THIRTY-NINE
Lexi
Connor’s fingers graze my palm, tracing possessive circles that spike my pulse. I’m letting him whisk me away on a mystery date, only slightly vexed that he won’t give me any hints.
Most guys do flowers. Billionaires show affection differently—by blindfolding you and sweeping you away in an SUV, apparently. It’s kind of hot, if you ask me. I’m digging this this whole kidnapping vibe.
My best guesses are that impossible-to-book new Soho restaurant, or—based on his recent fascination with my ass—the Velvet Whip club.
Anxious excitement courses through me as I wonder where the hell we’re headed. I white-knuckle the seatbelt, grinning like a fool, too amped to sit still.
After spending way too much time at Connor’s swanky bachelor pad this past week, Grace accused me of moving out without telling her. We’ve been going at it like energizer bunnies on Viagra, and I am here for it. When I finally leave his apartment, my body buzzes for hours afterward.
Obviously, I’ve still got my laundry list of issues—Mom’s care home bills, my empty bank account, Vicky piling on more work than any sane human can handle.
But you know what? Everything has a bit of a glow to it now. I’ve got an extra spring in my step, and I find myself grinning like a madwoman at random moments for no reason. Must be all the endorphins from the nonstop sex.
I’m trying not to overthink it too much.
I worry about Connor though. He shuts down whenever I try to bring up his hearing issues. Total brick wall. Says our time together is his escape from stress. So I’ve been researching on the sly about supporting someone with hearing issues.
Connor’s thumb strokes that sensitive spot on my wrist. “Almost there,” he murmurs.
My nerves jump as I strain to identify sounds. Curiosity is eating me alive. The loud roaring makes me think we’re at an airport.
“Nervous?” Humor laces his voice.
“I feel so disoriented,” I admit with an anxious laugh. Blindfolds tend to do that to a girl.
“It’s okay, we’re here now,” he says. The SUV stops moving.
Cool air floods the car as Connor hops out. Butterflies swarm violently in my belly as he opens my door. His hands find mine, helping me out to more roaring sounds, like engines revving up. Maybe I’m not sold about the whole kidnapping thing after all . . .
“Ready?” Connor asks, his fingers grazing my cheek before he slowly removes the blindfold.
Blinking against the sunlight, I see we’re parked right in front of a sleek jet, with stairs leading up to the open door. Shock courses through me like I just licked a live wire.
“I don’t understand,” I stammer, my pulse doing the fucking Macarena. We can’t seriously be about to . . .
“I’m taking you to Ireland,” Connor says, like whisking me away to Europe on a whim is normal behavior.
My hands cover my gaping mouth as I stare at the jet.
Glancing around, it’s evident we’re not at JFK—this is some high-class private airport. That plane is a private jet. And the pilot plus three fancy flight attendants are lined up on the aircraft stairs, all smiles, as though I’m the star of the show.
“What do you mean? I can’t just hop on a plane to Ireland!” I practically screech.
“Yeah, you can,” he says, infuriatingly calm and collected. “It’s all taken care of.”
I blink hard, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. Overwhelmed doesn’t even begin to cover what’s happening in my brain right now. I think it might actually short circuit and start smoking out the ears.
He shrugs. “Look, Killian’s been on my case about taking a break. I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone. We have a cottage there that I’ve been meaning to visit.” He chuckles, reaching out to tap my chin. “Close your mouth, Lexi. Relax, it’s no big deal.”
No big deal? It’s a big fucking deal to me! This is just another example of how our lives are polar opposites.
Connor grins, retrieving a bouquet from the car. “For you, angel.”
I accept the flowers in a daze.
