“Oh, shucks. We’ll miss the plane.”
He grinned. “Private jets don’t take off without their passengers, love.”
I don’t know if it was the “private jet” part or the “love” part that had me agreeing and climbing into my Jeep and driving home. But before I knew it, I was sitting in his Porsche heading toward the airport.
It was only then that I realized I hated flying. Planes made me extremely nervous. So obviously it hadn’t been the “private jet” that got me here. It was the fact that the endearment “love” sometimes fell so naturally off his tongue.
Oh, and the way he looked in those jeans…
I never even stood a chance.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Aviophobia - the fear of flying.”
Charming
You could learn a lot from someone just by watching them. Really watching them. It was something I never realized when I was alive. If I had, I might not have died the way I did. Now, I had a lot of practice at watching people and I knew fear when I saw it.
I’ve witnessed a broad range of emotion from Frankie, but fear wasn’t one of them. Unease? Yes. Nervousness? Yes. Flustered, annoyed, angry… Yes, yes, and yes. Desire? Desire was my favorite.
She was literally a kaleidoscope of feeling. You never knew which feelings of hers might blend together and what would happen when they did. I was shocked when she agreed to come with me so easily. I wondered if the dark circles beneath her eyes were part of the reason. That and the fact I hadn’t seen her consume sugar at all the last few times I saw her. She was looking a little thin; I realized I liked her better filled out.
“Are you scared of flying?” I asked. Amusement sparked through me like a sparkler on the fourth of July as I watched her grip the armrests of her seat.
“No,” she said harshly. Then she looked at the floor. “Maybe.”
I grinned.
“Wipe that smile off your face before I do it for you,” she growled.
“There’s a stash of candy over there by the mini bar.” I pointed to the other side of the plane where all the drinks were kept chilled.
The jet lurched forward as it began to taxi to the runway. Her skin turned green. I saw her swallow thickly.
I sighed. Watching her misery wasn’t as entertaining as I thought it might be. I went to the mini bar and pulled out some clear rum and a can of sprite. I combined them both over ice in a crystal glass and took it over to her.
“Here, how about some sugar poured over liquor?”
“Thanks,” she said, looking at the glass, but she made no move to loosen her death grip on the armrest so she could take it.
I sat down in the seat beside hers. “You ever been to L.A.?”
“No.”
“Never? Wow. I think you’ll like it. It’s warm and sunny. The sun always shines. The people are tan and beautiful. The palm trees are taller than a lot of the buildings here and the beach—”
“I’ve never been to the beach.” She interrupted.
That surprised me. “You’ve never seen the ocean?”
“Just on television.”
“I think you’re going to love it.”
“How do you know?” she asked. I noticed her skin was now back to its original complexion. Her fingers seemed to be getting a little more circulation as well.
“Because,” I said, leaning in closer to her, “it’s a lot like you. Larger than life. It fills up the space in front of you as far as you can see. And it can be temperamental.” I smiled when she made a face. “One minute it’s crashing onto the sand with great ferocity, but the next moment the waves become gentle and it laps at your ankles like a soft caress.”
She let go of the armrests completely and leaned a little closer. “Sounds like you’re the one who really loves the ocean.”
I stared at her for long minutes, her words not really penetrating my brain. All I could think about was how pretty she was sitting there with those loose blond curls framing her face and her nervous pink cheeks. But then the word love broke through the haze in my brain. I shook my head. “I don’t love anything.”
She sat back. I handed her the drink, which she took and downed about half in one great slurp. “We’re in the air,” she said.
“You didn’t even notice we were taking off.” I got up and moved across the plane to sit on a small couch over by a few small windows.
“It’s those damn jeans,” she murmured.
“What about my jeans?”
“Stupid superpower hearing,” she muttered, taking another drink.
“You like my jeans, huh?” Smug satisfaction filled my chest.
“I’d like them better if you took them into another room and stayed there.”
“You keep up that attitude, this is going to be a very long flight.”
“How long is it anyway?”
“About nine hours.”
She gaped at me. “Nine hours stuck on a plane with you?”
I grinned.
“What are we going to do for nine hours?”
“I can think of a few things.” I wagged my eyebrows. “Want to see how my jeans look on the floor?”
She spit her drink halfway across the room and the back of her hand flew to her mouth. “Ew! You are so gross!”
I scowled. “That’s not what you were saying the other night when I kissed you.”
“Do not remind me.”
“Why? Afraid you’ll want to do it again?”
Her shoulders slumped a little and she swiveled her chair toward the window. “If I get fired for this little trip, you owe me a million dollars.”
I would take her silence on the kissing subject as a yes. “A million dollars? I didn’t realize DMV employees made so much money.”
“They don’t. Most of it would be for the mental abuse I’m suffering at your hands.”
I laughed.
“I think a shopping spree on Rodeo drive will change your mind.”
“I’m not going shopping on Rodeo drive.”
“No?” I figured that was the first place she would go.
“No. I’m not spending your money.”
“But you’ll take a million?”
She looked around the back of her chair at me and rolled her eyes.
“So what’s the first thing you’re going to do?”
“Find the beach.”
“We’re staying on the beach. I have a house right on the sand.”