Chapter 28
MANDY
Istared out the car window as we drove toward the private airfield.
“You okay?” Briggs asked from beside me.
“Fine,” I lied. “Just thinking about Sebastian and Bernadette’s wedding.”
Another lie. I was thinking about how much I was going to miss Briggs. How quiet my house would be without him in it. How my bed would feel too big and too empty with just me in it again.
We’d spent every night together for the past two weeks. I’d gotten used to falling asleep in his arms. To waking up with his face being the first thing I saw.
I’d gotten used to having a husband.
The car pulled through the gate at the private airfield. I recognized the hangar from my first trip to New York. That felt like a lifetime ago now. So much had changed since then. I’d changed.
We climbed out, and I immediately spotted the jet sitting on the tarmac. The same one I’d flown on before. The same crew was doing their pre-flight checks.
“Ready?” Briggs asked, grabbing both our bags.
“As I’ll ever be.”
We walked across the tarmac together. The pilot greeted us warmly, clearly recognizing me from my previous flight.
If he thought it was weird that I was now traveling with one of the Blackwell brothers, he said nothing.
Cleo and Callum were nice enough to let us use the jet for the return to New York.
We boarded and sat down. “If business keeps up, I might just have to buy me one of these bad boys.”
“Yeah?” he asked.
I grinned. “I can understand why people like you only fly private.”
He reached over and took my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “You’re one of us now, remember? You’re a Blackwell. You’re one of us people.”
The words hit. Sank in and did something funny. I was a Blackwell. At least on paper. For now.
I pushed that thought away and focused on the fact that we were about to take off in a private jet with an actual bedroom. The engines hummed to life beneath us, and within minutes we were taxiing down the runway.
“So,” I said once we were airborne and sipping sparkling water with fresh blueberries. “You said you’re taking me somewhere special for dinner tonight.”
“I am. It’s very exclusive.”
“Tell me about this exclusive table you promised me. Is there a dress code?”
He smiled that secretive smile that told me he was up to something. “It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Yes, you do.”
He was right, damn him. “Fine. Give me a hint.”
“No.”
“One tiny hint.”
“Absolutely not.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
He got up, moved to the couch, and patted the cushion beside him. “Come here.”
“I know that look and you are out of your mind.”
“Come here, Mandy.”
My stomach was immediately flooded with nerves and excitement.
I stood, and because I wasn’t about to put on a show for the flight attendant, I pulled the curtain. She was in the galley and would get the message. We were in need of some privacy.
“How long is this flight?” I asked.
“Five and a half hours.”
“That’s a pretty long flight.” I sat down beside him. Rather, I attempted to sit down. He pulled me into his lap. I giggled and wrapped my arms around his neck.
“It is.” His mouth found my neck, placing soft kisses along the column of my throat. “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”
I should tell him to behave. We were on a plane, for God’s sake. With a crew on the other side of a curtain. But his hands were sliding under my shirt, and his mouth was doing things to my neck that made thinking impossible.
“Briggs,” I said, but it came out more like a moan.
“Hmm?”
“They’re going to hear us.”
“So?” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire. “I’ll be quiet if you will.”
Challenge accepted.
“We can’t,” I whisper.
“Okay, but we can do a little something, right?”
His hands were already sliding up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through my bra. All rational thought fled.
“A little something,” I agreed breathlessly.
His mouth crashed onto mine. I melted into him. God, the man could kiss. Every single time felt like the first time—that same electric shock of connection, that same desperate need for more.
I shifted in his lap, straddling him properly now. I felt his arousal pressing against me through our clothes. The knowledge that I could affect him this way, that he wanted me as much as I wanted him, sent heat pooling low in my belly.
His hands gripped my hips, pulling me tighter against him as he deepened the kiss. His tongue swept into my mouth, and I met it with my own, tasting the blueberries from our drinks. One of his hands slid up my back, tangling in my hair and angling my head so he could kiss me deeper, harder.
I rolled my hips experimentally, grinding against him, and was rewarded with a low groan that vibrated through his chest into mine.
“Fuck,” he breathed against my lips. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Yeah?” I whispered back, doing it again.
His hand tightened in my hair, not painfully, just enough to send shivers down my spine. His other hand slid under my shirt, warm palm against bare skin, moving up my ribs to cup my breast through my bra.
I arched into his touch, breaking the kiss to gasp for air. He took advantage, his mouth moving to my jaw and then to my neck and over that spot just below my ear that made me whimper.
“Quiet, remember?” he murmured against my skin, but I could hear the smile in his voice.
“That’s not fair,” I managed. “You know what that does to me.”
“I do.” He did it again, teeth grazing lightly. “That’s why I’m doing it.”
My fingers found the buttons of his shirt, working them open one by one. I needed to touch him, needed to feel his skin against mine. He helped me, shrugging out of it and tossing it aside.
I ran my hands over his chest, feeling the solid muscle. He was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him. And he was mine. At least for now.
That thought sobered me slightly, but then his mouth was on mine again and I forgot everything except the way he tasted. His hands moved over my body like he was trying to memorize every curve.
My shirt came off next, followed quickly by my bra. His hands cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over me before he dove face first between my breasts.
I buried my fingers in his hair, trying to stay still, trying to keep my breathing even. But he was relentless, his tongue doing things that should probably be illegal at thirty thousand feet.
His fingers worked the button on my slacks, and before I knew what he was doing, my zipper was down and his fingers pulled my panties to the side.
“Briggs,” I gasped.
His fingers slipped inside, his thumb rubbing my clit. I couldn’t stop the groan that escaped my lips. He was not letting up. The orgasm was building fast.
When I came, I had to bite down on my own hand to keep from crying out. He didn’t stop until I was pushing him away, oversensitive and shaking.
He was grinning when I finally came back to my senses.
“You’re so bad,” I hissed.
“That was bad?”
I slid off his lap and quickly did my pants up.
I got to my feet, swaying when we hit a little turbulence. Or maybe it was because he left me feeling a little weak in the knees.
We quickly dressed, doing our best to right ourselves. Although I didn’t think there was any hiding my flushed cheeks.
Twenty minutes later. “Mr. Blackwell, would you like your lunch?”
The flight attendant stayed behind the curtain like she knew what she might walk in on.
“Please,” Briggs replied.
I spent the rest of the flight looking out the window and thinking about what was waiting for us in New York. Briggs had work. I had the venue visit with Sebastian and Bernadette.
“Nervous?” he asked, noticing my fidgeting.
“A little. This is your city. Your territory. I feel like I’m about to meet your world properly for the first time.”
“You’ve already met half my family.”
“That’s different. They came to me.”
He took my hand again. “You’re going to love New York.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s the best city in the world.”
I laughed. “You’re biased.”
“Maybe. But I’m also right.”
When we landed there was a car waiting. Not just any car—a sleek black SUV with a driver who took our bags without a word and held the door open.
“I could get used to this,” I admitted as we slid into the back seat.
“Good. Because you’re stuck with it for the next few days.”
Briggs complained about LA traffic, but I had to wonder if he had blinders on when it came to New York traffic. It was just as gridlocked on this side of the country apparently.
Briggs’s penthouse was in a massive, towering building. It had a doorman and a private elevator and the kind of security that made Fort Knox look casual.
The elevator opened directly into his apartment. I stepped into his home and stopped cold.
“Oh wow,” I said.
Floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, offering views of the city that literally took my breath away. The space was modern and minimalist. It looked very expensive. But it was also empty. That was the word that came to mind. It looked like a showroom. Like no one actually lived here.
“What do you think?” he asked, setting our bags down.
“It’s beautiful,” I said honestly. “But it doesn’t look like you.”
He paused, turning to look at me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean—where’s your stuff? Your personality? This could be anyone’s apartment.”
He looked around as if seeing it for the first time. “I guess I never thought about it. I’m not here much. It’s just a place to sleep.”
That made me sad. My house was cluttered with evidence of my life—photos, books, random things I’d collected over the years. This place looked like he’d moved in yesterday and planned to leave tomorrow.
“Come on,” he said, clearly wanting to change the subject. “Let me show you around.”
The tour didn’t take long. Master bedroom with an en-suite bathroom that was huge. Guest bedroom that looked like it had never been used. An office that was the only room that showed any sign of actual life, with papers on the desk, books on the shelves, and a few pictures of his family.
The kitchen was all dark cabinets and stainless-steel appliances. I couldn’t get over the view that was visible from the kitchen, dining, and living room with the open-concept floorplan.
There was a buzzing noise. I looked around.
“That’s the door,” Briggs said. “Sebastian and Bernadette, I assume.”
I hugged Sebastian and Bernadette when they arrived, feeling more relaxed around them now than I had at our first meeting.
“Ready to look at our venue?” Bernadette asked, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Absolutely. Let me just grab my bag.”
I kissed Briggs goodbye, trying not to think about how domestic that felt. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Take your time.” He squeezed my hand. “Have fun.”
Sebastian’s driver took us through Manhattan. New York was so different from LA. Everything felt taller, faster, more compressed. I could see why Briggs loved it here.
After spending two hours at the venue, I was dropped off at the building to get ready for dinner.
“Are you going to tell me what the dress code is for this special dinner?” I asked Briggs.
He was still working in his office. He smiled. “Casual.”
“Will you please tell me where you’re taking me?”
“Home.” He grinned.
“You’re making dinner?”
“No. My childhood home. My mom’s house. It’s Sunday. Family dinner.”
I stared at him. I shouldn’t be nervous. I had met his entire family—except his mother. She was going to have an opinion. I married her son in a drunken Vegas wedding. She was definitely going to have things to say.