Chapter 16
I’m gripping Dallas’s arm for dear life as we take off. He buckled me in and then buckled himself in and the pilot wished us a good flight over the intercom and I need to hold onto something.
“Holy shit, we’re fucking flying!” I scream-whisper.
He laughs, like he can’t help himself. It’s not the first time I get the impression laughing isn’t something Dallas Wilder does all that often and he’s surprised to find himself doing it.
It’s simply the most magical experience I’ve ever had. And we’re barely above the rooftops.
Then we climb and it’s like being inside a space-age bubble high above the world. The sun is a big hazy glow in the gauzy sky and I’m in love with all of it. With the blur of the propellor that’s moving so fast you can’t even see it. With him. With life itself.
From the air, New Orleans is a crescent of green and rust and silver, held in the arms of the glinting, muddy river. “It’s so beautiful.” My city brings tears to my eyes.
“There,” he points out. “Look, it’s the Quarter.”
We fly over the French Quarter and it looks so charming and quaint from up here.
“I can see the hotel!” I know which one it is because the White Swan has a white logo on their black roof.
Three roofs southwest, I can see the wrought-iron balcony off Room 22 that’s in need of a paint job. Our roof is a rusty gray.
The whole scene is blurry because it feels so good to be away from the hotel and the bittersweet memories that are so much a part of my daily life, but I also miss it like a regular person might miss their mother.
In a way, the hotel might as well be my mother.
I never knew my own. The sounds and the smells and the people who came and went raised me.
I’ve spent my whole life inside her. My hotel and my identity were always one and the same.
Seeing her from this vantage point is liberating but at the same time sad, like the cord between us has finally been severed.
She doesn’t need me anymore. An indifferent billionaire from Houston and four capable temps were all it took to break what little bond we have left.
And I really do: I want to experience other things in my life besides the daily grind inside those four oh-so-familiar walls.
Dallas notices my tears. “Hey.” He tilts my chin up with his fingers. “What’s wrong with my dream girl?”
My dream girl. I look into his eyes, which are blue with their green rims up here against the hazy sky. He really does have the most amazing eyes. And hair. And face. “Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you for showing me this.”
“Thank you for saying yes.”
The wetness on my cheeks and my parted lips seem to trigger some kind of tipping point in Dallas Wilder.
“I can’t handle this, Amelie Thibodeaux. How can anyone be so fucking gorgeous? You’re seriously blowing my mind over here.”
I’m not sure how to answer that. “At some point we should probably stop calling each other by our full names,” I laugh, because I honestly don’t think I’ve ever felt so free and so happy. “What do your friends call you?”
“Dallas Wilder.” He grins and I laugh again. “My brothers call me Dally. It’s an old nickname from a long time ago.”
“I love that.”
“What do your friends call you?”
“My dad and my grandpa used to call me Boo. Sadie calls me Ami. It means friend in French.”
“Okay, Ami.” Watching my eyes, he slides his warm palm around the nape of my neck. “I’m going to kiss you now, Boo. If you’ll let me.”
Oh my god. This is it.
His hand squeezes gently around my neck, lightly dominating. I’ve never thought about dominance and submission before, but my body loves his power and reacts to it. I feel warm and … ready. “But first I need to warn you,” he says, his voice low.
“About what?”
“I’m already addicted to the scent of you and your insane beauty. I’ve never seen anything like it. Once I get my first taste, there’s no telling what I might do.”
This is new territory for me, but the thing is …
I want to tease him. And tempt him. I feel feminine.
And I do feel beautiful. Because of him.
I can’t ever remember feeling either especially feminine or particularly beautiful and right now the sensations of both are converging into a hot, coy playfulness.
“Well then, I guess we’ll have to find out. ”
“I guess we will.” The insatiable look in his eyes makes my stomach do one of those pleasure-heavy little flips.
That’s when it finally happens.
Dallas Wilder kisses me.