Suite 269 (5 page)

Just as he turned to walk away, I noticed Lexa's bright blue eyes staring in my direction, a shy smile falling over her lips. I wanted to turn my head and not look at her, but I couldn't. Images of her long legs, the dark waves of hair spilling over her shoulders, and the soft curves of her breasts clouded my mind. I was mesmerized.

I was also screwed.

A two-hour flight alone with her sounded dangerous.

Because I wanted to sink myself inside her more than I wanted to find the elusive blogger that could save the old man's magazine.

"
H
e did
what
?
" Mandy's voiced screamed through my cell phone. "Lex, are you sure? You saw actual penetration?" There were sounds of paper crinkling and shuffling in the background. "Honey, you were really wasted, maybe you just imagined it."

"Mandy," I hissed into the phone, covering the mouthpiece with my hand to whisper into it. "She was humping up and down on him like he was a Pogo stick. There was no mistake.
Annnnd
it was up her bottom." I shifted my eyes to the small window as heavy rain splashed against it. The grey light of the sky seeped in, matching my mood.

Silence.

More silence.

A stutter.

"I...I just don't know what to say. I can't believe it. And why did you wait until now to call me? You've been in Chicago for three days.
Her bottom?
I...I just...I just don't know what to say," she offered.

Some more silence ensued, because I seriously didn't know what to say either.

A loud gasp, then, "We're supposed to go to your last fitting tomorrow night! You're supposed to be getting married in," she counted the numbers under her breath, "sixteen days! I am going to castrate that little bastard. What is he saying? What are you going to do?"

I sighed heavily into the phone. "He was in my room trying to talk things through with me all day. He says he's sorry and it was just cold feet. I don't know what to do. My head is spinning. I just want to go home. Spending the day with a man who ripped your heart out makes you a nervous, paranoid wreck. Mr. Holt put me on his private jet instead of letting me take my flight back with Kevin."

"Really?"

"Yeah, well poor little betrayed bride and all. It's humiliating. Everybody knows what happened, and I don't even know how they all found out."

"Oh, my God. I would die. You don't need to work in that place, you know."

"I know," I huffed.

"When are you leaving?" she asked.

"I'm waiting for whoever else is taking the flight with me and leaving right after. I'm actually on the plane now," I said.

"You're on a private jet, right now?"

"Yep," I answered.

A loud thump caused me to glance up and a wet, blond mess of hair stepped into the aisle, attached to a blinding smile. James. Oh God.

Water streamed down his face. The rain had plastered his hair to his cheeks and forehead, and oh, Lord, his wet shirt stuck to the contours of his body. "Listen, I have to go. Mr. Holt just boarded the plane."

"Aw. Remington Holt is such a nice man," she cooed.

"It's not Remington, it's James," I whispered as he watched me, raindrops falling from his lashes.

"
Jameson Holt
is on a private airplane with you?" she gasped.

Peeling his bag off his shoulder, he tossed it on a seat and rummaged through it. Yanking out a dry shirt, he reached behind his head and pulled off the one he was wearing. He had a long, tightly muscled torso attached to a pair of insane shoulders and arms that made me clench my eyes shut. I was instantly having sex with him in my mind.

"It's getting very hot in here," I mumbled into the phone and lowered myself further into my seat.

"Listen to me very carefully, Lexa. Think revenge and getting even. You better be thinking about joining the mile high club with that fine looking man, because if you don't..."

"Goodbye, Mandy, I'll call when I get home," I said robotically.
Mile high club my ass
. Snapping off my phone, I stood up immediately and slammed my head into the overhead compartment, like the dork I was born to be. "Son-of—!"

Then he was towering over me, his fingertips lightly grazing my elbow. "Are you all right?"

Only one thought ran through my head.

He's got no shirt on.

He's got no shirt on
.

This was worse than the stripper.

His touch was hot. Like
I wanted to sit on his fingers and let him play me like a harp
hot. The thought made my cheeks burn. Great, I must have looked like a freaking clown. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a klutz." My eyes darted around the small plane nervously then landed back on his gaze. Okay, first they took a detour up his body, lingered on his pecks, hesitated at his lips,
and then
stopped at his eyes. "I'm sorry; I didn't think you would be flying back to New York with me." I tried to relax my shoulders and let out a deep breath, business as usual. "So, who else will be boarding?"

"Just us," he said no louder than a whisper. "Please. Sit." He pulled the dry shirt over his head and I tried desperately to remember how to breathe correctly. I was failing epically.

Clumsily, I staggered back into the seat as he eyed me suspiciously. Great.

"Are you a nervous flyer?" he asked with a small hint of a smile.

"You could definitely say that," I said, pausing in the middle for one of my crazy nervous giggles, complete with a horrifying snort at the end. "I'm sorry; I've been quite a mess for the past few days." But I wasn't truly sorry—I was angry—so freaking angry that everyone knew about what happened and looked at me with deep, pity-filled expressions. I just needed a day by myself, without having Kevin messing with my head or being surrounded by people from work, to make a decision on what I needed to do. The first impulsive decision was to walk away and not look back, no forgiving and forgetting, but I owed the last two years of my life a little more time to think it through.

He regarded me in complete silence for a moment. I fidgeted nervously next to him, my face heating to an unfavorable temperature. Suddenly, I couldn't even look him in the eye.

"Then how about we drink this entire flight away?" he asked.

"I've been trying to drink the entire week away, hasn't worked yet."

"Maybe it's because you haven't gotten drunk with me," his voice rasped.

"God, you make that sound like a dangerous thing," I laughed, relaxing a bit.

He walked across the plane to a small minibar and opened a cabinet. "Hey, don't look at me like that, I promise I won't bite... Unless you want me to."

"Worst line ever," I blurted.
Damn it, why can't I ever keep my mouth shut.

Holding up four different bottles of alcohol, he waved them in the air. I pointed to the Jack Daniels. "
That's
the worst line ever?" he asked as he twisted the caps off the bottles and tossed them into a hidden receptacle in the countertop.

He handed me the whiskey.
I'm going to need about a dozen more of these little things
.

"One of them, definitely. It would be better if you went with something along the lines of: Your father must be a terrorist because you're
da bomb
." I sipped (okay, chugged) the cute little whiskey bottle, savoring the burn as it slid down. I could see a stack of them in front of me in the near future. I'm psychic like that.

The corners of his mouth pulled up in an enormous smile. "I always go with: Hey, baby, are those space pants you got on? Because your ass is out of this world."

"Ha, that's funny. You could always use: You're so hot, even my zipper is falling for you."

"You
are
good," he laughed. "Promise me you'll be my wing woman the next time I want to go out. Usually, I use my old standard when I see a woman I want from across the bar," he said, curling his finger and giving me that come hither gesture. "And when she comes over I whisper in her ear..." and he leaned his head next to mine, breath hot in my ear. "I just wanted to see if I could make you come with my finger."

All joking aside, that one would've gotten me home with him. Good thing we weren't in a bar, because my vagina was quite interested in finding out what magical abilities his fingers were capable of. "That one's not so bad, actually."

He tilted his head and smiled. He twisted off another two caps to another two whiskeys. "So, what's the story with Kevin? How did you guys meet? What was his spectacular line?"

"Really? Did you have to bring his stupid cheating name up? I had a good few minutes not thinking about him," I laughed then gave a long sigh. "We uh, met at a party, through mutual friends… there was no special line. He kind of just planted himself in my life. What about you and Sophia? Was she your girlfriend?"

"No. We just..."

I looked away embarrassed. He didn't act like the situation bothered him too much, but a guy's ego is a fragile thing, you never know how much truth they're telling you. "Gotcha."

"Excuse me," a gentleman dressed like a pilot greeted us as he moved into the front of the cabin. "Mr. Holt, as soon as we get clearance for the runway we'll be taking off."

James smiled and nodded, sitting down next to me. He raised a half-empty bottle of whiskey in the air and winked. "Thank you, Marco. We'll be back here discussing the mysteries of life with my old friend Mr. Jack Daniels if you need us."

Leaning back into the seat, shoulders relaxed, I laughed.

"Enjoy, sir. Just make sure all cellular devices are shut down before departure," he said before leaving.

Next to me, James pulled out his cellphone and I followed along, searching for how to put mine into airplane mode when another text from Kevin popped onto the screen.
Why couldn’t he just leave me alone to think?

"Hey, you okay? Do I have to kick that phone's ass?" James asked.

My eyes shot up to his, wondering what he was talking about.

His hand reached out and a long, thick finger poked at my phone. A smile tugged at his lips. "You just looked like the phone was doing something offensive to you, like you were angry with it."

"Just another
I love you and miss you
from Kevin," I replied, shutting my phone off and chucking it into my bag.

James looked away, hesitated, and then looked back, shaking his head.

Whatever that meant.

"How you feeling with all this?" he asked.

Polishing off the rest of my drink, I offered a tight smile. "I'm just so humiliated. All the rumors going around make me want to crawl in a hole and die. I mean, there's one rumor that I had a threesome with them."

He flinched. "Where'd you hear that?" he asked.

"Evan," I snapped.

"Yeah, well he probably started the rumor," he said, stretching out his legs and getting more comfortable. "So what did happen? If you don't mind me asking."

"I was at my bachelorette party. We were supposed to spend the night at the Marriot, but we were so drunk we forgot to tell that to the limo driver, and I ended up stumbling drunk into my living room and there they were."

"That's horrible," he said with a genuine look of shock across his face.

"I'm going to have to disinfect my entire living room. It probably still lingers with sex stank. And let me tell you—it was disgusting, like pure ass sweat. Seriously, I reeled back in sheer terror from the smell alone." Yeah. I was pretty buzzed
right there
.

Laughter bellowed throughout the entire cabin of the airplane.

James Holt was laughing. Which just allowed my buzzed brain to think it was a good idea to continue.

"And dear God, the sight alone made me vomit up at least five rounds of drinks and that night's appetizer. Every light in my apartment was on. They drank a bottle of
my
wine, and they ate
my
Godiva chocolate. What kind of woman steals another woman's chocolate? And the Pogo stick sex, eww. Now, I have no problem with sexual experimentation and stuff, but what I have a problem with is stupidity. Am I talking too much?"

"No, keep going. You're amazingly funny when you're drunk," he chuckled.

"Thank you. I'm actually funny all the time, especially when I'm drunk, but I'm not quite drunk yet, but keep 'em coming, good sir. Anyway, back to stupidity. If you are stupid enough to believe that I wouldn't see that someone ate my beloved chocolate, that
that
wasn't going to eventually come to light, you are quite stupid. I'm not offended by the sex they had and the stank they let off. I'm offended by the theft of my
fothermucking
chocolate."

"Really?" he asked, leaning in closer.

"No, this hurts like hell," I said, rubbing at my chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Not your fault. But I just don't get it. Here's you and then there's Kevin. Does she have poor taste in men, or is she just a serial cocksucker? I mean he was the peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the shitty crust still on. Comfort food. Just a damn sandwich. You, you are the fillet mignon."

"I'm flattered, thank you." He laughed.

"With like those delicious baked red potatoes on the side," I continued.

"Do I come with vegetables?" he asked.

I nodded. "Dessert too."

James offered more alcohol. I graciously accepted.

"What did he say when he saw you?"

"He said it was all a mistake. Told me it was cold feet. That he was scared; wanted to have a last hurrah to see if I was the one. I don't want to forgive and forget. I want to hate him. The only word I kept thinking of was why. Why? In big bold letters. WHY? Why, why, why? I remember screaming it over and over at them. It was so humiliating. I needed a specific thing to blame, you know? The one reason that he thought it was okay to do what he did to me."

"Did he give you specific reasons besides cold feet?" he asked.

"A whole stupid list of them. And you want to know the best part?" I said, grabbing his arm. Those arms were no joke. It was like clutching steel. "The best part was that she stood there and listened. Drinking my favorite wine. Nibbling on my chocolate. Wearing my robe."

"Are you shitting me?" he asked.

"I shit you not," I answered.

"You're handling all of it well, I think."

"I disagree. I've been drunk ever since. The first day was the worst. Tears. Sobs. The whys. Oh, my gosh, the whys are the worst. They keep repeating in my head." I leaned in really close and looked him dead in the eye. "What the hell was so special about her that she was better than me?"