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“I’m not embarrassed,” I insist, but we both know that’s a lie. And we both know that every part of me wants to snuggle up against his broad chest and go back to sleep, no matter how much I will hate myself for caving.
“It’s okay, Jade.” And he tugs me close, not even giving me a choice, and presses my cheek to his shirt, directly above his heart. Exactly where I drooled on him in my sleep before, and in the same spot that I mushed my cheek against him in the tiny bathroom, where his shirt soaked up my tears.
I don’t want to, but I’m so wrung out emotionally, so mentally exhausted, that I close my eyes just for a moment. His arm tucks around me and his fingers stroke my hair, relaxing me. With his heart beating rhythmically in my ear, I don’t even have time to hate myself for caving before I drift off into sleep.
When I wake up again, we’re out of the turbulence. The plane is flying smoothly. The seatbelt sign is off. It’s still semi-dark in the cabin, but there’s tinges of light outside. Jaxon’s arm is still around me, but his grip is loose. His eyes are closed. He’s not snoring, but it’s obvious he’s asleep. I need to pee, so I slip out from under his arm, squeeze past the lady on the other side of me, and head down the back of the plane to the bathroom. Walking down the plane aisle this time doesn’t feel like a walk of shame. I’m not staring at the dull carpet, trying to avoid the judging eyes, the disapproving looks. This time, I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not being dragged to my doom, I’m not about to be punished. I’m just like every other passenger on the plane. It’s quite a nice feeling, being just like everybody else. It’s not a feeling I’m used to. Even at home, out with friends, I don’t quite feel like I fit in. I’m not quite a square peg in a round hole, but more a slightly rough-around-the-edges one, trying to stuff myself into a perfectly smooth one and not quite succeeding. There’s always been something about me that has been a little bit different, something I’ve never been able to put my finger on, that always made me stand out slightly.
I use the bathroom, return to my seat. Jaxon still hasn’t woken up, so I slide myself under his arm again, using his hard chest as my pillow, just how I was before. I don’t want to like him. I don’t want to get close to him. But I might as well make myself as comfortable as possible. Right?
The next time I wake up, it’s because he’s shaking me, telling me to sit up and put my seatbelt on because we’re landing. There’s a whole new country below us, a country that I have no desire to visit, that I’d never even thought of before Richard sent me here. A wave of homesickness hits me. I don’t want to be here; I want to go home.
I’m not the only one struggling to wake up. All around me, passengers are stretching, yawning, groaning, rubbing their eyes, and stumbling around half asleep, complaining about it being the middle of the night in many different accents. Further down the plane there’s someone yelling in a language I don’t understand. Maybe he doesn’t like being woken up. I don’t much like it either, but there’s nothing I can do about it because Jaxon is clutching my hand tightly, our carryon bags in one hand, and leading me down the aisle of the plane and out into the enclosed passageway to the airport.
I want him to let me go. I want to curl up on the plane seat and go back to sleep. But Jaxon is holding me firmly, so I don’t have any choice but to stumble along behind him, rubbing my eyes blearily, willing myself to wake up. I hate that he’s so alert, instantly. He’s still immaculate—not a hair out of place. The drool I left on his shirt has dried and is mostly invisible. He doesn’t look even the tiniest bit sleepy or lethargic.
“I’m tired,” I grumble, pulling at his hand, trying to make him let me go so I can go back to sleep.
“I know you are.” His voice is surprisingly soft. Gentle, almost. Very unlike the gruff, stern, growly tone I’ve come to expect. “But we’ll be at the motel soon, and you’ll be able to go back to sleep.”
We follow along with the crowd to customs. I look longingly at all the shops in Duty Free, but Jaxon keeps tugging me along. I freeze as the sniffer dog does its thing, checking for contraband. And apparently, in this backwards country, ‘contraband’ can literally be anything, not just illicit substances. Warning signs are everywhere, something to do with bringing food and muddy boots into the country.
“What’s wrong with muddy boots?” I mutter mostly under my breath. “Are they scared it’s going to dirty their precious carpet?”
I sneer at the signs and the customs officers in their identical uniforms, all wide awake and alert, at this ungodly hour of the day, acting like they’re so important. This New Zealand place really is something else. Why are they so afraid of food and dirt?
“Biosecurity risk,” Jaxon answers. I ignore him. I wasn’t asking him anyway, so I don’t know why he bothered to respond.
Up ahead I can see the very important customs people opening bags, checking for goodness knows what. Contraband, obviously. A uniformed lady holds up a bruised, dented banana she’s pulled out of the bag she’s going through like it’s an outlaw and I can’t help but giggle. I’m pretty sure the owner of that banana is not going to want it back. It doesn’t even look edible anymore.
And then Jaxon deserts me. He lets go of my hand and points. “I have to go through that line over there,” he tells me. “I have a New Zealand passport. But you have to stay in this line. I’ll wait for you, okay?”
It’s the first time he hasn’t been by my side since I first met him about fifteen hours ago and I should be overjoyed not to have his overbearing presence right next to me, but instead I feel alone. Afraid. I miss him. He’s taken control of everything before this, and I have no idea what to do. So I do the only thing I can do: follow along with everyone else. Hand over my passport. Pretend to be human when really, I feel anything but.
Just like he promised, Jaxon is waiting for me on the other side, and he takes my hand straight away, like he doesn’t trust me not to do anything stupid now that we’re on the right sideof freedom. Or he is, anyway. He’s on solid ground, through customs, in his home country. I’m still helpless and totally dependent on him for everything. I need him. I squeeze his hand. It feels good to be next to him again.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see flashes of light. Cameras. Paparazzi? Beside me, Jaxon stiffens. He obviously saw it, too. So I’m not imagining it, then.
“I thought there weren’t any paparazzi in New Zealand?” I snarl, highly pissed off that the slimy weasels have followed me here. I’ve flown literally halfway around the world, and still, they can’t leave me in peace.
“There aren’t, normally.” Jaxon sounds relaxed, but his grip on my wrist tightens. “Come on, Jade,” he commands, steering me around the crowd, his gentleness gone. “Let’s get to our hotel.”
I stumble out of bed, bleary-eyed. I have no idea what the time is, but judging by the bright light shining through the curtains, it’s got to be close to noon. Maybe even later. I’ve never been good at telling the time by the sun, but the thin curtains aren’t doing a very good job of blocking it out. It was nearly dawn by the time I fell asleep. After we left the airport and checked in to some semi-habitable motel far away from the proper part of the city where I couldn’t ‘get into mischief’ as Jaxon so gleefully put it, I spent ages on Facebook updating my friends, and Googling New Zealand. Seeing as how I’ve been forced to come to a country I’ve never had any interest in, I may as well try to find out as much as I can about the place.
Besides, I had to do something to distract myself and try to ignore Jaxon’s snores coming from the next room, and there was nothing else to do. We’re in a studio suite with a separate bedroom off it, and the only television is in the main part of the studio, where Jaxon is sleeping. He made me sleep in the separate bedroom, apparently so he’d hear me if I tried to leave, but I truly doubt he would have heard anything above his snoring. I swiped the little packet of nuts out of the basket by the sink, but that’s all there was to eat. No mini bar. No restaurant open. This lonely motel is the only one around. There’s no shops. Not that I noticed at the ungodly hour we arrived here, anyway. No night clubs. Nothing. It’s disappointing. Auckland is the biggest city in New Zealand, and there’s literally nothing here.
“We’re not really in Auckland City,” Jaxon had explained last night in response to my grumbling about the lack of a night life here. “We’re on the outskirts.”
Outskirts? So where is the city? Where are the bars? I had so many questions, but I didn’t get to ask them, because he’d excused himself for bed, safe in the knowledge that there was no trouble I could possibly get into in this hell hole, and was snoring within minutes.
He’s not snoring now. Now, there’s nothing but silence. Briefly, panic wells up inside me. He hasn’t gone out and left me here, has he? All alone in this motel room in a strange country? I need to know. I don’t even stop to put clothes on, I wander out into the kitchenette area of our motel unit in just the tank top and panties I slept in. He’s sitting at the table, reading a newspaper. My image doesn’t grace the cover of this one.
He looks up, meets my eye, smiles. He’s cleaned up, shaved and showered. The stubble that darkened his jaw yesterday is gone. Even from here, I can smell his soap and aftershave. I can’tplace the scent, but it’s earthy, masculine, musky. He’s dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, his suit nowhere to be seen. The t-shirt stretches tight across his chest as he moves, and his muscles bulge. Tattoos swirl down his left arm, all the way to his wrist. I can’t take my eyes off him. His body is rock hard. For an old guy, he’s built. Without thinking about it, I lick my lips, then feel heat flood my face. Did he notice me ogling him? I risk a glance at him, and he winks. Damn. He saw.
I look down. Crap! I’m not wearing any clothes! I’m standing in front of him in my underwear! I run from the room, totally mortified.
“Get yourself dressed and come back out here,” he calls from the table, his voice casual, as though a half-naked woman standing in front of him is no big deal, something he sees every day. I have no intention of going back out there, clothed or not. I have no intention of ever being in the same room with him again. How can I face him now?
“We’re flying out of Auckland later today,” he calls again. “So if you want to eat before we leave, you’d best get moving.”
