‘If you’re quite finished hypothesising, perhaps you’d like to pack.’
‘Why? Our flight isn’t until tomorrow.’
‘Our return has been brought forward.’ Because if I can’t avoid Olivia, I can at least return us to our normal lives where we’ll both have other distractions. Other habits to feed. ‘We’re booked on a flight this afternoon.’
‘I thought—’
‘Everything I came here for has been achieved. There’s no reason to linger.’
‘So, I guess the honeymoon is over.’
‘If by honeymoon, you mean the fucking, then yes, I believe it is.’ For my own self-preservation if nothing else. If I keep saying it out loud, maybe I can truly convince myself.
I hear the sharp inhalation preceding her tirade when we’re interrupted by the butler. The same one as yesterday; fresh faced and bright.
‘Good Morning, Mrs Beckett. May I serve you breakfast?’
‘No, thank you,’ she replies, rising stiffly from her chair. ‘I find I don’t have an appetite this morning.’
As I watch her leave the room, I wish I could say the same.
Chapter 30
OLIVIA
We fly out the same afternoon. The first-class cabin, not business class this time, but there’s no joy or excitement in the experience. I don’t avail myself to the use of the spa or the private suite prior to boarding. I just stay away from him. A spot of duty-free shopping, a coffee from Starbucks, a bookstore to pick up a couple of magazines. And then it’s boarding time, where I see the cabin lends itself to feuding couples, providing each a little pod of luxury, which means we don’t even have to look at the other, never mind converse.
At least if we’d been travelling economy, we’d be forced into the same space.
I spend the whole eight-hour flight going over yesterday. How the day had gone from bad to good to even better in the evening. Sure, there was no letup in how we respond to the other; the thrust and parry of our interactions, the jibes and complaints. But by the time we’d hit the bar last night, I’d really begun to feel I was gaining a better understanding of Beckett. Maybe even liking him a little. And later still, the sex was phenomenal. Raw and sensual, and about as far away as can be from the man at the breakfast table this morning.
A man so cold my ass was almost frostbitten from just sitting next to him.
I don’t know what happened, and I just don’t know what to think. But think I do. I can’t help it—isn’t that what we women do?—but I may have taken it a little overboard. You know, thinking for almost thewholeeight-hour journey. But what the heck. Two hours into the flight, my questions have turned to anger, and by the time we’ve been airborne for four hours, I’m ready to cut a bitch. A bitch named Beckett, more specifically, who appears to have thrown himself into work for the whole flight. What kind of a person doesn’t take a few minutes to eat or relax? He’s paid for the luxury of having a space and a bed comfortable enough to sleep for a few hours, but he doesn’t even do that. He waves off the offer of champagne as we board, then the afternoon tea; tiny sandwiches and cakes served with a choice of infusions; Assam for me, along with an accompanying Kir Royal. He even refuses dinner. What’s the point of paying for first class if you’re only going to stare at your laptop?
‘What is it you want?’ Over the divider between his pod and mine, Beckett glances my way, his brows pulled down.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Are you talking to me, or are you swallowing my fist?
‘Spit it out, whatever it is. I’ve got work to do.’
‘You have nothing I want,’ I reply icily.
‘You and I both know that’s not true.’ There’s so much suggestion in his tone and his smile is so wickedly suggestive, it’s obvious we’re not talking about money here.
I shouldn’t want to touch him. I shouldn’t be tempted by his very presence, yet unfortunately, I am. I exhale a breath, pushing away the temptation to slap him. And then kiss him. And then sit on his face. I must be an idiot. Or a glutton for punishment, at least. But I’ve never been one who responded well to being toldnoto anything.
‘You keep deluding yourself.’ I turn my back on him. Because unlike him, I haven’t imposed a moratorium on flying fun. My pod has been made into a bed already and covered with snowy white sheets. Well, they were snowy white. Now they’re a little less so.Maybe I should’ve taken the time to wear the cashmere jammies. No matter, I’m sure my sheets would still be scattered with stains and crumbs.
On second thought, I decide I do have something to say to him, but as I turn to deliver a verbal dressing down, I realise he’s pulled up the screen between us, essentially cutting me off.
That rat bastard. The absolute—
‘More champagne, Ms Welland?’ I look up into the owner of the deep voice.
‘Oh. Yes. Why not.’ I grasp my glass from the mini table and hold it out as I look up into the sultry dark-haired and sexily Spanish-accented member of the flight crew. ‘Thank you, Roberto.’According to his name badge. Roberto with the lashes like an emu and a smile like sunshine. A smile I find myself returning.
I’m not smiling as the screen between us comes down again.
