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I lean over her, my arm pressing against the side of her soft, curvy breast as I glance out the window. She doesn’t pull away.
“Hmm….” I say, pretending to examine the puffy white clouds. I turn to her, my lips a beat away from hers as I speak. “Looks like that might be a problem. We are thirty thousand feet in the air right now.”
“Is that so?” The tip of her tongue wets her bottom lip, her eyes lowering to my mouth. As much as she protests about this trip, she wants to be kissed. I can feel the heat coming off of her. She doesn’t seem too put out to be trapped on this plane with me.
I settle back into my seat. “It’s so. And I’m afraid we have no choice but to go through with the visit. I’ll do everything I can to make sure you enjoy yourself.”
She settles down a bit, her arm pressed against mine. I’ll take that as a good sign.
“Well, are you going to at least tell me where you are taking me?”
I stare off toward the front of the jet in fake contemplation for a moment before shaking my head. “Nah.”
She rests the back of her head against her seat. “Cannon, you are by far the most exasperating man I’ve ever met.” But she says it with a smile.
God, the Beauties are going to fall head over heels for her. I have an army of well-meaning women at my disposal who want nothing more than to make Kylie happy. And to be happy with me. The Bachman wives loveloveand long for everyone to partake in it. There’ve been whispers through the family about me for years, horror at my singleness and bachelor ways.
When they set their sights on Kylie… she’s not going to have just me to deal with. Perhaps… this trip will be more than just a breather, a chance to have her all to myself. Maybe seeing other happy Bachman couples will make her reconsider her stance on “relationships,” and “commitment,” words she says with a tinge of fear in her angelic voice.
My jealousy is replaced by hope. Maybe she’ll find that being in a relationship isn’t so bad. “We’re traveling to meet another branch of the family,” I say.
She makes a guess. “The Parrish? In Greece? I’ve heard of that place as well. White stone mansions, sandy beaches—”
“No. Not today.” I think of her shapely legs stretched out over a blanket on the sand, tanning in the warm sun. Then I think of all the single Greek brothers who would be admiring her right along with me. “But we should go there. Soon.”
“If it’s not the Parrish…” She taps a fingertip against her chin. “The Village? In New York? I’ve heard of that. Are we going all the way to America?”
Ha-ha… the Village, too many single brothers roaming around for my taste. Hellllll to the no.
I shake my head. “America, yes, but the Village, no. Guess again.”
She shrugs. “I have no idea.”
“We’re going to the Hamlet.”
Her nose crinkles. “I haven’t heard of that. Where is it?”
“Connecticut.”
“Connecticut?” After thinking of our branches in New York City and a private island in Greece, disappointment floods her face.
Too bad, princess, it was my safest bet.
I offer a few more details to make the trip more enticing to her. “The Hamlet is one of our family’s villages, hidden in Connecticut, bordered by the Housatonic River and surrounded by beautiful, dense woods. To get there, you first cross the river, driving through a dark-red covered bridge. You feel as if you’re traveling to a simpler place and time. And you kind of are. The Hamlet is a town lost in time, very little media by way of television or internet make it inside the walls — the families are too busy working, raising kids, and socializing with one another to pay much attention to the outside world.”
“Hmm,” she says. “So, like their own little mafia world?”
“Exactly. They are completely self-sufficient and have everything they need.” I think of the delivery trucks that visit, daily, and correct myself. “Well, as self-sufficient as they claim to be, the women can’t seem to live without their internet shopping. But the family grows their own food in a huge, hydroponic greenhouse, raises their own herd for meat and dairy, and even have their own schoolhouse and hospital.”
“Umm… compared to the glamor of Fire, this place doesn’t sound very,” her nose crinkles, “Bachman.”
“It is. Trust me. Just in a…” I think of all the families, attached men and women happily married, compared to the completely unattached lifestyle of my club, “tamer way.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but it doesn’t sound like much fun.”
“Says the girl who a few weeks ago was doing crossword puzzles for entertainment,” I say.
“Exactly. I’ve missed out on so much. Why miss a single night at Fire? Especially a night where anything goes.” A light shines in her eyes and she gets this faraway look, thinking of the playtime she’s missing with the men of my staff.
