In Flight (Up In The Air #1)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Mr. Sensitive

Eventually he stopped kissing me and pulled my cheek against his chest. I was reeling with the realization that casual sex could feel so intimate. I felt so cherished as he stroked my back reverently and whispered sweet words to me.

He left me. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, as though afraid to intrude on the moment with noise.

I heard him start the bath, and couldn’t think of anything that sounded more perfect than a hot bath at that moment.

I lay on my back, exactly as he had left me, feeling more relaxed in every part of my body than I could ever remember. I felt…peaceful. It was a revelation.

When he’d been gone for several minutes, I opened my eyes to look around.

He stood at the foot of the bed, watching me, his eyes ablaze. I glanced down my body and realized there was blood spread around on the sheets rather messily.

“I didn’t realize I would bleed so much,” I said, starting to sit up.

“Don’t,” he told me, and I lay back down. We watched each other. I saw that his erection was as hard as though he’d never come.

I pointed at it. “Can you go again? Is that possible?”

He smiled, and stroked his cock idly with one hand. “Oh, yes. But you’re too sore tonight. I was just enjoying the view. Embedding this image into my brain.”

He came to my side, lifting me until I was cradled against his chest. He rose from the bed with my weight in his arms. He showed no visible strain. I loved that, his strength, and all of the amazing things he could do with his body, seemingly effortlessly.

“Let’s take a bath and talk about what we’re gonna do about this,” he said, stroking my hair, as though the ‘this’ was me.

It made me smile for some odd reason, though the thought of talking about anything held no appeal for me at that moment.

He stepped into the biggest tub I’d ever seen, still holding me.

The bathroom was one giant slab of greenish-black granite, so far as I could see. The tub was square and he slid down against one side of it, holding me in front of him until we were sitting up together, him spooning me from behind.

He pumped some divine smelling soap out of a built-in granite dispenser and began to lather soap over my entire body leisurely. It smelled like him, and I breathed it in. I felt positively decadent, laying there bonelessly while he tended to my bath.

“I love that soap. It smells like you,” I told him, eyes closed in pleasure.

He brought his lips to my ear, biting the lobe teasingly. “Now you smell like me. I love that.”

He washed me in silence for a few minutes, stroking as much as cleaning. He kept coming back to my breasts, stroking and kneading the pliable flesh thoroughly.

“We need to talk,” he told me.

I groaned, and not in pleasure this time. “I’d prefer that you spank me again. Can we do that instead?” I was only half-joking.

He made a delicious purring noise against my neck. “Not tonight. We need to set up the rules for this. If my self-control hadn’t deserted me tonight, we would have settled it before I ever touched you.”

I cringed at his terminology. The word ‘settled’ gave me a bad feeling. I didn’t think it boded well for the conversation to come.

“What is there to talk about?” I finally asked.

He sighed, the motion shifting me where I lay with my back on his chest.

“Well, I suppose I’d like to know what you would like out of our arrangement. What’s important to you?“ As he spoke, he turned me so that he could see my face more clearly, my head supported by the crook of his elbow.

I wrinkled my nose at him. The term ‘arrangement’ was even worse than ‘settled’.

“Really, the only thing I expect from you is an exclusive sexual relationship while we’re…having sex, even if we’re done with each other in a week. And by done, I mean some type of communication before you start seeing anybody else, sexually or otherwise. And if that’s a struggle for you, just let me know so I can bail out on the whole mess now.”

He blinked at me, looking stunned, and I thought for an awful moment that he considered that too much of a concession. I was about a second away from getting the hell out of there when he spoke. “Yes, of course.” His tone implied that he hadn’t even considered anything else.

“And you want to not date,” I prompted him. I was avidly curious to know what that meant for him.

He nodded, studying my face. “I want to see you, though, as often as possible. I would just prefer for our relationship to remain private. So most of our meetings will be at one of my homes or yours. I won’t be taking you out to a lot of public places, I regret.”

Sure he did, I thought cynically.

I made my face go blank, suddenly feeling a little delicate for reasons I wasn’t willing to examine at that moment.


“Sounds great. Isn’t that enough to settle things for the moment? If we’re done with each other in a week, this seems like an awful lot of unnecessary talk, doesn’t it? And if it lasts for two or three weeks, we’ll take that hurdle when we come to it.”

His face hardened as I spoke. His own questions seemed harsh. “Is that what you think? That we’ll be done with each other in a week? Or two or three?”

I shrugged, closing my eyes as though I might drift off at any moment.

“I don’t want to think about it. However long it lasts, if you’re just honest with me when you’re done, and don’t just start seeing other people without telling me, that’s enough for me.”

He went back to washing and stroking me, tenderly washing and conditioning my hair, silent for a time.

“I would give just about anything to know what’s behind that cool composure of yours. And I would kill to know what you’re thinking,” he whispered against my hair. “I’m so afraid I’ll offend you beyond all repair, and that you’ll never let me know how. You’ll just leave and never speak to me again. Would you do that?”

I never opened my eyes, just shrugging again. Though it was uncanny to me how he’d realized that about me with how little he knew me.

“It’s possible. It’s hard to say without specifics.”

He cursed softly. “I need to feel more secure about this. You terrify me.”

I smiled wryly, eyes still closed.

“Wrong word, Mr. Beautiful. The term you’re looking for is more in-control, not more secure. But I like my life. I’m not making a lot of concessions there, so don’t even try. I’m usually in New York one full day a week. You live there, right?”

“Primarily, yes.”

“Okay, well, I’ll let you know when I’m in New York, and maybe we can meet up somewhere private.”

His arms tightened around me. “This is what I’m talking about. Are you saying this because I’ve somehow offended you? Or are you really so indifferent?”

I suddenly wanted, badly, to leave. He wasn’t one to leave a subject alone until he was satisfied, and I was absolutely done talking about anything that involved my indifference or lack thereof. I felt an instant need to get away from him, away from this feeling of intimacy. It was suddenly unbearable to me.

“I need to get home. I work early.” I stood. I was relieved when he let me step out of the bath.

“Have you eaten dinner?” he asked me, his voice stiff and cool.

I thought about it, my mind going blank. When was the last time I’d eaten? I recalled scarfing down a protein bar as I painted, but that had been all since my yogurt on the plane.

“Um, I guess not,” I finally answered. “But I can grab something later.”

His nostrils flared, his eyes getting a little wild.

“Please, at least stay to eat with me. I’ll feel like a complete bastard if you come here, we do all of that,” he waved a hand at the bedroom, “and you leave as though you can’t even stand to share a meal with me. I have some salmon prepped that only needs fifteen minutes to bake.”

I nodded. “Okay,” I agreed readily enough. I didn’t want to storm out like a drama queen. I would prefer to leave with some dignity after a civilized meal.

He wrapped a towel around me, drying himself quickly and wrapping a towel low around his hips in a mouth-watering display. I looked away. He took off for the kitchen like he was afraid I would leave if it took him too long to get the salmon ready. He was uncanny at reading my intentions…

I slipped my dress back on, having nothing else. The lack of a bra and panties made it into a somewhat obscene outfit, but I didn’t think it mattered. I would be going from James’s house directly to my garage. I could probably get away with being naked, in a pinch.

I towel dried my hair a bit, used the restroom, which I found in it’s own room within the bathroom, and padded barefoot from his room.

I searched for and found the kitchen, but I stopped in the daunting dining room and sat there.

The table was set in almost a romantic fashion, so I assumed this was where we were meant to eat. I’d rather wait in a room by myself than tempt James into trying to have another ‘talk’ with me.

He joined me just a moment later, carrying two delicious looking salads. He set them down on the settings, darting back into the kitchen. He came back with two glasses of water with lemon.

I thought he might have actually forgotten that he was wearing nothing but a damp towel. It was impossible for me to forget such a thing. Looking that incredible should be illegal. He really was tan everywhere. It was a heady sight.

I waited politely for him to sit to my left before eating. It was mixed greens with feta cheese and pecans. I couldn’t put my finger on what the lightly flavored dressing was, but it was quite good.

“It’s delicious,” I told him after a few bites.

He smiled at me. It was a careful smile. He was still in his ‘afraid to offend me’ mood.

“I actually cooked the whole meal tonight. I don’t get to do it often, but I wanted to for you. I can’t pretend, though, that this is a common occurrence. I have a great housekeeper here who usually does most of the cooking at this house.”

I nodded pleasantly, trying not to look uncomfortable with the casual reminder of his wealth.

“Do your parents live in Las Vegas, as well?” he asked me after he’d finished his salad.

I froze, but recovered quickly. “They’re dead,” I said, my face and voice blank.

He looked startled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. What happened?”

“Where do your parents live?” I asked him pointedly, rather than answering.

He looked uncomfortable. “They’re dead as well. They died when I was thirteen, in a car crash.”

I gave him an apologetic grimace. “Sorry. I don’t like to talk about my parents, but I didn’t mean to be insensitive about yours.”

He reached across the table, putting his hand over mine. “Don’t be sorry. That wasn’t insensitive. You didn’t know, either.”

I gave him a wry smile. “I should have looked you up online. I could have saved us at least one awkward moment.”

He gave me a wry smile back. “That wouldn’t help me learn about you, though.”

We went back to eating for a minute, and the silence was awkward.

“When is your birthday?” he asked suddenly. I knew what he was doing. He was so afraid to offend me, to scare me off, that he was trying to find neutral things to talk about. He couldn’t have known that my birthday was another touchy subject.

“October.” I answered. “How about you?”

“June 5th. October what?”

I sighed. “24th.” I stifled the urge to say, Why do you care? You won’t even remember my name by then. That would be rude, I told myself. And he seemed to be oddly sensitive.

He nodded, as though making a note of it.

Yeah, right.

The oven timer went off, and he walked into the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the fact that that clingy towel looked in danger of falling off with every step.

I made myself look away.

He brought in two impressive dishes a moment later. He had already dished the food onto the plates, arranging the meal with a chef’s flourish.

It was an offering of asparagus, freshly baked salmon seasoned to perfection, and some type of grain I’d never seen before.

I tasted it, then pointed to it with my fork. “I don’t even know what that is, but it’s delicious. It’s all divine. Is there anything you’re bad at?”

He smiled, the first self-deprecating smile I’d seen on him. It was disarming and all too charming.

“Learning about you. Getting you to spend the night with me. And that grain is quinoa.”

I just continued to eat, ignoring the first things he mentioned. I still felt that itching under my skin, that strong need to withdraw from the intimacy we’d shared.

“Oh, I got you a present,” he told me, smiling at me as we were finishing our meal. “Do you want desert before or after the gift?”

I waved him off. “Oh, I couldn’t. I’m so stuffed already.”

He looked genuinely disappointed. “Just a bite? It’s just a light custard with some fresh fruit. We could share.”

I smiled, genuinely charmed by his boyish need to impress me with his cooking. “Okay, we can share.”