Running From Destiny (6 page)

“Shit Ally, you scared me.
What the hell happened?”

“Low blood sugar.
I haven’t eaten since breakfast and with the alcohol intake last night...” I pause. “I guess I just overdid it today.” While I sucking on the M&M’s. They melt in your mouth right?

“You need to take better
care of yourself, Alexandra.” His concern never leaving his face. “I’m fine, no need to worry.” I respond while accepting another bag of candy from the flight attendant.

I drink s
ome water, totally embarrassed. I don’t really have low blood sugar, but when he said he wanted me in his bed I got all woozy. Shit like this doesn’t happen to me and I suddenly feel like I’ve been transported into one of those romance novels I read. I know it isn’t real, so I almost pass out. Way to impress the man, Ally. Maybe this will scare him off. Hey, one could hope right?

Now that I’m finally coherent again, he finishes what he was saying before I so conveni
ently tried to pass out on him. Damn, why didn’t that work? I so don’t want to have this conversation and I have no idea what to say to him, except for the fact that neither of those things were ever going to happen. “As I was saying, I want you in the pages of my magazine and.....” I cut him off.

“No way, Jose.
I already have a job and it takes up enough of my time. I am not interested in your magazine.”

“And between the sheets of my bed.” He continues as if I hadn’t said a w
ord. He’s sitting back in his seat, his right ankle crossed over his left knee. My eyes were on his and his were on mine. I keep mine squarely pointed at his, but his decide to drift down my face, linger on my lips for a brief second, then continue down past my breasts and to my hips, which were turned toward him in the seat. Then he slowly brings them back up, stopping on my lips again. I feel the heat creep up my body, following his gaze, but my eyes never leave his.

Absently, my tongue poke
s out and licks my bottom lip. I mean nothing by it really, but my mouth dried up as his perusal continued up my face. The tip of my tongue moistens my lip and his eyes flicker. A blast of light flashes in his eyes as he forces them back to meet my own.

“Alexandra.
Why do you fight me?” He growls.

“Fight you? What are you talking abo
ut? I’m not fighting anything. You told me what you wanted me to do and I don’t take well to orders, Mister. I am a grown woman and I answer to no one. Not my father, my mother or Heather. And especially not you. You blaze into my life like a tornado and expect me to drop everything and come work for you. And you proposition me in the same sentence? How dare you?” I heave out my response. My heart is pounding and I’m panting like a dog.

I didn’t tell hi
m that I’m secretly turned on. What in the hell is wrong with me?

“You are in control of your life, Alex....Ally, but your eyes tell
me you aren’t happy with that. You have a need to lose control, to put the control in someone else’s hands. In my hands. I can waiver on the magazine, but you will be in my bed, sooner...rather than later.” He completes his sentence and turns forward, leaving me hanging by a thread.

My mind starts spinning again
, so I toss back the rest of the M&M’s and chew rapidly, washing them down with water. After a deep breath, I stand. “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” He stands and moves out of my way as I head toward the restroom. I can feel his eyes on me, burning me from behind.

I enter the small bathroo
m and lean back on the counter. Shit! This guy is unbelievable! What makes him think he knows so much about me? I’m just a normal girl, with a normal life. I don’t need this kind of confusion racking my brain. I stare at myself in the small mirror, my pupils are dilated and wild, my cheeks are pink and my hair is a mess. A freshly fucked look, and he didn’t even touch me. “I must be crazy. I’m dreaming all this and will wake up from this nightmare soon.” I tell myself, but not really believing it. I splash cold water on my face and reach for the door, blowing out a deep breath as I exit.

As I make my way back to my sea
t, I see Heather glaring at me. I raise my eyebrows and shrug my shoulders. Hell, I don’t know what’s going on, how can I tell her? All I know is The Suit makes me nervous and unsteady. He has this way about him that scares me shitless.

He doesn’t even look at me while I sit down and I wish the seat next to Heather was available so I could sit with her, avoiding any more uncomfo
rtable conversations with him.

“Why do you hate your name, Alexandra?” He quietly asks me.

Damn. How can I answer this without sounding silly? I know, I can’t.

Silence.

“I asked you a question.” This time, a bit more forceful.

I pause for a second, then turn
to look at him, dead in the eyes.

“I was named after my great
grandmother, if you must know. And with my last name, it just doesn’t sound right.Ale
x
andra San
d
ers. Silly, I know.” I whisper as I turn my head back toward the small window. Jackson reaches for my chin again. Seems to be a favorite thing for him to do, and he turns my face toward him.

“
Not silly. Nothing about you is silly, Alexandra.” He croons, releasing my chin.

About that time, the pilot comes on advising to fasten our seat be
lts and put up our tray tables. I thought this flight would never end. However, landing is not my favorite part of flying. In fact, I hate it because I feel the plane slowing down and it feels like it’s going to stop. “Don’t stop in midair, you fool!” I always feel like screaming out. I never do, thankfully, but my hands are clenched on the arm rests, white knuckles and all. I lean back and close my eyes, and take deep breaths.

Apparently
that was the wrong thing to do. The plane bounces and I suck in an even deeper breath, not releasing it. “Breathe Alexandra.” I hear Jackson say to my left. A warm, strong hand grabs mine and squeezes. “Don’t like flying?” He asks.

“Flying is not the issue, landing is.” I squeeze out during another bounce of the plane.

“Ladies and Gentleman. We have entered into a little turbulence during our approach to Atlanta-Hartsfield Jackson International Airport.” You think
?
“Please make sure your seat belts are fastened and your tray tables are in the upright position. At this time we ask that you turn off all electronic devices. The temperature in Atlanta is eighty four degrees, partly cloudy with winds gusting to twenty miles per hour.” The pilot announces. “We have been cleared for landing. Thank you again for flying with us today.”

I hear a clunk from the bo
ttom of the plane and I freeze. “Relax, just the landing gear.” Jackson tells me. How can he be so calm when we’re about to crash! Sweat now coats my neck and chest, and I feel it dripping between my breasts. Lovely. I might not be modest, but I hate sweating. So not feminine. I stay completely still as the wheels gently hit the runway and I exhale the breath I held. Landing helped to remind me why I hate flying.

Jackson relea
ses my hand and pats it gently. “See, I told you everything would be okay.”

“No, you didn’t!
You told me to relax, not saying a word about bein
g
oka
y
! I have trouble relaxing when I feel like I am going to die.” Jackson says nothing, but I hear a chuckle low in his throat. Is he really laughing at me?

As we taxi to the gate, he pull out his phone and turn
s it on. Once his signal is found, he sends a text. I tried to peer over his shoulder, but couldn’t see anything.

We finally stop
at the gate and Jackson lowers my bag from the overhead and rests it on its wheels in the aisle. One good thing about first class was the first on and first off perk. Well, I guess that’s two things, but who’s counting? Heather ends up right behind me exiting the plane, Jackson behind her. I feel her poke me in the back. “Stop it, freak!” I exclaim over my shoulder, only to hear her laughing.

So
not funny. Too many people were laughing at me this weekend, and I was so done tolerating that. I just want to get to the car, drive home and crawl into bed. But we still have hoards of people to file through with the Atlanta airport being one of the busiest in the world. THE busiest at some times since it’s a big international hub. Thankfully, most international flights are in the new terminal so it has helped some with the cluster of people traipsing through the terminal.

We travel
down the escalator and jump on the train. We’re on the B concourse this time, so there are only two stops before we get off.Heather and I have not spoken and Jackson is standing behind me holding on to one of those loops on the ceiling, that I cal
l
Oh Shit handles
.
That’s why I have not yet spoken to Heather. I didn’t have much to say, and what I did have to say, I sure don’t want Jackson hearing.

Once we get off the train, head up the long escalator and exit through baggage claim, Heather and I head to the car s
till parked in the Economy lot. At least, I hoped it was still there. Before we could cross the street, Jackson stops me and directs me to a limo parked along the curb. I blink in surprise, and look back and forth between him and Heather. “You’re chariot awaits, Alexandra.” And he nudges me toward the long black car.

“I’m sorry?” Is the best I could come up with, which of course generate
s another laugh from The Suit. Yes, he is back to being The Suit.

“You’re coming to dinner with me so
we can finish our conversation. Then my driver will take you home.” He tells me as he nudges me toward the limo.

“Um, no I’m not.
Heather’s car is here and we’re neighbors, so I’ll be going with her.” I responded. Hell, if he can be persistent, so can I.

He just look
s at me like he’s never been turned down before. Well, he’d better get used to it from me, cause I ain’t going down that road. Nope, I was not.

Chapter 7

So, I’m sitting in the back of Jackson Bentley’s.....Bentley. Ironic huh? Yeah, I thought so too. How he managed to talk me into this, I will never know. But Heather is going to get it when I get home because she didn’t help at all.

“I thought you were my friend?” I yell at her as I’m pu
lled toward the limo. “He could be a serial killer, or rapist or something! Help me!” I continue as she blows me a kiss and waives.

“See ya at home Ally!
Have fun!” Is all I got back from her. Maybe I should have murdered her while we were still in Miami. Then I could run.

Running. Maybe I’ll start running.
Typically, I'm a Run Only When Chased kinda girl, but I’m weak. Too weak. Yeah, I’ll start running tomorrow. Right. So here I sit.

The limo is merging on to I85 leaving the airport and Jackson is s
itting across from me, staring. I am so uncomfortable; I don’t even know where to begin. That is, until he switches sides and sits next to me, but not before whispering something to the driver. I assume he is telling him where to take us, but I don’t ask. You know what assuming does right? In case you don’t, assuming makes an ASS out of U and Me. Yep. It sure does. I have a bad habit of assuming, so I guess I resemble an ass most of the time.

Then he presses a button, closing some sort of privacy sc
reen between us and the driver. I, again can only assume, since I have never been in a limo before. I don’t ask, and he doesn’t say anything.

After he sits next to me,
he places his hand on my thigh. Thankfully my capri pants cover the skin on my thigh, so his warmth is absorbed by the material. Sort of.I look at his hand, and then back up to his eyes in a
“
What are you doing?
”
kind of way. He doesn’t move his hand. So I try to scoot over, as far away from him as I can.

“Relax, I don’t bite.
Well, only if you want me to.” He continues. “This is a business meeting of sorts. I’ll have you home before you know it.” His hand gently rubs my thigh.

He turns to face me, though
, bending his knee on the seat next to me. “You’re a tough egg to crack, Alexandra. Why is that?” He rubs his fingers along his chin as if he is deep in thought. My eyes fixate on the light shadow of stubble where his fingers land. He licks his lips and now my eyes are glued to his lips. The bottom one is a little fuller than the top, but that’s normal right?

No, nothing about this s
ituation seems normal to me. He leans his head toward mine, his eyes are glassy and lids are hooded. Oh no, no, no. Back off dude! I come back to my senses and pull back because I know he’s about to kiss me, but he plays it off very well. Ah, an actor I see. I may be inexperienced in this sort of thing, but I’m not totally stupid.

I then look arou
nd the limo and change my mind. Yes, I am officially stupid. I don’t need to be here, nor do I want to be, but here I am, waiting. Wanting him to kiss me, but I can’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever. Damn my mind is messed up.

The limo comes to a stop and before I come out of my trance, the dr
iver is opening the door. Jackson gets out and holds his hand out for me to exit the vehicle. I take it, only because I am not sure my legs will hold me. He places his hand at the small of my back urging me forward, and I finally look up and realize we must be in Buckhead. I used to come here years ago for the bar scene, but not so much anymore.

The sign says “The Watershed”.
It looks like an apartment building, so I guess the restaurant is inside the first floor and maybe people live above it. We walk in and I gasp at the elegance personified. Warm neutrals and whites, black bar stools and wooden counter tops. It’s late, but there are plenty of people inside. The noises of forks hitting glass and laughter fill the room. And the smell. Yum. Definitely not the kind of place I am used to. I’m a BK Lounge kinda girl. Yes, Burger King. Hey! Don’t judge.

I’m a simple girl.
I don’t need fancy clothes, fancy meals or fancy anything. That cocktail dress I wore to the fashion show is as fancy as I get, and I doubt I will ever wear it again. Good thing I guess since it’s shoved in my suit case, wrinkles be damned. I make decent money, but I prefer to save anything extra, instead of spend it. In this economy, you never know when you might need the extra. So I live paycheck to paycheck by choice.

We are seated at a small corner table and h
anded menus but I’m not hungry. Really I’m not, so I scan the appetizers. If I refuse to order anything, I can only imagine what Mr. Bossy Pants would do, so I settle for the basic tossed salad, and he growls at that when I place my order.

Tough turkey.
He’ll get over it. He probably thinks I'm trying to be modest and pretend I'm concerned about what I eat, which I am not. I am really just not that hungry. Or maybe the knot in my stomach is preventing me from eating.

“You need t
o eat more than that Alexandra. After your blood sugar issue on the plane, you need a full meal.”

I shrug my s
houlders, “Not hungry really.”

And that is a
ll he says. He doesn’t press the issue or get angry, which is what I thought he would do. I am all prepared for an argument, but I get nothing.

This bothers me. Why? I have no idea. But it does.
He’s been Mister Bossy Pants since the moment we met, and now suddenly he’s consenting to my salad. I figured he’d order for me and force it down my throat, but that isn’t what is happening. I look up at his face and his expression has changed suddenly. He looks, almost sad. His eyes soften, that sparkling emerald green getting brighter. His brow is furrowed and he is no longer looking at me, but appears to be staring off into space. Strange.

And, like
a dumb ass, I ask what’s wrong. No. Response. At. All. Eek!

S
o I sit and wait.

Finally, the waitress brings our food and he s
naps out of his little trance. “Are you okay?” I ask, with a little sympathy in my voice. At this point, I am too confused and frustrated to muster up much more than that.

“Hmm? Oh, yes.
Yes, fine.” Is all I get in response. He doesn’t even look at me. Mister Talkative Bossy Pants is silent. I feel like I have been transported to another universe because this is definitely not the same person that dragged me to his limo at the airport and demanded I come with him.

We eat in measurable silence.
Only the surrounding restaurant noises are audible. Clinking of glasses, soft voices and the occasional cough from other patrons. And, since I have nothing to say, I keep my trap shut. Anything that might have been at the tip of my tongue has vanished like the wind. I am hungrier than I thought, so I finish my salad before he finishes his...whatever it is that he is eating. I haven’t even paid attention. Rich huh?

So I watch him eat.
His chiseled jaw, shadowed by a light dusting of stubble. Yes, I know, sexy. His nose is mostly straight, though I guess it could have been broken at some point in his life. Football injury? I don’t know and I don’t ask. Then there are his lips. I hadn’t really noticed them until his tongue darts out to lick some sauce off of his bottom lip. I suck in a deep breath and he then decides to look up at me. But before I realize he is looking at me, it's too late. My eyes are stuck on his lips and the trance is only broken when he lifts his napkin to wipe his mouth.

So not good.
I don’t know what is wrong with me. My mind knows this guys is bad news, but my body doesn't care. Bad body! It’s a sensation I have never experienced before and I don’t know how to handle it. I would ask Heather, but she isn’t here. Damn her. This is all her fault.

“So, Alexandra...” He speaks.
His voice soft and my name rolls off of his tongue. I usually hate my name, but the way he says it.....okay, I’ll admit it to you guys, but don’t say anything. It kinda turns me on. Typically I need to close my mind off and imagine one of my book boyfriends getting intimate with me to feel that way, but something about this man sitting in front of me. It’s disconcerting. Confusing. Frustrating. And hot!

“Tell
me about your life and family. I want to know everything.” He says.

I’m a bit taken aback by this.
Do I really want him to know everything? I just met this guy and my personal life is just that, personal. I need time to decide exactly what I will and won’t tell him. I ponder his question for a few minutes before finally speaking. And, didn’t we go over this at breakfast? Can he not think of anything better to talk about besides me?

“There isn’t m
uch to tell, actually. I’m 28 years old. Never married. No kids. My parents live outside the city in the same house I grew up in. I have an older sister and a younger brother. I graduated from UGA with an MBA in Business, emphasis in Interior Design and I work for a large architectural firm downtown as an administrative assistant, working my way up to project manager. That’s really all. I live a simple and boring life.”

“Nonsense, there is nothing simple o
r boring about you, Alexandra. In fact, I am fascinated by you.” He responds.

Okay, so I’ll take the bait.

“Why? There is absolutely nothing fascinating about me. I’m a normal girl, normal upbringing and normal...everything.”

“B
oyfriend?” He asks point blank.

“Excuse me?” He has s
urprised me with this question. Well, not really, but I decide to act surprised.

“I
asked if you have a boyfriend. Or, maybe you have a girlfriend? That I can work with.” A sly smile crooks his lips and I cringe. “No, no boyfriend. Or girlfriend for that matter.” I answer, though maybe I should tell him I have a boyfriend so he'll leave me alone. But do I really want him to leave me alone? Yes, I think I do because I can’t handle this guy. Too intense, too good looking and too frustratingly demanding.

“Look,” I continue, “I am not sure what you want from me, but I’m not
interested in whatever that is. I’m tired and I’d like to go home now.” Lame I know. But I need to get away from this man. I can’t think around him. He gazes into my eyes and I know he sees something I don’t see, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is. Am I intrigued? Yes, a little. Am I excited? Sure, a little. Am I aroused? Yes, a little. Okay, maybe more than a little. But I would never let him know that.

I sit quietly and then realize he ha
s not said much about himself. So, I take the initiative and ask. “What about you?”

“What about me?” He responds with an empty look in his eyes
.

“You ask so many questions about me, but you haven’t actually been forthcoming about yourself.”

He grunts and shakes his head. Not sure what that means exactly, but I continue to look at him silently willing him to answer.

Jackson raises his hand to the waitress, summoning
our check. He glances at it without flinching and lays a couple of large bills on the table. He pulls out his phone and sends a text, then stands and comes around to pull out my chair. Wait. There is no way this was that easy. He has been on me like white on rice since I met him last night, surely he is not going to let me get away that easily. He presses his hand at the small of my back directing me out of the restaurant to the waiting limo at the curb. Damn that was quick!

Then I think maybe I have pisse
d him off for asking about him. Hey, if he can be all nosey and in my business, then turnabout’s fair play right?

He helps me get in the back of the car and then he settles in next to me, his man
ly scent drifting into my nose. A subtle cologne and musk. And the heat from his leg so close to mine is almost too much to bear. But I stay put, probably because I can’t move. A shiver creeps up my spine and settles at the base of my neck. Jackson leans forward and rattles out my address. So he is taking me home. Whew, I exhale a breath and immediately suck it back in.

How did he know my address? I never told him. Wait. Heather.
Damn that girl and her interference. I sure hope she’s home when I get there, cause we are going to have a little chat. That is, if I don’t kill her first. Yes, I know. I talk about killing Heather a lot. Especially this weekend. Not sure what has gotten into her, but I’ve had it. She’s outdone herself this weekend and it’s time she stops interfering in my love life. Or the lack thereof. I lean my head back on the seat and close my eyes as we pull into traffic.

“Alexandra. Wake up.
We’re here.” Jackson nudges my shoulder.

I shoot my head up
and I look around in confusion. I suddenly have no idea where I am. Oh wait, the limo, but at least my outside surroundings are familiar. We are at the security gate to let us into my apartment complex. I fish around for my card and move to get out of the car. “Um, sorry about that. Thanks for dinner and the ride home. I can walk from here.” I move to get out of the car, but a strong hand wraps around my arm.

“No, we can take you the rest of the way, just hand your card to the driver and he’ll pull through.”

Shit!

Its
bad enough he knows the complex I live in, but do I really want him to know the exact apartment? Turns out, he already knows. This guy is something else, I say. Once we arrive at my building, Jackson helps me out of the car and the driver retrieves my bag from the trunk, both of them walking me to the door. Thankfully, my apartment is entry level, because I am not sure I would make it up any stairs. My legs feel weak and my brain is foggy from my nap. This guy is really stressing me out too.