‘By behaving like a child,’ Gregory grumbles.
‘All right, you two, play nice,’ Williams says, pulling Amanda to his side as he perches his long, athletic legs onto a stool.
I shake my head. ‘I’ll be back.’
‘There’s sleepwear on your pillow, baby.’
My pillow?‘Naturally, I have my own pillow on your private jet.’
‘High and fast,’ he says with a smirk.
‘I’m beginning to think that’s your trademark, Mr Ryans.’
‘Speaking of my intellectual property rights…’
I rush to him and nip his lips shut with my fingers. ‘Please. I’ve been dealing with your intellectual property all night. Not now.’ I drop a quick kiss to his cheek – smooth like he’s recently shaved – and make my way through the curtains into the section of the jet that hosts four beds, each with its own set of red curtains to match the carpet.
On the last of the four, I find a black silk night shirt. Casting my blazer on the opposite bed, I close my eyes and creak my neck, then flip my long hair across one shoulder, struggling to locate the zip at the back of my dress. A strong arm wraps around my stomach, two luscious, full lips meet the naked flesh of my neck, and my zip is drawn teasingly down my back. I could sleep for an eternity but my mind still jumps immediately to lascivious thoughts of the man pressed against me and rolling his hardening length against my arse.
‘I wanted to tuck you in,’ he whispers into my ear.
‘Tuck me in, or tuck into me?’
I feel his lips curl as he nibbles my lobe. ‘The latter.’ His mouth moves to my shoulder blade as he pushes my dress down my arms, letting it hang on my hips. ‘But I’ll be kind.’ His tongue traces a lazy line up my vertebrae. ‘I’ll let you lay back and think of Scotland.’
‘England. Lay back and think of England,’ I say with a giggle.
‘I love that sound. Never stop making that sound for me.’
‘I’m going to have to.’ I turn and press my chest into his, smirking. ‘If you intend to take me on this jet, I’ll need to be quiet.’
He drops his head to one side. ‘Why, Miss Heath, if I didn’t know better, I’d say the thought of getting caught turns you on.’ As he moves his hand under my dress, pushing my thong aside and leisurely stroking my slick entrance, he says, ‘In fact, I’d have to say itdefinitelyturns you on.’
A muffled groan escapes me as he pushes his fingers into me, bending them, sweeping my sensitive wall.
‘I’m going to make this quick, baby, then I’m going to let you sleep.’
‘You’re so thoughtful, Ryans.’
He tugs my lower back, pulling me against him, and grinds his pelvis as his fingers mirror the action against my insides. ‘Thoughtful would be letting you sleep.’
I move my hand between us and cup his solid package over his chinos. ‘No. That would be veryunthoughtful.’
He pushes my dress to the floor, his eyes black and wild with hunger. Then he lifts my thighs to his hips and lays me back on the single bed: arse, back, head. I lick my lips with desire as he unbuttons his belt and chinos and slips out of his loafers. He crawls between my legs and pulls the curtain closed across the bed, feigning privacy. There’s something about him being too eager to even take off his clothes, something about the fact we could be heard or caught out at any time, and there’sdefinitelysomething about entering the Mile High Club on my boyfriend’s jet.
11
Standing in the French doors of the balcony to Sandy’s five-star suite, the warm afternoon Caribbean breeze blows in the stylist-perfected waves of my hair, kissing my skin where it’s exposed in my purple dress.
Gregory surprised me but almost floored Sandy and Jackson by hiring the entire resort for the thirty-guest wedding.
The perfect white sand of the resort’s private beach has been transformed into a most picturesque wedding set-up. Gregory’s mum stepped in to make sure everything was just so and I have to hand it to her, everything looks perfect. From the four-post altar, strewn with white chiffon and decorated in all shades of white, purple and violet flowers, to the pillar bouquets lining the walkway. From the wooden chairs adorned with white satin cushions, to the woven beige flooring that creates an aisle. It’s no less than Sandy deserves.
The door to the master bedroom opens and Sandy makes her way into the lounge. Her black hair has been partially pinned up with white flowers and her make-up professionally done.
‘Are you ready for your dress, Mrs Jackson-to-be?’ I ask.
She inhales sharply and slowly pushes an exhale through pursed lips.
