Sexy Berkeley (1) (2 page)

"Ladiezz, w
here are you?" I slurred loudly as I re-entered the lounge after one of many trips to the loo.

"On the bul... bel...
bolcany!" Clare shouted, sticking her head around the curtain of the french door.

"Shh! I don't want to upset the... the neeeigh-bours," I replied, pulling off a remarkable horse impression, as I joined them around the table on the 'bolcany'.

"Tilly, aren't you going to be a bit..." I gesticulated with my giant wine glass, swirling it around in the air,

"...icky, for your flight tomorrow?"

"Hmm, Beatrice, I think you may have a good point there, whoops!" Her nose crinkled and she bent forward, laughter exploding into the wine glass she held to her lips.

"What time's your flight? I hope it's not early! Ha!" Clare added and we all burst out laughing, clearly the thought of Tilly having to get up in a few hours with a hideous hangover was incredibly amusing.

"My flight's not until about four in the afternoon, I'm sure I'll be fine, fff-ucking hope so!" she giggled.

"Oh you lucky thing, Tilly, I'd love to jet off somewhere fabulous," I sighed, holding my wine glass to my chest, staring up at the stars.

"Oh... sighs." Clare tilted her head with a pout.

"It's alright for you," I pointed to Clare, "you only got back from Spain a week ago."

"Oh, I know, but Hollywood..." she replied and we both looked admiringly at Tilly.

"I wish you could come with me, you'd love it there... ooh!" Tilly sat up in her chair, inspiration struck.

"Come with me!" She stared at me wide eyed.

"Ooh! Ooh!" Clare cried out. "Go with her! Go with her!"

I looked at the pair of them like they were both barking mad, bouncing up and down in their chairs, wine sloshing all over the place. "I can't just go to LA,
tomorrow
. Come on now, get real."

"Why?" Clare looked like she was about to explode with excitement, her pitch rising. "Why not? I'll look after everything at Bear's. I went over the diary today, I know what's going on over the next couple of weeks, it's nothing the girls and I can't handle. Go on! You need a break, and this would be a-maz-ing!"

"Oh, come, come!" Tilly begged, practically wetting herself at the thought, before flicking through her iPhone.

Clare ran inside, I assumed because the excitement (and alcohol) had gotten too much for her bladder.

"Til, for starters, you stay with your sister, I can't just turn up with you and expect Gemma and her family to welcome me into their home, there won't be room... what are you doing? Who are you calling at this hour?" 

Tilly had her phone to her e
ar, holding her forefinger up at me, wiggling it around.

Whi
le I waited for her to answer, Clare burst out of the french doors with my laptop, open on the Virgin Atlantic website. "It's Virgin isn't it Til? About four you say? She asked and Tilly nodded.

"Oh for
god’s sake girls, stop! I cannot get on a plane and go to America tomorrow, I only moved into my new apartment today! I haven't made any arrangements, I also don't have a load of spare cash lying about, you know!"

"Oh come on, Bea," Clare said, glaring at me, "are you telling me that you have no money left in your 'new apartment fund'?"
 

"Well, I do... a little, but that's exactly what it's for, my new apartment!"

"Come on! Live a little, you never know, you might meet a super-rich, eligible bachelor who'll fall at your feet and whisk you away on some romantic, Californian journey." She sighed and gave me the dreamy- eyed, fairytale princess look.

I imagined, briefly, how great it would be to get
away; I have wanted to see LA for a long time. To drop everything and hop on a plane to the glorious sunshine, sounded... heavenly. But seriously,
tomorrow
? No, I just couldn't do that. I have a business to think of. I know Clare is more than capable of looking after things at work - we are partners, after all - but to piss off on holiday with a few hours notice just wouldn't be fair.

Tilly's loud shriek interrupted my tr
ain of thought. "Gem! It's me!"

At that moment I realised that Tilly had gotten strai
ght on the phone to her sister. I started frantically shaking my head at her, "No! I'm not going!" I mouthed, but she just held up her hand and faced away, towards the green in front of the apartment building.

"Yes, I'm a weeny bit tipsy zzarling, but that's by the by. I just wanted to ask a teen
y weeny, dinky tinky favour... uh huh, well, it's Bea. She's thinking of booking the same flight as me tomorrow, she needs a fucking break."

I flailed my arms about trying to get her attention, shaking my head.

"Do you think it'd be ok if she stays in the pool-house with me?" she asks.
Ooh, pool-house...
I looked over at Clare, tapping away at the keyboard of my laptop, swigging wine, on a mission. I couldn't just 'drink-book' a holiday to the States, less than a day before take-off without having packed a thing...
Could I?

I stood up and stepped into the lounge, taking a sip of my wine - which I realised I should probably stop drinking if there's any chance of me actually boarding an aircraft tomorrow afternoon -
 and quietly contemplated the possibility.
I do need a holiday, maybe I could go in a few days and meet Tilly there...but I hate flying on my own and if Tilly is going tomorrow anyway, it would make sense for me to go with her so we
can keep each other company on the long flight.
I felt a small flutter of excitement in my stomach.
No, no, no! I cannot do it; it's tomorrow we're talking about, for god’s sake.

No, I decided. I'm not going, I'll have a weekend away somewhere in a couple of weeks, that'll be fine. I will be present and correct at work tomorrow and the next day as planned. I walked back out onto the balcony, purposefully, to tell the girls, 'no'.

"It's sorted, you're coming!" Tilly squealed, "Gemma said it's asobu... aslobu...asbolubly fine for you to stay with me in the pool-house, she said she's looking forward to seeing you and that she'll have a martariga waiting for us by the pool on our arrival."

"I think you mean margarita, doll," Clare giggled, "and we've checked the flights," her face still buried in the laptop, she continued, "you can get a seat on Til's outbound
and
return flight so give me your card and I'll book it for you now." She peered up at me through her beautiful long lashes with a broad grin. "You know you want to... cheeky margaritas by the pool, Hollywood hotties..."

I took another long, deliberate gulp of my wine, frowning. "I... I just..."

"Beatrice Victoria Hart, you are going to book this flight, go to Hollywood, and have a fucking fantastic time. You'll return to your beautiful new home in ten days or so, refreshed and invigorated with a smoking hot tan, just in time for your birthday. Understood?"

"Are you always this strict when you're drunk Clare? I don't recall ever noticing before..."

"Understood Beatrice?" she scolded.

I paused,
 momentarily. "Yes."

"So... so you're coming?" Tilly looked like she was about to explode.

"Looks like I don't have a choice!"

She squealed loudly and jumped up to throw her arms around me, almost drenching me in wine.

"Card," Clare demanded, holding out an up-turned hand, and I headed to the kitchen to get my purse and my passport.

When I returned, I checked the price and nervously handed over my bank card and passport.

"Right," Tilly said, enthusiastically, "we need a top-up, a suitcase, and an appointment with the wardrobe! Let's get packing!"

CHAPTER TWO

FRIDAY 14TH SEPTEMBER (CONT.)

Before we know it, we are boarding the aeroplane and heading... left! Good old Uncle William pulled some strings and managed to get us into upper
class! I've never flown in upper before, it is just... wow. Each seat is closed into a kidney shaped area, relatively private and very comfortable-looking. The cabin colours, reds and deep purples, are quite romantic really. 

As we stroll through the cabin with the very lovely Madeline, who's showing us to our seats, we realise that we haven't been seated together. Neither of us minds, after all, we're in upper class! A small burst of nervousness unfurls in my stomach when I realise that I won't be able to squeeze Tilly's hand for take-off and landing. I wouldn't say that I'm a terribly nervous flyer, it's only during take-off, landing and turbulence, that I can experience a minor panic attack.
 

We arrive at Tilly's seat first, she is in the middle row, facing north-west of the aircraft and a few short strides later, Madeline, points me to my
seat on the left, facing north-east. I thank the stewardess and put my bag down on the seat, opening it to grab my iPhone so that I can text Clare to tell her about our fabulous seats. I look over to Tilly who is still standing, gazing at the plush surroundings. She catches my eye and I throw her a cheeky wink, we just can't believe our luck! 

As I look away from Tilly to glance at my phone, my eyes skim past a tall, well dressed figure strolling down our aisle and I automatically double take. I subconsciously drag my eyes slowly from his shiny, black, designer shoes to his perfectly styled, light brown, gorgeous, short hair. He must be at least 6'3" or so. I'm pretty sure my chin has hit the carpet.

Dressed in an expensive-looking charcoal, three-piece-suit and pastel blue shirt and tie, the man coolly strolling towards me is a god. 
Wow
. My eyes meet his and I'm snapped back to the present.
Whoops,
caught
blatantly ogling, how embarrassing.
I stare down at my phone, not doing anything in particular with it, needing to look somewhere other than directly at the smoking hot man walking towards me.

Suddenly, he's standing next to me and I think I might faint. I can smell him and
oh, dear lord
, it's like a scent from the heavens...
why is he just standing there?
  I finally look up to see him placing his briefcase on the seat behind me.
Oh good god!
 He's sitting right behind me, this god of a man, how the hell will I cope for the eleven and a half hour flight with his heavenly scent wafting into my space?

He lifts his beautiful head to look at me through the most sexy greeny-blue eyes, and grins a broad, perfect smile. The light covering of stubble on his chin and upper lip begging me to drag my fingers along it, and that mouth.
Christ
.

 
"Hi."
Oh
for the love of god, he talks.
His voice is deep and alluring and he's talking to me!

Well don't just stand th
ere, you dork, talk to the man!
"Um, hello
,
"
I manage with a small smile, and although his gaze lingers, I look away immediately. If I hold my stare on this sexy beast, I would have to physically fight back the desire to clamber over the seat and stuff his head between my breasts.

After a moment, he turns his attention to his briefcase and
 I look over to Tilly who is mouthing, "Oh. My. Fucking. God." at me, pointing to the Adonis. My eyes widen in agreement, I subtly start mock-panting and fanning my face with my hand. We both have a giggle and continue to settle into our seats.
Wow, he really does smell divine.

~~~~~~~

The plane is picking up speed, hurtling forwards along the runway, getting faster by the second.
Oh, it's so bumpy, and so loud!
 I squeeze my eyes closed, wishing Tilly was near me so I could grab hold of her, my hands frantically trying to find something to cling onto. As the nose of the plane lifts off the runway, my left hand automatically shoots to the wall of the aircraft, my right hand clings onto the headrest behind me. My eyelids still tightly clenched.

"Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Fuckety fuck. Shitty McFuck. Oh god, please?"
I try hard to keep my unique prayer as quiet as possible, but I have very little control over my vocal scale at this moment, the aircraft's back wheels dragging along the runway after - what seems like - forever. My headrest is, most likely, going to need re-stitching by the time I'm done with it. The tips of my fingers chafe from squeezing so tightly.

Just as the back wheels start to lift and my stomach slowly drops, a hand peels my aching right hand from the headrest and the fingers curl into mine, holding on tightly. It feels so good, my fingertips no longer agonisingly squashed into the leather, the warmth of a human-being holding onto me, making me feel less... alone.

Something vaguely crosses my mind, mid-panic, about a super hot man sitting directly behind me, but the panic is still too deeply set in my rigid body for my brain to function adequately. I squeeze the living daylights out of the hand, grateful for the comfort, while we shoot through the sky above the houses and roads just metres below.

Just a little while longer, hold on to me just a tiny bit longer, just until we're a bit higher, through the clouds, on a more even gradient. I silently beg, my eyes still forced closed and feet pressing into the floor underneath me.
 

Clouds finally pass the window beside me, and as the wobbles begin to subside, my muscles slowly ease. I slide my left hand from the wall to my lap and the fingers of my right hand loosen their grip on the kind hand behind me. It's at this moment that the realisation hits.
Oh crikey,
it's the incredibly hot specimen of a man.

I look up at our hands, perfectly entwined, lovely golden skin and neatly manicured
, yet, masculine nails...
Oh
. I slowly, reluctantly, pull my hand from his gentle grip, my face glowing with embarrassment. Thank god he can't see me.

"Thank you," I mutter in his direction, not knowing what else to say.

"Don't mention it," he responds immediately in his deliciously, sexy voice.
Ooh, he's American
.

As soon as the seatbelt signs have been switched off, Tilly strolls over and sits on the little guest seat in front of me. "Just checking you're ok, how was take-off for you?" she asks.

"Ugh, it was horrible but I'm fine now, thank you," my voice narrows to a whisper, "and 'Mr. Smokin' hot' behind me was holding my hand over the head rest!" 

"What the fuck?" she spits, animatedly. "What do you mean he was holding your hand? How? Did you talk?"

"Shh!! No, we didn't talk," she looks confused as I continue quietly. "I was clinging onto the back of the seat, f-ing and blinding to myself, and he grabbed my hand and held it until I relaxed a bit. I was kind of, oblivious to whoever it was, just grateful that I had someone to cling onto."

"Oh, wow. Did he say anything after?"

"I just said 'thanks' and he said," I revert to an overly-exaggerated American accent, "don't mention it."

"Bea, love, you need to 'tap that ass'," she says in an American accent, completely straight faced, "get talking to him."

"Tilly, could you please lower your voice before I die of embarrassment, what if he can hear you? And anyway, he's most likely married, or gay, or off the market. I'm not looking for a hot American lover to have a long distance affair with."

"Oh shoosh, he can't hear me, we're on an aeroplane for
god’s sake. And who said anything about long distance? Just have some fun, you're on holiday, baby!"

She stands up and raises her arms into a stretch whilst looking around the cabin, she moves her gaze down at the sexy American and holds her stare.
Subtle, Tilly, very subtle.
She bends down and whispers, "No ring, baby, no wife!" And with a wink, she strolls back to her seat.

As interesting as that piece of information is, I am not going to start chatting up the most incredibly gorgeous man I've ever laid eyes on, knowing I'll never see him again. He's far too good-looking, he's most likely, a complete arse-hole or gay. And what's to say he'd be interested in me, even if he was straight? Ok, I'm not totally hideous looking, but that man is way
 out of my league. He's just a super-hot guy, sitting behind me, minding his own business, and I should be doing exactly the same. I stand up and head for the loo at the front of the aircraft so I can settle back down to start reading book one of the raunchy new trilogy that I have just purchased on iBooks. 

On the way back to my seat, I look around at the plush cabin, it really is much more luxurious. I wonder, idly, how all of these people are able to afford to fly like this, it must cost a small fortune.

When I arrive back at my little area, the gorgeous hand-holder sitting in the next seat looks up from his paperwork and offers me another beautiful, pearly white smile.
Knees. Weak. Can't. Stand
. I reciprocate with a polite smile and sit straight down before my skin flushes beetroot.
So hot
. Before I manage to compose myself, his head pops over into my section.
What the...

"Hey, would you care to join me for a drink at the bar? I figured you could use one after take-off."

Fuck me.
 His voice is
so
sexy.

"Oh, um..."
 What do I say? Yes? No? I'm not really sure what to do. If this was 'Average Joe' asking me for a drink, I'd be able to make up my mind quickly and coolly, based upon how attractive or interesting I found him. But this man? Hell no. I am more physically attracted to my 'hand holding god' here, than any other man I've ever set eyes on. I'd love to find out more about him, not to mention shag him senseless, but his incredible, masculine radiance is knocking me sideways.

"I, er..."
Shit, come on Beatrice, say something!

Before I get a chance to finish whatever I'm trying to stutter out, he interrupts. "I'd really enjoy the company, these long flights can be quite tedious when you're travelling alone."

"Um, ok then, that'd be nice, thank you."
Finally!

"Great!" He flashes another dazzling smile and stands straight to remove his suit jacket. I stand and stroll behind him towards the bar at the entrance of the cabin, soaking in the rear view.
Oh lordy,
the waistcoat of his suit fits his gloriously toned body like a glove; broad, sexy shoulders, a small but perfectly-in-proportion waist. His backside is deliciously peachy, I can't help but imagine what it must look like without those tailored, designer trousers covering it.

Approaching Tilly, I notice that she's engrossed in something on the
TV screen in front of her. She peers up as Mr. Sex-on-Legs passes and her eyes widen as she sees me following him. A smirk grows on her pretty face, she raises an eyebrow, watching me as I follow hot stuff to the bar.

We each take a seat upon one of the stools surrounding the rectan
gular bar, and the attentive steward welcomes us.

"Good afternoon, welcome. What can I get you?"
 

"Good afternoon, I'd like a glass of champagne please, and my friend would like..." he turns to me in question.

"Oh, um, I'd like champagne, too, please." It's probably not the wisest choice, considering my hangover has only just about subsided, but how often does one travel in upper class? I may as well enjoy it while I can.

The bar steward busies himself preparing our drinks, and the 'god' sitting next to me peers at me through his thick, long eyelashes. Stunning blue - maybe green - eyes.

"I'm Daniel, Daniel Berkeley. How do you do?" 

"Beatrice Hart." I take his proffered hand and an electric current instantly sparks from my fingers, through my body to the tips of my toes. His smell is out of this world, I'd like to grab hold of his face and sniff him like a dog to a crotch.

"How are you feeling? A little better now that we're in the air?"

I suddenly feel terribly embarrassed by my performance during take-off. "Yes, thank you. Once we're smoothly in the air, I'm fine. I have a little issue with take-off, landing and turbulence. Thank you for, er, letting me squeeze your hand, I hope I didn't hurt you." I feel my cheeks blush as I glance down to my hands and he offers me a reassuring, beautiful smile.

"It's my pleasure, I saw your hand squeezing your headrest, and the other sprawled on the wall, I thought you could probably use a little support... what was it? 'Shitty McFuck'?" His cheeky smirk conveying his amusement.

"Oh god, you heard that? Oh dear, I do apologise."
Mortifying! 

"So, Miss Hart, what brings you on board this Airbus today?"

"Please, call me Bea, most people do. I'm on my way to LA, on holiday. What about you Mr…."
shit
, I've forgotten his name already.