Mindy hums and turns back, her hand brushing her cup and dumping half a Sprite with ice in my lap. “Oh, Harold, I’m sorry!” she says with an overly dramatic gasp.
Before I can react, she gets a napkin and dabs at my crotch. Her strokes barely brush the top of my dick, and it twitches, wanting nothing more than to get rid of the two layers of fabric between me and her soft fingers.
I grab her hand a second later when the shock wears off, putting it firmly in her lap. “I got it,” I say. “You should be more careful.”
My cock is straining against my pants so much it hurts. She was intentionally brushing her hand up against my cock. My cheeks are flaming, and I have to use the photo book to hide my crotch as the plane makes the final turn and starts down the runway, accelerating into the air.
“I really am sorry,” Mindy says with faux sincerity as we reach our cruising altitude. “I so didn’t mean to do that.”
Yeah, right. The little triumphant smile I see on her face says it all.
This is fucking war.
Mindy
My heart pounds in my chest as the limo rolls to a stop in front of Wentworth Estate, parking on the circular driveway. It’s like something out of a storybook, or maybe even a painting. Lush green grass is perfectly trimmed on the huge manicured lawns. Three statues adorn the lawn, all of them classically-themed pieces, one of them of a man on a horse. If I remember what Mom told me, it’s supposed to be a Wentworth who won the Congressional Medal of Honor back in the Civil War or something like that.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, momentarily stunned.
“It’s nice,” Oliver agrees.
For some reason, his lack of gushing pisses me off. He sounds so casual about it all.
I’m still smarting over what he did. Pushing his body into me when he gave me the ring, intentionally pressing his big, hard . . . wait, what am I thinking? I shove the thought away, my face turning red.
Jesus, will it ever stop?
We’re not even a day in and I can already cut the sexual tension with a knife. My body is on hormonal overdrive, and I’ve still got six days, eighteen hours, and too many damn minutes before we’re done with this charade.
“You okay?” Oliver asks, seeing my trouble. “Did the plane ride upset your stomach or something?”
I wave off his concern, not letting on to my desire. I can’t let him know just how much he’s affecting me. “You can save the hero act for a bit. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.”
The corner of his lips curls up into a grin and I grit my teeth. I got the last laugh on the plane, but somehow, I know he has the upper hand now.
“Hey, don’t worry about me,” I say. “Remember the back story?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Oliver says, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t understand yet. Mom and Grandma both have minds like tape recorders and the cross-examining skills of a lawyer. They’ll tear him apart if he starts screwing around. “You only said it a million times on the way over here. We’ve been together a year. I walked into your coffee shop and told you that you were the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Short and sweet.”
A flush comes to my chest. The words sound nice even though they’re fake. “Yeah, something like that. Don’t forget about you dropping to your knees when I said yes.”
Oliver’s smirk turns into a genuine smile, and I feel my flush deepen. “Don’t worry,” he says, giving me a reassuring, smoldering look. “They’re going to buy every word. We’ll see about going to my knees though.”
Somehow, his words don’t give me comfort. It’s like everything he says has layers of meaning, and no matter what, my mind wants to think of sex. Like him covering my body in kisses and being on his knees, his lips . . .
The door opens and the driver, an old man named Sam, stands ready for us. “The Wentworth Estate. Please watch your step on the gravel, Miss.”
I step out, relishing the cool breeze that blows in lightly from the east, caressing my soft flesh as I take in the scenery. It’s a beautiful day with sunny, clear skies, the large French Provincial mansion looming against the azure sky. If I weren’t so nervous, I’d be amazed.
“Don’t worry about your bags,” Sam says when Oli makes a move to grab them out of the back of the limo. “The house staff will get them and make sure they’re delivered to the proper bedroom.”
Oliver gives me a look. “The house staff?”
I just shrug. I knew John had money, but I’ve never cared enough to find out exactly how much. I was expecting a nice big house, not a damn castle with house staff. “I’m just rollin’ with it.”
“If you’ll come with me,” the driver says.
Sam leads us to the cobblestone walkway that leads to the huge double-door entry of the mansion. As we head up, Oliver places his hand on the small of my back. Warm currents begin to ripple out from his touch, and I squirm on the inside, flustered.
“What are you doing?” I whisper out of the side of my mouth, alarmed by what his touch is doing to me. How am I supposed to share a bedroom with this man for a whole week?
“Being your fiancé,” he whispers back, grinning at me. “Come on, Princess. Let’s meet the fam.”
He says it so sweetly that I almost wish it were true for a second. A part of me likes being on his strong arm, though I’d never admit it to him.
By the time we reach the double doors, my forehead is dotted in sweat. My heart is pounding in my chest like I just sprinted a half-mile or something. Truth be told, I'm overcome with sudden anxiety.
Too late to worry now, I realize as Sam puts his hand on the twin handles of the front door. I’m in too deep.
The large door springs open before the driver can turn the handles, and out steps my mother with a small barking dog, a fluffy white Pomeranian at her side. Sam springs out of the way, pretty spry for a guy his age, which is a good thing or else he’d get run over.
“Mindy, my darling!” My mother sings, stepping forward with her arms outstretched. The woman is practically dripping in diamonds, with a matching necklace, bracelet, and earring set over top of her white brocade dress that flows down her body all the way to her ankles. “It’s been so long!”
“Mom,” I say as we embrace. I smell her perfume, and it smells expensive as hell. “I’ve missed you.”
I pull back and feel tears forming in my eyes as I survey her. Her face looks different from when I last saw her. The wrinkles that had begun to show around her eyes are mysteriously gone, along with her forehead wrinkles. It’s a little weird, and I wonder if Mom’s just feeling youthful from love or if she had a little help from Botox.
“You’re lookin’ good. Not as good as me, but you’d do just fine in a singles bar on Ladies’ Night.”
My mother laughs. “Yeah, well, that’s in the past for me. You look good too, honey. I never could have worn a dress like that at your age.”
“Who’s this little lady?” I say, gesturing at the dog who’s running circles around our feet, barking and carrying on in an attempt to deflect attention away from my dress. I feel nervous enough feeling Oliver’s hand still on my lower back. I can’t decide if I want his hand higher . . . or lower.
“Oh, that’s Bertha,” Mom says with a dismissive wave of her hand, “a puppy John got me several months into our courtship. She’s a handful, but I can’t imagine this place without her.”
Weird name for a tiny little dog if you ask me, but hey. Mom turns her gaze on Oliver, her eyes widening as if noticing him for the first time. “Mindy, you never said your young man was this handsome. Why, you’re practically perfect!”
“He is,” I mutter, not quite sure what I’m agreeing with. I step away from Oliver, using hand gestures to complete the introductions. “Harold this is my mother, Mary Jo. Mom, this is Harold.”
Oliver grins, taking my mother's hand and gently kissing the back of it, his eyes twinkling. “It’s a pleasure, Ma’am. They say that a man can see his future wife when he looks at her mother . . . and I’m a lucky man.”
My mom looks at me approvingly, sounding slightly out of breath. “Ooh, Mindy, I like him.”