Must Be Crazy: (Melissa and Jackson) (A Jetty Beach Romance Book 2) (7 page)

“Domestic, then,” he says.

The ticket agent checks her computer, fingers tapping against the keys. “We have a flight to New York, with one layover in—”

“Direct only,” he says. He rubs his hand up and down my back. I don’t want him to stop touching me.

“All right,” she says. Her eyes flick back and forth and she keeps typing. “There’s a direct flight to Austin, Texas that leaves in ninety minutes. Kansas City, leaving in two hours. I have San Diego in seventy minutes, and Chicago leaving in three hours. That’s all, Mr. Bennett. The rest are all booked.”

“Hmm, not great options,” he says. “What do you think?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

He pulls out his phone and taps a button, then puts it to his ear. “Tammi, what are my options in San Diego? I’m not thrilled about it, but I don’t want to sit around at the airport, and there’s a flight.”

He pauses, listening.

“Good. Right, that place wasn’t bad. The food was incredible. Is it available?” He waits, moving his hand from my back and putting it in his pocket. “Well, tell them they have to move. How many? Yeah, they can move. Tell them it’s on me. Find them something else and I’ll pay for the rest of their stay. Of course you did. This is why you’re the best. Yeah, just take care of it. It’s fine, I don’t care about that. Perfect. Okay.”

He hangs up, turns back to the ticket agent. “San Diego it is. Two.”

Melissa and I take seats at a small table in the airline’s executive lounge. The lights are dim and soft music plays in the background. She blinks at her surroundings, like she isn’t sure how she got here. I check my messages while we wait for someone to take our drink orders.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bennett.” A young man in a shirt and tie stands next to the table. “What can I bring you?”

“Is it time for Scotch?” I ask.

Melissa nods. “It’s definitely time for something.”

“Glenlivet twenty-one, is that our favorite?” I ask. “Two. Straight up, with a splash of mineral water.”

“Very good, Mr. Bennett.”

“Did I get it right this time?” I ask.

“I’m impressed,” she says. “It appears you can be taught.”

Damn, I like her. Completely out of her element, her eyes as wide as a little kid at Disneyland, and she still has a saucy comeback.

This is definitely a good idea. I wasn’t lying when I told Melissa I have no plan. I woke up this morning and decided I was done flirting with her over fucking texts. I want her. I want her so bad I can already taste her. At this point, I probably could have fucked her twice—once on her couch, and once in her bed—but I don’t want it like that. I spent two agonizing weeks thinking about her, dreaming about her. She dug in, getting so deep under my skin I have no idea how to separate myself from her. I don’t simply want sex. I want Melissa. I want to know what’s going on behind those brown eyes, want her to tell me all her secrets with those sweet lips.

And sure, I want to impress her along the way. Sweep her off her feet. Do something crazy and unexpected. My assistant will need to juggle some things for me, but that’s part of why I pay her so much money.

San Diego is hardly my first choice, but the villa where I’m taking her—it’s worthy of Melissa Simon. She’s going to love it. As far as the rest of it, I figure it doesn’t matter where in the world we go. All I want is the chance to be with her—no distance, no interruptions.

I’m going to rock her world.

In the meantime, the anticipation is fucking delicious. I sip my Scotch, watching her. Her eyes move around the room, her finger circling the rim of her glass. She has that rare, effortless beauty, a look that’s completely natural, and so alluring. I bet she looks amazing from the moment she wakes up in the morning. She’ll linger in bed with me, letting me kiss her, touch her skin, run my fingers through her tangled hair. No getting up and rushing to the bathroom to put on makeup before I can see her. She’s incredible. I can’t take my eyes off her.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asks.

“Because you’re beautiful.”

The corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly and she sips her Scotch. “You’re crazy.”

“A little bit.”

I want to touch her again. Aside from putting a hand on her arm the first night we met, and helping her out of the car, I haven’t felt her skin. I kept my hand on her back, only touching her through her clothes. I did it on purpose, waiting, keeping my hand just on the edge of how a lover would caress her. Familiar, safe, only hinting at what I have in store. Soon, I’ll touch her skin again. I’m not sure if I’ll do it now, or wait until we’re on the plane. I want to draw it out, make every moment arousing.

Not that I need help there. The constant hard-on is getting a little uncomfortable. Every time I relax, I look at her or think about getting her to that villa, and I’m instantly hard again. Fuck, she is so tempting. Part of me wants to take her somewhere—now—and fuck her blind.

But this way is going to be so much better.

Her hand is on the table, her fingers just brushing her glass. I shift so my hand is near hers. I touch the backs of her fingers with the tips of mine, so light. Not too much. Not yet. My hand buzzes at the feel of her skin, and she draws in a quick breath.
Oh yeah, baby, I feel it too.
I trail down to the back of her hand and she twitches. I get to her wrist and circle my fingers around it. So delicate. I turn her hand over, palm up, letting it rest in mine. With my other hand, I run a finger down each of hers, starting at the tip and stopping at her palm. I circle my finger around her palm, and her fingers curl up. I press my hand into hers, spreading her fingers, and rub up to her wrist. I let my fingers brush her forearm, then slide my hand back down, relishing the feel of her skin. It’s better than it was in my mind, and my cock strains against my pants.

I think about bringing her fingers to my lips, but that will have to wait. I’m torturing myself, and hopefully her too, but I love it. This isn’t my usual style. I usually get what I want, when I want it—I’m not very good at denying myself. But this is different. She’s different. I don’t want to move too fast and break the spell.

“Your flight is ready to board, Mr. Bennett.”

I glance up at the waiter. “Thank you.” I look back at Melissa. “Ready?”

We get right on the plane and settle into our seats, first class, first row. I never sit anywhere else. I don’t like looking at the back of some asshole’s head.

Melissa fastens her seatbelt and tucks her legs up. “I’ve never flown first class before.”

I’ve never not flown first class. I don’t even know what the back of a plane looks like. “If you have to fly commercial, it’s the only way to go.”

“Have to fly commercial?” she asks. “How else do you fly?”

“I charter a private plane more often than not,” I say. “I don’t own one. I’ve never bothered. Seems like too much hassle, so I charter when I need one. But for this little adventure, commercial seemed like the way to go. It adds to the spontaneity; don’t you think?”

Her eyebrows draw together and her mouth hangs open. I can’t wait to devour that sweet mouth. But not yet. Once I start, I won’t be able to stop.

“You live a very strange life, Jackson Bennett,” she says.

“Do I?”

We sit while the rest of the passengers get on and the plane taxis to the runway. I fire off a tweet and send a few emails. Melissa watches out the window while we take off. When we get to cruising altitude, the flight attendant brings us drinks. Melissa tosses back her whiskey pretty fast. I order her another.

“Are you nervous on planes?” I ask. The flight took off without much turbulence, and so far everything has been smooth.

“No, not really,” she says. “Today has just been such a whirlwind.”

She sits leaning toward the window, resting her elbow on the opposite arm rest. Her drink is perched on her knee. Her hands are too far away for me to touch, but her feet… She let her sandals fall to the floor, and her feet are tucked up on the seat next to me.

I can’t keep the grin off my face as I put my hand on her foot. I don’t want to startle her, but she meets my eyes and laughs a little. Her toenails are painted bright green. I wrap my fingers around her foot and slide my hand toward her ankle. She shifts in her seat, stretching out her legs to put her feet in my lap. I rub my thumb around the ball of her ankle and she sucks in a quick breath.

This is going to be a long flight.

It’s ridiculous how turned on I am, just by her feet. I’m not necessarily a foot guy. Everyone has their thing, and feet aren’t mine—although I do love how a hot woman looks in a sexy pair of shoes. Apparently I have a Melissa thing, because I want every bit of her. I clasp her foot with both hands and dig my thumbs into the arch, rubbing back and forth. Her eyelids flutter, and a slow smile crosses her face. I already love making her feel good. I want to see more of that face, feel that body relax against mine.

The flight goes on and we have more drinks. I find excuses to touch her—always her hands, her feet, or her arms. Nothing else. I’m saving the rest for later, and just knowing it’s coming has me dying for the flight to be over. After a while, she leans closer to me and I play with her hand again, running my fingers up and down, tracing the lines on her palm. Her breathing is slow and even, and her head slips down to my shoulder. I rest my cheek on her head. I can’t tell if she’s asleep or just relaxed, but I let her be, still playing with her fingers and hand.

I drift off—which is weird, because I never sleep on planes. When the flight is over, we disembark—no need for baggage claim—and head outside. The sky is dark and headlights flash. I lead her to the car that’s already waiting for us, and get in after her.

Melissa stares out the window as we drive to the villa. Neither of us say much on the way. We’re both tired from traveling, and I’m a little buzzed from all the drinks on the plane. I send a few emails and check in with my assistant. Melissa hasn’t so much as looked at her phone, but I figure she’s just tired.

The car turns into the driveway and stops in front of the triple garage doors. I get out and go for Melissa’s door, but she beats me to it. I’m disappointed we’re arriving after dark—it’s hard to see, and we’re right on the beach. Still, we’ll wake up to it in the morning.

A man in a white polo meets us out front. “Mr. Bennett,” he says. “It’s good to see you. I trust your flight was pleasant?”

I shake his hand, searching my memory. “Nathan,” I say. “Is that right?”

“Yes, good memory,” he says.

The last time I was here, Nathan was in charge of the villa. I remember him because he did such a good job, and he was personable without kissing my ass. I like him. “Thanks for getting things ready on short notice.”

“Of course, Mr. Bennett,” he says.

Another man in a matching polo steps forward with a tray. “Champagne?”

I take one and hand it Melissa. She blinks at me, but takes the drink.

“Thank you.” I take one for myself and follow Nathan inside.

We walk in through a tiled foyer and up a short set of stairs. To one side is an expansive living room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. A wet bar with a long granite countertop stands along one side, and a small staircase leads to another sitting area. More tall windows display the breathtaking view. The beige-and-blue furnishings are classic without being gaudy. I pause and survey the space. Tasteful. It will do.

“Your things have already been taken to your room,” Nathan says.

“Our things?” Melissa asks, leaning toward me and pitching her voice low.

“I had some things sent over,” I say. “I had to guess at your size, but it should get us through for now. We can go shopping for anything else you need tomorrow.”

“The main living space is here,” Nathan says, gesturing to the spacious room. “The kitchen is that way. Chef Louisa will be available daily to see to your meals. Downstairs is another living area with doors that open to the pool deck. From there, you’ll find the staircase leading to the beach. I’ve set you up in the main master suite, but there are four other bedrooms to choose from. Feel free to select any one you’d like. Would you like the full tour, or shall I show you to your room?”

I look at Melissa. She looks awed, but there’s a tightness in her eyes. “Thank you Nathan, I think we’ll go to our room. This was a wonderful welcome. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Nathan says. “Would you like breakfast at nine?”

“Let’s make it ten,” I say. “We’ve had a long day. And I can find our room.”

“Very good,” Nathan says. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Melissa doesn’t say anything as I lead her upstairs to the master suite. We walk in and are greeted by the soft breeze coming off the water. Accordion doors open to a large balcony with a glass railing. The beach is just below. Two suitcases are in front of the king-sized bed, and a sitting area surrounds the gas fireplace. A door on the far side leads to a large bathroom. I can just see the tub and walk in shower. That could be interesting.

I dig in my pocket and toss my phone on the bed. I’ll tweet a picture of the view in the morning, although even in the dark it’s stunning. Moonlight glints off the water and the sound of the waves carries through the entire villa. I take a sip of my champagne and I’m about to invite Melissa out onto the balcony, when I see her face.