Chapter 28 I can salvage this with humor.
I can salvage this with humor.
Sean
I STEAL A glimpse at Josie as we ride in the well-abused backseat of our Uber on the way to the airstrip after five hours of nonstop Vegas nightlife.
As promised, I took her to a buffet, a magic show, and even The Sphere Experience.
It took an hour and three casinos to get four-of-a-kind on a poker machine, and she insisted on gambling with her own money, so it was touch and go at one point.
My gaze drifts from her profile against the window down the swell of her cleavage to the curve of her hips, and the white material hugging her thighs. She catches me checking her out and shifts to give me a better view, a tiny smile twitching on her lips.
Why do I like this woman so much? Maybe because she’s not fawning all over me? Because she makes me work for every smile, every touch, every little spoken truth hidden under the layers of smart-assery and sarcasm?
I tip the driver well even though his car smelled like vomit forced into a medical coma by a burly team of air fresheners.
Then we head across the tarmac to where my jet is parked.
Jeff is already in the cockpit running his preflight check.
The interior of my plane is always such a pleasure to step into with its tan leather seats and smell of luxury. It feels like home.
When Josie catches me watching her admire the plane, she straightens her shoulders. “What? No Austin Powers love nest? I expected more from the great Sean O’Sullivan.”
Ah, Josie. I head for the onboard liquor cabinet as she lowers herself onto the love seat. She didn’t choose one of the single seats. The implications aren’t lost on me.
“Drink?” I ask her.
“Water would be good.”
“We’ve got clearance,” Jeff says over the intercom. “Prepare for takeoff.”
Taking the other half of the love seat, I lean back against the leather upholstery and watch her as we take off: mysterious dark eyes, flushed cheeks, the hungry energy simmering just beneath the surface. Tantalizing—all of it.
“Thanks for a great date,” she says, sipping her water.
“Oh, this wasn’t a date,” I say. “This was last-minute, thrown-together nonsense. I didn’t even know you were coming.”
“What would you have done differently?”
It’s kind of stuffy in here. I take off my jacket and throw it onto the far seat, on top of our discarded disguises.
“Well, first of all, I would’ve made dinner reservations somewhere with a Michelin rating.
” The bowtie goes next—I fling it as far as I can.
“I would’ve scored tickets for a show that tends to sell out.
” I loosen the top buttons of my shirt. That’s better.
“And I would have ended it with a kiss.”
She smirks. “Still desperate for that kiss, I see.”
She wants it, too. I know she does, but if she wants to tease me first, I’ll play. I start unbuttoning the rest of my shirt from the top down.
She bites her lip. “What are you doing?”
“As I recall, somebody stuffed a pastry into my mouth earlier tonight—I’m not naming names. That means I’m fifty push-ups short for the day. Think I’ll get those in now.”
I peel the shirt off and throw it on top of my jacket.
Muscles bulge as I pull an arm across my body in a stretch.
“Just gonna warm up a little here.” I put on the serious captain’s face as I flex for her, noting the way her hungry gaze flickers from my arms to my lats and pecs. Sometimes being a piece of meat is fun.
She traces my bulging bicep with a finger. “This isn’t fair. Your muscles are seducing me.”
I nod in sympathy. “They’re shameless macho assholes.”
“It won’t be good for you, either, you know, if people find out who I really am. You could get canceled by association. Doesn’t that worry you?”
I stop stretching. “Josie, we googled you, remember? There’s nothing to worry about. And what happened in Mexico was like, what, ten years ago?”
“Twelve.” The cabin lights dim on their timer, and her eyes go inky dark.
“You said your friends’ careers all recovered,” I continue.
“That sci-fi show is great, by the way. It’s given our producers all kinds of ideas for next season.
They’re even talking about sending us down there for some kind of collaboration.
We’re gonna get some new, diverse actors, add some salsa and merengue to the choreography.
Some African dance. Bollywood…” I do a little come-hither dance with my hands.
“That sounds great, actually,” she says, still looking unsure.
Alarm bells go off in my head. Suddenly, this doesn’t feel fun anymore. It feels like a sales pitch. I drop my hands in my lap.
“Look, Josie, I told you, I don’t chase. If you’re not interested, say the word.” I hate that answer, but whatever.
“You don’t chase, huh?”
“Nope. Not my style.”
“Well, you’ve been chasing me nonstop.”
A zing of fear shoots through me. She’s said this before. Could it be true? “Have not.”
“Have, too.”
I scoff to hide the sudden and dreadful suspicion that she knows everything—that I like her too much.
That I think about her way too much. That when she showed up on that pool deck, I wondered, for the briefest and brightest of moments, if it was all my thinking about her and wanting her that had manifested her. That we’d somehow made magic together.
I’d really hoped she’d felt it, too.
But if she didn’t, then this train is going off the rails big-time, and I’ve got to stop it.
“Li—listen,” I stammer. “You’ve got it all wrong. It’s not like I’m obsessed with you or anything.” Oh shit. Did I really say that?
Her jaw falls open. “What did you say?”
“Nothing!” I lunge for my shirt to put it back on, but her hand shoots out with freakish speed and catches my wrist. I freeze and don the mask of nonchalance, but I’m not sure it’s covering up the truth. “I—I didn’t mean anything by that!” I sputter.
She lets go of my wrist, and I’m about to bolt out of the seat and, oh, I don’t know, maybe throw open the emergency exit and leap out. Yes, it’s dramatic, but it’s not off the table.
Something changes in her expression. Her hands find their way to my bare chest, her touch firm and soft at the same time. Her dark eyes are lidded, and her mouth is suddenly very close to mine. My heart is a wartime drumbeat.
“That’s too bad, Sean O’Sullivan,” she whispers, “because I want you to be obsessed with me.” She leans in, and her lips brush mine side to side with the feather-softest touch. It’s not a kiss, really; it’s a caress. A tease. A strike of flint. A spark.
“I want to be the only thing on your mind,” she goes on. Her arms have snaked their way around my shoulders, and with a quick shift, she’s gotten a knee across me and is straddling my lap. My spark jumps to flame.
It seems I don’t have anything to be worried about. She wants the same thing I do. We’re cleared for takeoff, at least inside the cabin.
“You want me to be obsessed with you?” I whisper into her mouth. It’s taking everything in me to hold back, to not wrap my arms around her, crush her to me, cover her mouth with mine. But I do hold back. I let her drive because I’m loving this Josie ride, wherever it’s going.
Her hands slide down the bare traps of my back, sending goose bumps down my torso. She scoots even closer on my lap, and I know she can feel what it does to me.
“Obsess over me, Sean O’Sullivan,” she whispers into my mouth, and it’s a delicious torture. She kisses me lightly, and I don’t move. “And then obsess over me again.” She kisses me again, this time deeper. “And again.” I part my lips, inviting more. “And again.”
I taste her tongue, and that’s where I break, devouring her mouth with mine, an ocean of desire swamping me.
The lead-up was perfection; all my parts are humming like a machine.
This woman is something else. I want to peel her and take her apart like a mandarin orange.
I want her skin against mine, every inch. I want—
My phone rings.
No, not rings. Blares. An alarm of some kind, and not the kind you set to remind yourself to take the turkey out of the oven.
“What’s that?” Josie stiffens in my arms. “Is the plane going down?”
“The plane is not what’s gonna be going down,” I mutter into her mouth.
The phone blares a second time, and a terrible thought hits me: Seamus!
A freight train of curses pours from me. My phone has wormed its way out of my pants pocket and onto the floor. Holding onto Josie’s hip with one hand, I reach down and pick it up.
“Just one second,” I grumble, knowing it’s going to take way more than a second to sort this out.
I tap the notification, and the cameras at the front of my house show me the top of Seamus’s head as well as the tops of the heads of two police officers.
I check the clock in the corner of my phone. It’s 4:20 AM.
Josie climbs off me. What a heartbreak. I tap the microphone.
“Hello! Hello! This is Sean O’Sullivan, the owner of that house. Is there something I can help you with?”
The police inform me that Seamus was found trying to break in. I explain the situation. He’s my brother. He’s staying with me. He’s a friggin’ idiot who lost his keys. In the background, Seamus is swaying on his feet, barely able to stand. Goddammit!
“I’ll call my butler to come let him in,” I tell the cops. “He can be there in fifteen minutes.”
I open my texts, realizing that this is a terrible thing to ask of Rory. It’s an ungodly hour, but my parents and Siobhan are still in Las Vegas, and I don’t know who else to turn to.
“I bet Jason would go,” Josie says, reading my mind.
“I don’t want to drag Jason and Emmy into this mess.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
A sigh escapes me like air from a balloon. Josie rests her cheek against my bare shoulder as I dial Jason’s number. God, I feel so embarrassed. Why? It’s not even my fault. It’s my effed-up brother’s fault!
Jason picks up almost immediately. “What do you need?”