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Dizzy with desire. Dizzy for more than his lips a breath away from mine. But I also think the alcohol is working some serious voodoo on my organs right now.
A light sheen of sweat breaks out over my skin as my stomach gurgles. I scoot forward on the couch and take a slow, measured breath. My gut groans at me again and I have a feeling everything is about to head south really quick. Or would it be north?
“I don’t feel so good,” I tell Jonas.
The back of his hand brushes over my forehead and I catch a blip of relief before he removes it. “Cora, you’re kind of pale and clammy.” He rises from the couch and extends his hand out to me. “Let me walk you to your bed. I’ll grab you a cool cloth.”
Slipping my hand into his, he walks me the short distance to my bedroom. As I go to sit on the bed, nausea rolls through my core and I bolt up and run for the bathroom. This will not be pretty.
Thank the angel watching over me for allowing me to make it to the porcelain throne in time. Besides the fact that I am expelling the contents of my stomach, the one takeaway from this moment… Jonas is by my side, rubbing my back and holding my hair. He really is a great guy.
Chapter Two
Gavin
Why can I not walk through this fucking airport without people smacking into me?
Flying is bad enough. Mix that in with LAX during the early morning and my life is a new version of hell. Some woman with a stroller smacks into my arm while the child who should be in said stroller hangs limp at her side. Literally hanging. Under normal circumstances, I might tell the woman her little girl is adorable. But circumstances aren’t normal because the little girl is shrieking like a banshee. Limbs thrashing and kicking anything within reach. No doubt the entire terminal hears this girl.
Could the mom not just move out of the way and deal with her kid? Seriously. Why drag your kid around and make a show out of it? If it were my child, I would be embarrassed as hell.
“Gavin? Did you hear what I said?” Alyson asks through the phone pressed to my ear as I am about to knock some twenty-year-old prick out of the way. This whole situation is already shit. Is it everyone-get-in-Gavin’s-way day?
“Can you repeat that, Alyson? There’re more dicks than normal in the airport today.” I speak louder than necessary, hoping the dipshit hears me and gets out of my fucking way. He peers over his shoulder, catches my expression and hustles to get out of my way.
Thank fuck.
“You should be landing in Tampa around six fifteen p.m., eastern time. I emailed the hotel details to you. Please be on your best behavior. My flight leaves in the morning tomorrow, so I’ll meet up with you for dinner and we can get caught up on your itinerary.”
Of all the things that come along with this crazy job, I am glad it includes Alyson. I never realized how amazing it would be to have a personal assistant/agent. When I first started this gig, I thought it would be as easy as pose, click, done. Good looks should have made it simple. Boy, was I wrong.
Dead wrong.
It has taken years, but I have finally mastered the art of angles and lighting. Knowing which way to face in different lighting. How to dip or lift my chin. How to stand so the right muscles pop for the photo. Nothing is ever as easy as it seems. But with great mentors and years of practice, confidence is on my side.
After checking my luggage, I head to the terminal for my flight. I have about twenty minutes before they allow us to begin boarding. So, while I wait, I decide to hit one of the eateries and grab a quick bite and a drink.
The moment the airline calls for us to board, my palms break out in a cold sweat. I finish off the drink and the coolness calms me a fraction as I head for the gate.
Just breathe, dude.
I have flown enough times in the last eight years to be a pro. Have racked up so many airline miles I can’t redeem them quick enough. My job has taken me to some of the most amazing places, within the states and beyond. Not once have I been so nerve-wracked before boarding a plane.
So why now? What is so different about this trip?
The Bay Area is just another sunny oasis with hot chicks and tourists for days. Minus some of the landscape, it’s not all that different from California. I honestly don’t know why people prefer one oasis over the other. Guess it depends on if you prefer elevation or not.
I board the plane and locate my seat, throwing my carry-on in the overhead compartment. Staring out the window, my eyes zoom in on the wing of the plane, when the person I will sit beside for the next six hours bumps my elbow. I roll my eyes and shake my head.
Can people just stop knocking into me today? For the love of…
I turn to see who sits beside me and my breath catches a second. A sexy as sin blonde shifts, trying to wrangle her purse strap over her head, which seems to be caught on her necklace. What a perfect setup.
“May I?” I gesture toward her neck, offering to help separate the two.
“Please,” she huffs, obviously frustrated and embarrassed with the state of what is happening.
Aiding her with the strand and strap, we free her from the entanglement. She tips her head back against the seat, inhales deeply and takes a moment to calm down. After a sigh, she turns in her seat to better face me.
