When we got outside we stopped in front of a silver Camry, its square frame and dull paint job suggesting its old age. I’d expected a limousine or fancy sports car, something befitting his wealth. “Is this your car?” I blurted.
“You wanted discretion,” he said as we got in.
“Is this the part where you tell me where we’re going?” I teased as he began driving.
He shot me a grin. “Do you always make it this difficult for a guy to surprise you?”
“I like to be prepared, that’s all.”
“It shows. Those charts you put together for our first meeting must have taken some time.”
I looked at him, dismayed, as I recalled my disastrous performance in Cape Town. “Turned out to be worth it, I think they were the only redeeming part of our presentation.”
“Are you sure that little slip and fall act wasn’t planned?”
“I told you it was a mistake, but Richard will probably be implementing it into our future meetings.”
“I can’t blame him, it was my favorite part.”
“So you told me, but I’m not sure I want to be known for groping CEOs.” I tried not to sigh as I remembered the firm expanse of Vincent’s chest beneath his t-shirt.
“I guess I was just lucky I was there to break your fall.” He turned to me smiling, and I practically had to tear my gaze from the curl of his full lips.
“Something tells me you don’t trip over your own feet often,” I said, distracting myself from the lustful gleam in his eye. “Don’t surfers need to have pretty good coordination?”
“In that case, we’ll have to work on yours,” he said as the car came to a slow stop.
“What?” I looked out of the window, taking in the hazy tarmac of an airport parking lot.
“We can’t go to St. Thomas without surfing at least once.”
I clenched my jaw to keep it from dropping to my chest. I had to fight the urge to protest, running through all the reasons surfing made me nervous in the first place. But I knew I couldn’t sabotage a date with Vincent Sorenson because I was too afraid to stand on a board for awhile. “Is this JFK?” I sputtered as we got out of the car.
“It’s a private airport, actually. There weren’t any direct flights to the Caribbean so we’re settling for something more intimate.” He gestured to a small plane in the distance.
I had imagined the yachts and the sports cars, but I hadn’t been anticipating a private jet. Maybe Vincent wasn’t the bad boy I’d pinned him for. In fact, he was turning out to be pretty considerate. A date on a remote island couldn’t have been easy to organize and his little stunt at the Knicks game was more than generous—my friends certainly thought so.
“Well, I do like a challenge,” I conceded, deciding if he was willing to make an effort then so was I.
He grabbed me by the hand and pulled me towards the plane. “That’s what I thought.”
I had just been getting used to the idea of a private jet when I was met with custom leather seats, a glass coffee table, and a suede sofa all situated in the cabin of the plane. True, I hadn’t been on a date in a long time, but even if I had been, it wouldn’t have been anything like this. Dinner and a movie this was not.
“So much for discretion,” I said as I surveyed my surroundings.
“We’ll be all alone up here,” he said as he turned to me, his eyes falling briefly to the line of cle**age visible at the neck of my shirt before traveling back to my face. I glanced around, looking for a stewardess, but he wasn’t lying. The cabin of the plane was empty except for us—it couldn’t have been more discreet.
“Is it customary for CEOs to have their own private jets?” I was trying to sound nonchalant but I knew my awe was glaringly obvious.
“I admit, it takes some getting used to.” As we settled into our seats he placed his hand on the armrest between us, his long fingers splayed across the leather. I wanted to reach for it, to bring the knobs of his knuckles to my mouth and run my tongue over the shallow lines in his skin. I glimpsed the couch, imagining the small of my back sticking to its leather surface as Vincent leaned over me, the pressure of his muscled frame pushing me deep into the cushions. He would draw my legs around his waist, his hand cupping the space behind my knee as our lips opened around one another. I would grab his lean hips and push myself against him, eager for a friction I hadn’t felt in a long time.
“You mean jetting overseas isn’t one of your pastimes?” I swallowed, trying to pull myself from my heated reverie.
“SandWorks wasn’t exactly handed to me. I spent a lot of time traveling, working paycheck to paycheck, before I thought of the waterproof camera. In fact, that Camry is something of a relic from those days.”
“I have to admit, it wasn’t what I was expecting when you picked me up.”
“I did a lot of traveling in that car, even spent some nights in it,” he said. “But when business took off one of the first things I had to learn was how to manage my money.”
“Isn’t that what you hired us for?” I couldn’t imagine him struggling to learn anything. His business savvy had been obvious since the first day we met.
“Yes, but it wasn’t always easy to know who to trust in the beginning so I had to rely on myself. Something tells me you never had much of a problem with that, though.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, growing defensive at the implication.
“Financial analyst, Harvard girl—your parents must have done well for themselves to be able to send you there.”
My home life wasn’t a point of conversation I enjoyed but I didn’t want him thinking I hadn’t worked hard for my success. “My parents put a lot of pressure on me to do well, but they couldn’t afford private school. I left Texas with some savings from summer jobs but I had to work my way through college; I didn’t pay off my student loans until I landed a job at Waterbridge-Howser.”
“Texas? I knew I could detect an accent.”
“So could everyone in Boston, I spent a lot of time trying to hide it but I guess I got tired of pretending it wasn’t a part of me.”
He turned to me, his gaze smoldering. “You’re a walking contradiction.”
“Excuse me?”
“You say you don’t like to take risks, but it couldn’t have been easy starting a new life on your own.”