Opening my phone, I send Tolly a quick message. “I’ll pack and take his truck back to him.”
“That truck is enormous,” my mother says, fanning herself. “How does he get around it?”
“Pretty good for a guy who owns a yacht.”
“A yacht. I forgot. If he’s in love with you, he needs to impress me, so let him know that a trip around the Caribbean on his yacht would be very impressive, indeed.”
“Mama!” I say, slapping my palm to my forehead. “We are not going to ask him to do those kinds of things. We do not take advantage.”
“Ay Dios mío, I know. I just wanted to tease you.”
“Teasing Gael is the most fun,” my father says, bringing me into a hug. “Go to England. Support him. And then come back and we’ll show him our family traditions.”
“I will.”
* * *
“Why arethere a dozen parcels wrapped with Christmas paper in my hold?” Tolly asks as our flight heads out over the Atlantic. “Are you a magical Christmas elf?”
“I have stock on hand for overnight requests and my father is a world-class gift wrapper. Also, I can’t arrive at Christmas empty-handed. Mi abuelita would never forgive me,” I answer, standing in front of him. “Make room for me.”
This fancy plane has no shortage of large, comfy captain’s chairs, but I’ve decided his lap is the best seat in the house. Without a word I sit, and he seems nonplussed, his arms limp on the armrests. I arrange myself, nudging my hip against his business while snuggling against his chest.
I’m almost exquisitely comfortable, but… not quite.
I lean forward to open the window shade, then rearrange myself all over again as though Tolly were some comfortable bit of furniture. I sigh, equally amused and content, as I look out the window.
“I would request that you show decorum in front of my staff, but you feel so damned good I can’t bring myself to do it.”
“What can I say? I like sharing a chair with you.”
I’m reminded of the things we got up to on the chair in front of his fireplace. As he adjusts his collar, I wonder if he’s thinking of the same thing. My eyes dart from the window to him, and I tilt my hips sideways, knocking into his growing hard-on.
“Are you turned on by my sitting in your lap?”
“Possibly.”
I shift again and Tolly stifles a groan as Heathcliff, his long-suffering flight attendant, walks by to offer refreshments. I refuse but Tolly asks for ice water.
“I didn’t know the English knew anything about ice water,” I tease.
“I spend a good deal of my time in warm climates. I have come to appreciate the Americans love of a—mf— good iced water,” he explains, his voice strained as I grind my ass more purposefully. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“No.” I undulate against him with a wicked grin. “Just a bit of light torture.”
“Sounds like Anders to me.”
I toss my head against his shoulder, cackling. “Oh, Anders. I do like that guy.”
“Should I be worried?” he asks, squeezing my hip.
“Don’t hurt me and you’ll be good,” I fire back, and then give him an extended kiss.
We part at the sound of a polite cough.
“Pardon me, sir. Would you like for me to bring you a lunch selection?”
“No, Heathcliff, but thank you,” Tolly says.
