11. Katherine / Kingston
11
KATHERINE / KINGSTON
Katherine
Gabe’s blue eyes lock with mine across the small helicopter, and a tremor quakes in my tummy. A spark of something wicked and delightful and forbidden flares to life in my chest, swooshing lower before zinging through my veins.
He made me his business.
That shouldn’t please me as much as it does.
I glance at Alexander and note the tight clench of his jaw. Once again, I feel the need to let them both win.
“Yes, well. I guess you both did.” I glance out the window again, admiring the inky darkness and soft glow of lights below. But I can see the men’s reflections there.
Alex’s dark hair and stern expression. Gabe’s milk chocolate locks and those shockingly blue eyes that keep swerving my way.
Somehow, they’ve managed to chase away my panic. Hold it at bay. It’s been a long time since someone has cared for me like this. I mean, I guess they did pay handsomely. But they could have easily walked right by me and headed home.
But Alex stopped.
And he helped.
He supported me when I could barely support myself.
I swallow at that. Not having control over my own body is such a nightmare. And I wish I knew when a panic attack was going to come on. Or how to prevent them entirely.
The helicopter swoops down, and we follow the beach. The moon’s out, making the water shimmer. The longer I stare, the more this all feels like a dream. Running away from the vitriol and chaos.
My imagination whispers, and I let it. After the day I’ve had, my mind should be free to run away like a prized thoroughbred.
Escaping the city. Fleeing the paparazzi. Being rescued by not one but two handsome knights. Who would win my heart? The rapier-tongued brainiac who keeps me on my toes or the protective bodyguard who calms me with a single touch?
I sneak a glance at them. Alex is so relaxed. Going with the flow. Doing what needs to be done one step at a time. But Gabe’s body teams with tension. As if he’s playing chess and trying to think twelve steps ahead.
As fantasies go, it’s not a bad one. Being whisked away in a private helicopter by two handsome men. One who loves telling me what to do. And the other who cares about nothing but my pleasure.
I can’t pick. Not in my fantasy, and not now.
Standing between the two of them back at the gala was the most alive I’ve ever felt. Grounded, pulsing with energy.
It’s addictive.
And if the sensation went on forever, I wouldn’t complain.
But we’re not high enough that I can forget about the real world. At least not forever. For a few more minutes, though, I can dream about a different life. Up here in the dim lighting, wrapped in the soundproof cocoon, surrounded by their soft, dreamy cologne. Up here, it’s safe to imagine this night going differently.
Where ending up on stage and being auctioned off to these two is only the beginning.
My temperature rises, and my skin flushes. I tip my head back, sinking against the soft Italian leather. Everything on this chopper is first class. . . including Gabe and Alex.
My lips curve as I picture my mother having a meltdown and Alex stepping in, heading her off. They curve more when I push her right out of my thoughts and close my eyes.
What would it be like to let myself go? To truly let myself live for me and be in the moment, only hostage to my whims and desires. Would I sink to the floor between them? Or perhaps pull the skirt of my dress slowly up my thighs?
“Are you cold?” That’s Alex’s deep voice.
I open my eyes and drop my chin. His gaze darts from my chest and back up. I’m keenly aware of everywhere he looks, almost as if his fingers follow the same path as those warm chocolate eyes. Am I imagining the hunger there? Hoping to see it?
I’m not wearing a bra, and I’m guessing the built-in padding is not doing its job. I glance down. Nope. The satiny fabric isn’t hiding my condition. In fact, my nips bead harder under his attention.
Alex doesn’t wait for a response; he simply takes off his seatbelt and shrugs out of his gorgeous midnight black jacket. He crosses to me and drapes it around my shoulders. His fingers brush my skin, sending bolts of awareness deep into my core.
“Thanks.” I don’t bother denying it. I’d rather they think I’m cold than tell them the truth. That I’m turned on. Starved for touch. A total mess.
The dark fabric is gorgeous and soft, and it smells like shaving cream and man, warm from his body heat.
It’s a dreamy move, I’ll give him that. Straight out of the movies. Direct from my deepest fantasies. I burrow deeper. And when I glance back at the men across from me, they seem relieved. Relaxing back in their seats.
I’d pay handsomely to know what they’re really thinking. To understand them and their motivation. To find out if the attraction is one-sided.
The chopper dips.
“We’re here.”
I was so caught up in my panic and then my text messages, and finally, letting my mind run wild, I didn’t ask where we were going. Or how long it’d take to get there. But deep down, I didn’t really care about the answer.
For now, I’m going to live in the moment.
“Where is here?”
Kingston
Forty-three.
Forty-four.
Forty-five.
I’m almost done with a fifty-count of pushups when the skies open up. Rain pings softly against the window, glittering like diamonds backlit by bright airport lighting. It’s dark out, and I’m not even sure what time it is anymore. Thanks to a volcano in Iceland, air traffic around Europe is at a standstill.
My phone died an hour ago, and I’ ve had it plugged in since. Most everyone has nodded off during the night. The woman in the chair next to my luggage snores softly.
Forty-six.
Forty-seven.
A prickle of awareness along the back of my neck has me lifting my head. Across the aisle, a guy about my age is slouched in his chair, eyes locked on me. He’s got unnaturally dark hair, three piercings in his left eyebrow and a ‘who the fuck cares’ vibe.
Ten years ago, he’d have been just my type.
Forty-eight.
Forty-nine.
Once upon a time, I was drawn to that devilish nonchalance. The antithesis of all things Upper East Side. Now, I can’t get back to Katherine fast enough.
Fifty.
Ignoring the hottie’s obvious interest, I shove to my feet. Too much time cooped up in airports makes me restless.
I slide into my chair, trying not to disturb my neighbors since all the seats are connected, and reach for my pretzels. The small bag is almost empty, and so is my stomach.
I shove the last pretzel into my mouth and flip my phone over. There’s enough charge to boot up. Thank goodness.
Frustration burns through my chest. Normally, travel interruptions aren’t a big deal, but I’m sure I’ve missed the gala by now. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I count back on my fingers. Yep. There’s no way I’m making it in time to see Katherine on that stage.
I stretch my neck left, then right. All this sitting around and waiting is driving me bonkers.
My phone pings softly, and a notification bubble with Katherine’s name pops up across the top of the screen. Finally.
I ignore how long it took her to get back to me because it took three tries for my last message to even go through. Maybe the volcano is messing with more than air travel.
Is it possible to be too eager to hear from your best friend?
Katherine: You were right. As usual.
I scroll up to the photo she took before leaving for the gala. The green color is perfection on her. But the woman makes the dress.
My mother and grandmother have said that all my life, and I’m not sure if I ever truly understood those words until now.
I shift in the leather-like seat and navigate to my browser, then search to see if anyone’s posted pictures from the event.
‘Katherine Montgomery bachelorette’ returns a flurry of results.
A handful of photos from the glittering Winstead ballroom, with Katherine on the stage. I’m not surprised that she’s got that cool mask frozen to her gorgeous face. It’s her standard ‘I don’t trust any of you’ expression.
I skim past the next headline: Two Million Dollar Girl
But then the next one reads: Who is Katherine Montgomery and why is she worth $2 million?
What the hell is going on?