Fighting for Flight (11 page)

“My parents never had a relationship that I know of.
I’m not close to my mom, so she’s never told me, but it’s pretty
obvious they have nothing beyond, um, a professional
relationship.”

Her bright eyes look away for a second as she blows
a piece of long hair from her face. “Anyway, can we talk about
something else now?”

Her full lips lift into a smile that doesn’t reach
her eyes. I’m left with a million questions tumbling in my head,
but I don’t want to ruin the night by bringing up painful memories
of her past.

“Yes, we can.” I stare at her lips, hungry to taste
them again. But there’s one thing I need to say before I can put
this subject to bed. “Promise me you’ll stay away from Dominick
Morretti.”

“That, I can promise.” Her eyes move down my face
and settle on my mouth.

I shove both hands into her hair and bring her lips
to mine. She eagerly complies, wrapping her hands behind my neck
and holding me close to her. She tilts her head and our tongues
slide together. Her body shifts on my lap and I moan my approval.
Just days ago I thought I could walk away from her. And now, I
don’t want to spend one night without her.

~*~

Raven

The marble flooring is cool under my bare feet as I
stand, looking at myself in Jonah’s bathroom mirror. Something’s
different. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but I know I’ve
never been able to see my molars before when I smile. I have a
serious case of the perma-grins.

I look down at the cotton t-shirt and sweat pants
lying folded in my hands. It hits me again, with no less intensity
than before, that I’m spending the night with Jonah Slade. Now my
cheeks actually hurt.

Checking out his dark brown, granite counter top
with double sinks and mahogany cabinetry, curiosity pushes at me. I
question whether or not to snoop in his medicine cabinet. I chew on
my lip, staring at the mysterious mirrored door. Just one peek
won’t hurt.

I cautiously pull open the door as if something
might jump out at me: deodorant, shaving cream, razor, all the
typical man stuff. Grabbing his cologne, I press it to my nose and
take a deep breath. My eyes almost roll back in my head at the
woodsy smell that his skin has hinted at before. He never smells
coated in fragrance, more like an underlying flavor that runs
beneath his natural scent.

Snooping complete, I move to close the door when a
gray box catches my eye. I squint and lean forward to read the
label: condoms. Wow, extra-large, lubricated, jumbo pack. I slam
the door shut and stare at my reflection.

“Well, what did you think you would find?” I hiss to
myself. “You know his reputation.” I stand back and shrug. “You
need to tell him.”

Hey Jonah, guess what? Now that you know my mom’s a
hooker and my dad’s a pimp, I have one more bomb to drop on you.
The V-bomb. Surely if he can look past the first two bombs that
last one should be no big deal. It’s not as if I’m not open to
eliminating the issue. Candy’s words come flooding back.
Stupid
little girl.

I push the feelings of unworthiness to the back of
my brain and head for the shower. Stripping down, I hear my inner
fourteen-year-old fan-girl screaming,
You’re naked in Jonah
Slade’s bathroom! Squee!
She’s not wrong, I think while
covering my mouth to stifle my laughter.

Stepping under the water, I close my eyes to enjoy
the calming spray. After a minute or two, I grab Jonah’s body wash
and take a deep breath. It smells like citrus and spice and man all
mixed together. I wash up slowly, taking the time to enjoy being
covered in his smell and nothing else. While rinsing my hair, I
notice just how different our realities are. He has a rain shower
head and marble tile, and all my shower boasts is mildew stains and
a slow-moving drain.

After towel drying, I finger comb my hair and slide
on a fresh pair of panties from my backpack. I pull Jonah’s t-shirt
over my head. It’s huge and hits me just above the knees. I pull on
the worn sweat pants, and they slide back down my legs. Frowning, I
pull them back up and roll the top in an attempt to tighten them.
Still too big. The shirt covers enough, so I ditch the pants.

Slipping out from the bathroom into Jonah’s room,
I’m met with a vision that has me locked in place. He’s shirtless
with his back against the headboard. His navy blue pajama
pant-covered legs are crossed at the ankles, and the remote is in
his hand. He exudes casual confidence.

My eyes consume his body from his colorful arms to
his bulging chest and settle on his face. He’s staring at me with a
hunger that charges the air between us.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” His eyes narrow on my bare legs.

“The pants were too big.” I tug at the hem of the
shirt.

Silence.

“So, I decided the shirt would be long enough.”

Still silence.

“I thought it covered as much as a dress would,
so—”

“You look amazing in my shirt.” I shift
uncomfortably at the gravely sound in his voice. “You’re safe with
me.”

I let his words wash over me as my shoulders relax
and I take a deep breath.

“You want to watch some TV?” He gives me a
one-dimpled smile that sucks the breath from my lungs.

Forcing my gaze to his enormous television that
hangs on the wall, I step closer to see what he’s watching. “Sure.
What—” I gasp and race toward it, stopping only a foot away from
the screen.

“Raven—”

“That’s Chip Foose!” I point at the screen while
looking back at Jonah who is smiling huge. “I’ve read about this
show in
Car and Driver Magazine
. It’s called Overhaulin’.
They take old cars from people . . .” The sound of Chip Foose’s
voice calls my attention back to the show. “’57 Chevy, Bel Air, two
door, hardtop,” I mumble to myself, captivated by automotive
brilliance.

A pair of strong arms wrap around my waist. “Come
back and sit on the bed, baby. You can watch it from there.” A hint
of humor laces his words.

Flaming embarrassment. Here I get the chance to be
in bed with Jonah, and I’m stuck to a television screen, watching a
reality show about cars.
How very sexy and feminine of
me.

He pulls me a few steps backward to the bed. I don’t
take my eyes off the screen as he hauls me to the headboard,
tucking me into his side. My head against to his chest, I slide my
hand over his bare abs and bite my tongue to keep from
Oooing
. His hand moves up my arm and stops to toy with my
hair. I sigh in contentment, but quickly remember the heavy weight
I need to get off my chest.

“Jonah?”

“Hmm?”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

He lifts the remote, pressing a button that freezes
the screen.

“I know your, um, reputation.” His body tightens
beneath my cheek and his hand stills in my hair. “Nikki told me
that you’ve never had a girl over. Is that true? It’s just, you’ve
obviously had your fair share of, um, female companions, so I
assumed—”

“Yes. It’s true. You’re the first girl I’ve had in
my bed.”

I take a deep breath and try not to chicken out. “Um
. . . well, there’s something you should know about me.”

He doesn’t say anything, and I can’t see his face,
but his chest has stopped moving.

I squeeze my eyes shut and shove the words out. “I’m
a virgin.”

Holding my breath, I bite my lip and await his
reaction.

I’m not a total prude. I dated Billy Dryer, and he
was the most popular kid in school. We made out a few times until
he broke up with me. Guess his parents told him who my mom was, so
he thought I’d be easy. I’ll never forget him trying to pull my
pants down. When I refused, he said he knew I was a lesbian. A girl
working on cars all day had to be gay. He stormed off and left me
there under the bleachers alone. I decided I’d rather be a virgin
lesbian than the slut daughter of a prostitute.

I’m tossed from my thoughts by the shaking of
Jonah’s silent laughter, and my eyes pop open in surprise.

“Are you laughing?”

His reaction turns into uncontrollable hilarity, not
the response I was expecting.

I push myself up and take a minute to enjoy his
dimples, wide smile, and shining eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“Raven,” he says between chuckles. “You said
yourself I’ve never had a girl over to my house before. Yet, here
you are, in my bed, wearing my shirt, cuddled up in my arms.” He
tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “You don’t get it, do
you?”

My confused face confirms that I, in fact, do not
get it.

“You, Raven Morretti, are mine. Doesn’t matter if
you’re a virgin or an alien. What you’ve told me changes nothing.
Not. One. Thing.”

Stunned into paralysis, I let his words take
root.

“How’s that possible? Were you not listening when I
told you my mom’s a hooker and my dad’s a pimp?” I’m processing his
reaction aloud and can’t seem to stop. “Candy was right. I’m a
grease monkey, and, considering what my parents do for a living,
I’m trash. I’m inexperienced, young, and a virgin.”

Good job, Raven. Talk him out of liking you. Why
don’t you go ahead and make him a list of all your unlovable
qualities.

It happened so fast I barely registered the
movement. Jonah hauled me up the length of his body and sat me face
to face with him, straddling his hips. My face dwarfed by his big
hands, he holds me until I meet his eyes.

“Don’t ever speak about yourself like that again.”
His deep, firm command makes me drop my eyes. “Look at me, Raven.”
I do as I’m told. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known. You’re
kind, smart, funny, gracious . . . hell, you even laugh at Blake’s
jokes. I want
you
. And that includes everything that makes
you who you are.”

He wants me. This amazing, powerful, beautiful man
wants me. Have I ever felt wanted before? A lone tear rolls down my
cheek. His words are a warm blanket wrapped around my heart.
Leaning forward, he brushes his lips across the corners of my
eyes.

Will he ever understand how much his words mean to
me? I’ve never felt important enough to anyone or good enough to
deserve this kind of affection. Just days ago, I felt a fissure in
the wall I had erected around my heart. With those simple words, he
busted it down.

It’s crazy and it makes no sense, but there’s no
doubt in my mind. I’m madly in love with Jonah Slade.

Jonah

I wake up with something soft and warm pressing
against the length of my body. My left arm lies flat against the
bed, tingling, a sensation like tiny ants tunneling through my
veins. My right arm is comfortable and pressed directly against the
soft heat. Taking a deep breath, I smell the faint pear fragrance
and smile.
Raven.

So this is what it feels like to sleep with someone.
Her back pressed to my front, I nestle my face into the silky waves
of her hair and pull her body deeper into mine. What the h . . .? I
flex my hand against a heavy weight in my palm. The feeling
registers, immediately making my body tense.

Ah, hell.

Sometime in the night, I shoved my hand up her shirt
and am now cupping her left breast. All I need is for her to wake
up to me perving out on her in her sleep. I slip my hand slowly
from her chest. My fingers skate down the soft skin of her stomach
and settle there. Her legs slide against mine as I draw lazy
circles at her belly button.

She moans and presses her bottom into my groin in a
tiny stretch. I bite back my groan at the feel of her round ass
against my throbbing crotch. I don’t think I’ve ever had a hard-on
for this long.

Last night, after Raven confessed her virginity,
there was no way I could make out with her. At least, not the way I
wanted to. The tears in her eyes as she ripped herself apart
verbally sealed it for me. I needed her to know that I respect her
and that she’s more than a shallow one night. We’d kiss during
commercials, and at times I thought I could have gotten away with
more, but last night was about getting her to see me differently.
It was about getting her to trust me with more than her painful
family history, with her body as well. And to do that, I had to
hold back my appetite for her. Way back.

Besides, holding her against my side with her head
on my chest while she watched Overhaulin’ was entertaining as hell.
She went back and forth between mumbling to herself and giving me a
detailed history of Ford Motor Company. She’d talk to the
television, making her suggestions as to what should be done, and
made it clear when she disagreed. I enjoyed watching her as much as
I did the show. And the show was cool as shit.

I introduced her to the DVR, showing her how to
record the entire season so she can watch them whenever she wants.
She rewarded me with a shining smile that I felt in my toes. Her
sparkling eyes lit up like I’d just given her keys to a
Lamborghini. The fact that I could make her light up like that
filled me with more pride than winning my first fight. I spent the
rest of the night figuring out ways to earn that smile again.

“That tickles,” she whispers with a giggle as she
stills my hand at her stomach.

“Good morning.” I push my luck and glide my hand up
her body to her rib cage just shy of the underside of her
breast.

A sharp intake of air and she relaxes.

“How did you sleep?”

“Mmm, really good.” She rolls over to face me.

I prop up on my elbow, my head in my hand, and run
my fingers down her ribs to where the sheet lies at her waist and
back again.

She touches my cheek with a barely-there brush of
her fingertips. “I like these,” she whispers, tracing my
dimples.

I roll my eyes.

“What? They’re cute.”

She did not just say that.

“Cute? I don’t want to be cute.”