more to say.

  “The flight plan has been filed, and we’re all fueled up,” the stone-faced pilot says in a professional voice. “If you could take your seats and strap in, we’ll be ready for takeoff.” He disappears into the cockpit and closes the door.

  Ben gestures to one of the window seats. “It’s all yours.”

  I gulp. “No, it’s okay, you take it.”

  “You sure?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  During my gawking of G Pappy’s plane, I forgot one very important, very anxiety-inducing thing: I’ve never flown before.

  My knees knock together as I sink into one of the leather chairs and fumble with the seatbelt. Although the temperature in the cabin is cool, my nerves scamper around like an anxious kitten.

  I try to assume a calm expression, and then turn to Ben and ask, “How familiar are you with current plane crash statistics?”

  “Huh?”

  “Plane crashes.” I gulp a few times, trying to bring some saliva back into my arid mouth. “How often do they occur? Are smaller planes more likely to go down than larger ones?”

  Ben’s movie-star mouth stretches in an amazed smile. “Oh man. You’re scared of flying?”

  “What? No. I mean, I don’t know. I’ve never flown before, so I’m not sure if I’m scared of flying.”

  A deep laugh rumbles out of his chest. “It’ll be fine, babe. You’re more likely to get hit by a bus than die in a plane crash. That’s a fact.”

  His reply mollifies me only slightly. My nerves continue gnawing at my stomach, especially when the jet lurches forward and starts wheeling out of the hangar. It rolls toward one of the runways and a second later the pilot’s voice crackles over the loudspeaker to announce we’re taking off.

  I keep my gaze on my lap as the plane speeds down the long strip. When the wheels lift off the runway, my stomach turns. You have a better chance of getting hit by a bus, I tell myself, and then repeat the mantra in my head as the jet makes its ascent.

  “Just take a quick peek,” Ben urges. He places a hand on my chin in an attempt to direct my gaze to the window. “Look how gorgeous the city looks from the air.”

  Curiosity gets the best of me. I lean across his broad chest and press my nose to the window. “Wow, you’re right.”

  The plane continues to climb into the sky, providing a beautiful view of the cityscape below. Though the sun hasn’t quite set entirely, the lights of Manhattan sparkle up at us, the high-rises and skyscrapers growing smaller and smaller the higher we go. The cars speeding across the George Washington Bridge look like the miniature toy cars one of my foster brothers used to play with. Everything looks pretty and surreal, and for the first time all day, a genuine smile reaches my lips.

  The smile fades, however, when I realize I’m draped across Ben’s chest. That my breasts are squashed into one of his muscular arms. Awareness prickles my skin, searing through my sweater and making my nipples pebble against my thin bra. I know he feels those tight buds, because he slowly moves his arm so that the sleeve of his leather jacket rubs against me.

  What is the matter with me? How is it possible that I still haven’t gotten enough of this man? He’s been staying at my apartment for five days, for Pete’s sake. We’ve already had sex more times than I can count. So how come every time I look at him, every time he looks at me, the desire is as fierce and potent as it was that first night at the hotel?

  “It’s a great view, isn’t it?” he drawls.

  I turn to see his blue eyes glued to my mouth. I almost lick my lips in anticipation of his kiss. It embarrasses me how badly I want this man. I should be angry with him for whisking me away when I still have so much work to do, and instead all I can think about is ripping his clothes off.

  “Crimson.”

  I shoot him a look. “What?”

  “Crimson,” he repeats. “The color of your cheeks. That’s the shade of red you turn when you’re embarrassed.”

  “You know how I’m feeling from my cheeks?”

  “Yep.” He shrugs. “A big part of acting is reading other people’s expressions. That way you know how to react.”

  A ding rings through the jet, indicating we can unbuckle our seatbelts.

  I cross my legs and give him a thoughtful look. “I keep forgetting you’re an actor and not just a celebrity, like the celebrities who aren’t famous for anything at all. Though you do fill the celebrity arrogance criteria to a T.”

  “It’s part of my natural charm.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  “You know,” he says, his features growing serious, “it’s really easy to fall into the Hollywood trap once you become famous. You could be the most down-to-earth, kind-hearted person and then you get to Hollywood and your ego inflates like a balloon. Suddenly you’re stepping over people to get ahead or drowning in a lifestyle that has the power to kill you. Sex, power, drugs, that sort of thing.”

  “So how’d you escape the trap?”

  “I have a very good mother.” He shifts over so we’re face to face, and something really wholesome and genuine flickers in his gorgeous eyes. “She always made sure I had a good head on my shoulders, even if it meant slapping it into place.”

  Envy grips at me, but I try to look unaffected. It isn’t Ben’s fault I didn’t luck out in the maternal role model department, or that my voice will never contain that tinge of love and admiration when I speak of my own mother.

  “What about your father?” I ask curiously.

  “He ran off with another woman when I was two. Haven’t seen him since.”

  I offer a bitter smile. “Join the club.”

  “Your dad took off too?”

  “My dad wasn’t in the picture to begin with. My mother was the one who did the running.” I swallow. “I grew up in foster care.”

  “Did you always live in New York?”

  “Yep. Did you always live in Hollywood?”

  “Fuck, no. Do you think I’d be this normal if I had? I grew up in Cobb Valley, Ohio, a town with a population of, oh, about two thousand.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. Most of my classes in high school had about ten kids total.” He laughs. “And down the street from my house, there was a drugstore with an honest-to-God malt shop in the back. I’m not making this up.”

  Hearing Ben talk about his hometown warms my heart. It amazes me that he can talk so unpretentiously about his roots. But I’m also feeling some discomfort now, because being attracted to him is one thing, but getting to know him? Learning about his childhood and chuckling about the malt shop down the street? Telling him about my dismal upbringing? It’s too…intimate.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  I nearly fall out of my seat at the sound of the sugar-sweet female voice. I wasn’t aware there was anybody else on board aside from the pilot, and the sudden appearance of a petite blonde in a stewardess uniform makes me wonder who else is hiding in the back of the jet. G Pimp himself?

  “I’ll take some coffee, please.” Ben glances over at me. “Do you want anything, babe?”

  I blush. Does the flight attendant know who Ben is? Probably. And he just babe’d me, right there in front of the woman.

  Ugh. She probably thinks I’m his latest piece of arm candy.

  “I want…to use the bathroom,” I blurt out, knowing my cheeks have turned crimson all over again.

  This entire situation is too surreal for me. The private jet, the movie star, the fact that I’m really starting to like the movie star.

  Again, way too intimate.

  I scurry out of my seat and give the stewardess a fake smile before hurrying toward the lavatory sign at the end of the aisle. />
  Inside the surprisingly roomy bathroom, I flop down on the closed toilet seat—also a gaudy gold color—and rake both hands through my hair. God, this is so unlike me. How could I have just shoved all my responsibilities aside and agreed to this silly trip? Yeah, I have the day off from work tomorrow and a week-long chicken-pox-induced vacation from the youth center, but think of all the homework I could get out of the way.

  Instead, I allowed Ben to whisk me away to…to where? I still have no clue where we’re going, and that only bothers me more. I’m not cut out for life without plans and schedules, for spur-of-the-moment decisions and Hollywood actors who make my heart race.

  I’ve seen all those pictures on the web. Ben with a Brazilian supermodel. Ben with a gorgeous soap star. Ben at the Golden Globes. Ben doing the late-night talk-show circuit.

  The man is a star. A hot, womanizing star. He has the looks and the money to make anyone with a pulse drool at his feet, so why is he hanging around with a waitress from Manhattan?

  It can’t be the thrill of the chase, because truth be told, he’s already caught me. He’s already broken down my defenses by luring me on this mysterious vacation.

  What more can he possibly want?

  Before I can attempt to come up with an answer, the door handle clicks and Ben strolls in, oblivious to the stunned look on my face.

  I stumble to my feet. “What are you doing? What if I was peeing?”

  “You weren’t,” he replies with a shrug. “And if you were, you should’ve locked the door.”

  “Because I assumed that all normal, polite people understand that a closed door means knock. What are you doing in here?”

  “You were taking too long. I was worried you were scheming to find a way to ditch me when we land.”

  “I wasn’t scheming. I was musing.”

  “About me?”

  “No.” The lie fills the lavatory, but before Ben can call me on it, I curl my fingers over my hips and don my best I-mean-business expression. “We need to get a few things straight.”

  “Oh, do we?”

  He steps closer, and suddenly the bathroom isn’t as roomy as I thought. It’s tiny. Oppressive. So tiny and oppressive that Ben’s big sexy body is about two inches away from mine, and his stubble-covered chin hovers over my forehead, his warm breath heating the top of my head. And any second now, the growing tent in his jeans is going to poke me in the belly.

  It’s too tempting, being in an enclosed space with this man.

  Being anywhere near him, for that matter.

  “We need to set boundaries,” I manage to say despite my desert-dry throat.

  He licks his bottom lip. “I don’t like boundaries, Red.”

  “I’m sure you don’t, but we still need some. I need to know you’ll keep your end of the bargain.”

  “I don’t remember any bargains being made.” His voice grows rough as he eliminates another inch between us. Now his erection presses against my navel, empirically proving that belly buttons can indeed get turned on.

  “I promised you a place to stay. For eight days,” I say firmly. “I want you to promise that when the time is up, you’ll…”

  “I’ll what? Leave?”

  “Y-yes.”

  He snakes one hand up my spine, cradles my head, and tilts it so we’re eye to eye. With his other hand, he wedges me flush against the wall, and then shoves one denim-clad leg between my thighs.

  There’s something seriously kinky about the way he’s efficiently trapped me in place. He can have his way with me right this second, screw me standing up in the bathroom of a rapper’s private jet. The naughty scenario causes a drop of moisture to pool inside my panties, and I know Ben can feel the heat emanating from my core.

  “You’re ruining the mood,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on my waist.

  “How am I doing that?”

  “You’re talking about us parting ways.”

  “Just promise me we’ll say goodbye when the eight days are up.” I force out the words, if only to appease my own peace of mind.

  “I’ll promise later.” He wiggles his leg and the friction it creates over my yoga pants drives me mad.

  “C’mon, just promise. I told you, I don’t want any complications in my life. You’re the boy toy, remember?” It’s getting harder to formulate thoughts when he keeps rubbing his thigh against me like that.

  “Fine.” He slants his head and offers a placating smile. “I promise not to complicate your life.”

  It isn’t the guarantee I asked for, but with my clit swollen from his muscular thigh rubbing against it and my nipples so hard they actually hurt, suddenly the last thing I want to do is talk.

  “Ever done it on an airplane?” His voice is silky as a caress, and thick with sexual promise.

  “You know the answer to that.” I gasp as he tugs at the waistband of my pants and slides them down, along with my underwear, leaving me exposed from below the waist.

  “Well, I think we should rectify that.”

  I wait for him to unzip and thrust inside me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stretches one arm in the direction of the pristine white sink and slides open the drawer beneath it. A second later he holds up a handful of brightly colored condom packets.

  “Choose your poison,” he teases.

  I cup him over the denim and give his hard dick a squeeze. “I choose this one.”

  He chokes out a groan and shoots me a look so full of hunger I almost come on the spot. Those metallic blue eyes sweep from my flushed face to my slick core, devouring my body in a way that has my knees thumping together.

  With an impatient growl, I snatch one of the condoms from his hand, tear open the package and reach for his zipper. He laughs huskily, but I don’t care. I can’t take it anymore. I’m turned on beyond belief.

  I free him from his jeans and roll the latex onto the long length of his cock. “I need you inside me,” I order. “Now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He plants one hand on my ass and angles my body for better access. Before I can blink, he slides into my pussy with a thrust so hard and deep that the plane actually shakes. Pleasure rockets through me, and—

  Wait a second. The plane is shaking?

  A light knock raps against the lavatory door. “Mr. Barrett?” comes the flight attendant’s voice.

  Ben lets out a string of curses so utterly indecent my cheeks grow warm. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. He’s buried deep inside me, and my inner muscles involuntarily tighten around his cock, causing him to swear again.

  He grips my waist to keep me from moving.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  “What is it?” he calls at the closed door.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but the captain just announced we’re experiencing some turbulence. It’s very light, but you and your guest will need to return to your seats.”

  Panic jolts through me. Swear to God, if this plane crashes, I’m going to kick Ben Barrett’s stupid ass.

  Ben mumbles something under his breath.

  “What’d you say?” I demand.

  “I said fuck.”

  “Oh.”

  His lips curve with amusement. “You’ve really got to stop answering everything with ‘oh.’”

  “Why the hell are you smiling? Didn’t you hear her? We’re turbulent!”

  He snickers softly. “No, we’re experiencing light turbulence.” He rocks his hips, and I suddenly remember he’s still lodged inside me. “I can be fast. How ’bout you?”

  But all my arousal has dissipated. “Are you insane?” I hiss, and I’m already wiggling away and bending down to collect my pants. From the corner of my eye, I see Ben’s huge cock springing up toward his abs. He’s still rock-hard.

  “Aw, come on, babe. It’s just a bit of turbulence,” he complains.

  I hurriedly slip into my clothes. “The flight attendant said to return to our seats. I’m not disobeying an order!”

  Ben�
�s laughter heats the back of my neck as he eases in behind me. “You are fucking crazy—anyone ever told you that?”

  “Why? Because I follow the rules?”

  His warm lips plant a kiss on my nape. “Rules are meant to be broken.”

  I turn around and swat him away. “Put your dick away, Barrett. There’s a seatbelt out there with my name on it.”

  Once he’s decent, I open the door to find the flight attendant lurking there, and I’m sure my cheeks are crimson as fuck. As we nonchalantly stroll past the expressionless woman, I try very, very hard to act as if having sex in a private jet lavatory is the most natural thing in the world.

  20

  Ben

  “I can’t believe we’re in the Bahamas,” Maggie breathes as we exit the airport terminal a couple of hours later.

  I’m struggling to keep up with her energized strides. I practically chase her across Lynden Pindling International Airport, a difficult task considering my balls are still throbbing from being cock-blocked earlier. By fucking turbulence, of all things.

  We step outside, and a humid breeze instantly rolls over me and pastes my T-shirt to my chest. I hope the hotel manager remembered my request for a change of clothes, otherwise I’m going to be a hot, sweaty mess for the next couple of days.

  “Tony’s told me so much about the Bahamas, but I never thought I’d get to see it for myself,” Maggie remarks.

  A muscle twitches in my jaw. “New rule—you’re not allowed to mention Two-Time Tony while you’re with me.”

  She cocks her head, causing strands of hair to fall onto her forehead. “Two-Time?”

  I brush the red strands away and tuck them behind her ear. “You know, because he only comes two times a year. Literally.”

  To my surprise, Maggie lets out a loud laugh. Well. Maybe I should’ve whisked her away from the city sooner. The island air is already lightening her up.

  “So what now?” She stares at the crowd of travelers bustling around and the drivers loading suitcases into the trunks of their cars.

  “Now we get into that car right over there”—I point to a black Lincoln—“ and we start our trip.”