Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Excuse me, flight attendant? I believe the cabin has lost air pressure, and I now require an oxygen mask.
And I thought I was short of breath before.
Jesus Harold Christ… Lenox just chewed on my lips.
Never has a man done that to me, and it’s not something I would have thought I’d find as erotic as I did, but wow, it was hot.
I’m fully aware of why he did it, and that’s not helping my mindset either.
He’s here with me on the plane, flying to Las Vegas to marry me at no personal gain, and then he just spent the last twenty minutes talking to me—something he hates doing—about nonsense like diamond rings and where we’re getting married in Vegas, when I doubt he gives two shits about either.
And when I was still losing my mind, he bit me to snap me out of it.
It was a move only he would do, but boy was it everything I needed at that moment.
It short-circuited my brain. Turned it from rapid fire to stun.
It’s funny, or maybe not so much, but I never gave flying a second thought until my father’s plane went missing.
I don’t know what happened to my father’s plane, but the special investigators couldn’t say either way.
Foul play has neither been confirmed nor eliminated as a possibility. All they know is that it exploded, and not enough of the plane was recovered to know what caused it.
But after what Lenox just did, how on earth am I supposed to get through the rest of this week when all I can think about now is Lenox nibbling on my mouth? And would that feel as good if he tried it on a different set of lips?
The flight attendants come around, delivering warm nuts and a dish of marinated olives, and Lenox takes it upon himself to order me a whiskey and Diet Coke. I don’t argue it. I can use it, frankly.
Especially as I say, “Do you think we should draw up a contract?”
Now that my panic has abated, Lenox has all but zoned me out, doing God only knows what on his laptop.
He’s wearing glasses and typing about a thousand words a minute, and whenever I try to coyly look at his screen, none of it makes sense.
For one, it’s not like any laptop or home screen I’ve ever seen before.
For another, everything he’s typing immediately encrypts on the screen into binary code.
“What is that?”
His head twists in my direction, and his blue eyes pierce straight into mine. His only response is to raise a do you actually expect me to answer that eyebrow.
I shrug, taking a sip of my drink. “It doesn’t look like any computer I’ve ever seen before is all.”
“That’s because it’s not. I built it.”
I shouldn’t have asked. His genius brain always turned me on, and after the lip-biting, I need to remember all the ways I hate him and not all the ways he can still get me hot with a simple look.
“And the glasses?” Because I hate to admit how sexy he looks in them. Damn sexy nerd.
“Blue light. ”
Makes sense. I clear my throat, speaking in a low tone since we’re on the plane—with many ears close by—but I want this settled before we reach the hotel and our suite because shortly after that, it’s wedding time.
“I sent you the prenup this morning. We’re allowed to e-sign it per my attorney if you’re comfortable with all the language in it and don’t require any amendments.”
“I don’t. I already signed it and sent it back to your attorney.”
“Oh.”
He sighs, not happy at all to be here, and that’s what worries me. There is nothing in this for him. He could pull out at any second. “What sort of contract are you looking for beyond that?”
“I don’t even know,” I tell him honestly. “Last night you said you have rules, and I feel like we should discuss those. Hash them out. I definitely have boundaries we both have to stick to.”
He types for another few minutes, and just when I don’t think he’ll answer me, he hits one last key, shuts the screen of his laptop, and turns to me, giving me his full and undivided attention, which is nothing short of unsettling from a man like him.
I set my drink down on the small tray at the end of our armrests and reach down for my bag, coming up with a red lip liner and not a pen, but whatever, it’ll work. I rip the cap off with my teeth and then set myself in a position to start writing on the white cocktail napkin.
He chuckles, a rare chuckle, and waves a hand, indicating I should go first, but stops me by tugging the liner from my grasp and recapping it. “We’re not writing them down, Georgia.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because something like that can be lost and very easily found.”
Fine. I yank the liner from his hand, toss it back into my Louis, and then take a sip of my drink, giving him the floor. “Age before beauty. You go first.”
He smirks. “Whatever we discuss, whatever you see stays private and entirely between us. You can’t tell your mom or your girlfriends anything about me.
You know what I do.” His gaze pointedly slides to his closed laptop before returning to me.
“But the world does not. I am a tattoo artist and nothing else. Understand?”
“Absolutely. I think you know I never would and that I never have. It sorta already goes without saying.” I hold out my pinkie, and he stares at it like he’s not sure what to do with it. “Would you rather we do a spit shake or I slice open my hand and make this a blood oath?”
“I’ve already tasted your spit today, but let’s get through the rest of this first before we decide on how to make it binding. What are your rules?”
I lick my lips, inching in closer to him, looking around at the other people in first class, but everyone has on their noise-canceling headphones and isn’t paying us any attention.
“Whenever we’re in public, we hold hands or touch like we’re in love.
This may not be real, but I want it to look real. That illusion is paramount for me.”
He bobs his head, which I take for his agreement and muster on.
“I haven’t said anything about this, and I haven’t asked because I’m already asking a lot, but…” I blow out a breath. “But do you think?—”
“I’m already looking into it, and you don’t have to worry. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
I crack a smile. “How do you know what I’m asking?”
“You’re easy to read,” he says simply, and I frown.
I don’t like that idea. Not with him. Not with anyone.
“Georgia, aside from the fact that you will be my wife, and that makes you my responsibility, you are also my best friends’ cousin.
I will keep you safe, and part of that task is ensuring there are no threats to your safety. ”
“You’re going to make me wet with talk like that.”
He chokes on nothing, glaring at me, and then steals my drink to wash it down.
“Hey! That’s mine.”
He finishes his sip and hands it back to me, and I take a sip of my own.
“For the record, I can keep myself safe. I am a blackbelt in jujitsu and karate, and while you might be twice my size and have more muscles than is street legal, I can handle my own. It was more that I wanted to know if there are any skeletons in my ex’s closet I should be aware of.
I don’t need his nitty-gritty, and frankly, I don’t care, but I want to know if he’s doing anything that will hurt or impact me. ”
He looks at me as if he can crush me like a tin can, but I do have a few cool tricks up my sleeve and don’t mind being underestimated because that’s always an advantage.
But then I sober and ask something I’m not sure I want the answer to since he got me thinking about it. “Do you think Ezra took down my father’s plane?” Other than me, Ezra is the one who stood to benefit the most.
“No clue right now. But I promise to tell you if I ever find out.”
I can live with that. “Okay. Your turn. Hit me with your next rule. I’ll call them the laws of Lenox.”
He plows past that as he shifts in his seat, but his gaze never wavers. “This is nonnegotiable for me as well.”
“Alright.” Gulp . “Spill it.” I curl my legs up on my seat, hanging over the large armrest that separates our seats.
“I’m possessive. It may not be real between us, but the marriage will be legal as well as real to the world. If you’re married to me, you’re not fucking anyone else.”
But…
“We’re not fucking.”
“That’s my condition. My law, as you put it.”
My heart pulses out an extra beat. “Does that go for you too?”
“Yes.”
I stare skeptically at him. “You’re going to go a year without any other women?”
“We’re not fucking,” he says, throwing my words back at me. “But yes. No one else as long as you’re my wife.”
Hard to argue. Especially when men aren’t part of my recovery and rebuilding my life era.
I clear my throat—I swear this man is giving me hot flashes with his I’m possessive and I’ll keep you safe stuff. “Deal. No one else— or each other—for that matter—since that didn’t work out well for me in the past. Anything else?”
A head shake.
“I’m not sure I have anything else either. Can we agree that if we have to add more, we do?”
A nod.
“So blood, spit, pinkie swear, or something else? I’d get a tattoo, but I don’t want your signature inked on my skin.”
He smirks at me. “Your word will do fine. You’re trusting me, so I’ll trust you.”
Fair enough. “I need to go shopping,” I tell him, and I don’t even know why other than talking seems to help. “I need a wedding dress, or at least a dress I can wear to my wedding.”
He frowns but doesn’t look my way again as he resumes whatever it is he’s doing on his computer.
“We’re staying at Caesars. That’s where the conference is.” I swallow, feeling an annoying flush creep up my cheeks—sometimes being a fair-skinned redhead sucks like that. “We have a suite, but?—”