Текст книги "I Do"

Автор книги: A. J. Pine

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

“One call,” the lanky git said. “How about you?” Kostas asked the real thief, but the guy just grunted out a no.

This was it. Duncan was so close to where he needed to be yet so very far away. All he knew was that nothing about today felt like home.

Chapter Six

Maggie

Maggie adjusted the small airplane pillow against the window and stretched as best she could in the confined space. It took her a few blinks to open her eyes completely, and when she did, Griffin’s soft gaze was on her, those caramel eyes drinking her in.

“What?” she asked, sure that he’d caught her snoring or drooling, which really wouldn’t be that big of a deal. He’d seen her at her worst and still taken on the challenge of loving her. Maggie had to remind herself that she didn’t have to be anyone but herself with him. She could just be.

He lifted the armrests that formed the barrier between them, then took her left leg and draped it over his right. Griffin let out a sigh and smiled.

“Don’t move,” she said, and then pulled her camera from the seatback pocket. Something about the way he looked at her made her want to capture this moment.

He chuckled as she snapped the photo.

“I’m glad you got some rest, but I have a confession,” he said, a glint in his eyes that made something in her gut tighten.

“What’s that?”

He traced circles on her thigh, sparks bypassing the thin blanket and then the denim covering her skin, traveling straight through her core. She squirmed, and his grin broadened, eyes crinkling with delight.

“I may have been fantasizing a bit about what we could do when you woke up.”

His hand was under the blanket now, her jeans the only thing standing between his skin and hers.

“On…on the plane?” she asked, willing him both to stop and to keep driving her insane. “But I’ve been sleeping for, like, three hours. I’m all travel gross and have morning mouth. Or afternoon mouth. What time zone are we in?” She gasped on that last word as Griffin’s fingers dipped under the hem of her sweater, the tips brushing the bare skin of her belly.

She stood abruptly, her head bumping the air blower thingy. Griffin laughed.

“I need to freshen up. Or something. I need to… I’m gonna… Can you grab my carry-on from the overhead bin?”

Griffin stood next to her, resting one knee on his seat to accommodate for his height and save him from head-butting the ceiling as she had. He kissed her softly on the jaw, just below her ear. His late-night or early-morning stubble—Jesus, what time was it?—tickled her skin, and there were those sparks again. God, what she wouldn’t do for this man, but not before assessing the situation. And besides, what were they going to do on a plane? People didn’t really…

“I’ll meet you in there in five,” he whispered, interrupting her internal monologue. His breath warmed her skin, his voice low and gruff and, shit, so sexy.

“K,” was all she could manage because, omigod, people really did that? On planes? That was his fantasy…and apparently hers now, too.

Griffin stepped out into the aisle, opening the bin to retrieve her bag.

“Oooh, perfect timing!” Jordan said, popping up from her seat to stand next to him. “Can you grab mine, too? I’m hungry.”

“I’ve got it!” Noah sprang up as well, nailing his head as Maggie had.

They all shared a collective laugh, and Maggie’s heart raced as she grabbed her bag and headed to the back of the plane. Once in the tiny bathroom—door left unlocked—she studied herself in the mirror.

So much had changed in a year, and Griffin was the catalyst for that change—for getting her to step outside the safe zone. After hiding herself away, hiding how she’d had to alter her lifestyle to compensate for the new way her brain worked, she had finally let Griffin in fully and completely. She had loved and trusted and let herself be loved in return, and it had gotten her to where they now were.

She blinked at her reflection. The skin under her eyes was a little darker than normal, but Maggie Kendall was smiling because she was on a plane to another country, so far from safe she couldn’t even see it anymore, and it felt good.

The door opened, and she gasped when she saw an older man recoil at the bathroom not being vacant.

“Sorry!” she yelped, heart pounding, and then she giggled. “Occupied.”

The man grunted a sound of disapproval. “Lock the door, then,” he grumbled. “Why doesn’t anyone lock the door?”

She pulled the unlocked door shut again and waited for Griffin. She hadn’t realized it until she met him, but she had spent two years waiting. Waiting for life to return to normal. Waiting to be the girl she was at nineteen, the one who hadn’t suffered a traumatic brain injury and undergone surgery that left her scarred in ways no one could see but her. Griffin never knew that Maggie, and a part of her wished he could have. Another part still waited for normal, a word that would never exist in their shared vocabulary.

“Stop psyching yourself out, Mags,” she said to the girl in the mirror. “He loves and trusts the you you are now.”

The problem, though, was that Maggie was still learning to do the same. This weekend would be the test. If she could survive the flight, the jet lag, the extra stimulation of places and people she didn’t know, then maybe she could trust in a future that was less than safe.

Right now she just had to trust that the next person to open that door would be Griffin, and with that trust she let the worry fall away, replaced with thoughts of his lips on hers and his hands on her skin.

The girl in the mirror smiled back.

“Nope,” she said aloud, biting her lip. “What we’re about to do in this closet of a room falls nowhere under my definition of safe. Not at all.”

Chapter Seven

Noah

He watched Griffin eye Maggie as she headed to the back of the plane before he sat down again in their row. Then Noah followed suit, collapsing into the seat next to Jordan with a sigh.

“Hey,” she started. “What’s wrong?” She ripped open a package of almonds and offered him one, but he shook his head.

How could he explain how being here with her and Griffin brought him back three years—to watching her with him while Noah made mistake after mistake, pushing her away. It wasn’t that he was still jealous of Griffin dating Jordan first. Okay, fine. He was a little jealous. Seeing the guy who got to be with her when Noah couldn’t? He blamed himself for losing that first chance with her, but being around Griffin—he felt that loss all over again. He still felt it was pure luck that she hadn’t written him off by the time he found her in London just before New Year’s Eve, that she fought hard enough to break through his trust barriers so they could get to where they were now. Even though it had been three years, Noah still worried that he’d somehow mess up again, that he’d lose his best friend—the person who filled the spaces in his heart he never knew were there until he met Brooks on that train. How the hell did he put all that into words that would explain that when it came to their past, he’d always want to prove to her that she made the right choice.

Noah pushed the armrest up and hooked a finger into Jordan’s belt loop, urging her closer.

“You know,” he said, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke in a soft whisper. “I could meet you back there. If you want.”

Jordan sucked in a sharp breath, and he smiled. Maybe he couldn’t put into words what kept eating away at him, but he could do everything in his power to make this trip perfect, to make sure Jordan knew how important she was to him.

At first she only nodded, and he grinned against her, sliding his hand from her belt loop to her thigh, the tips of his fingers disappearing between her legs.

“Noah.” His name was a whispered plea, and he realized this was how to say what he couldn’t articulate. He pressed a finger against her center, massaged her through her jeans, and Jordan squirmed in her seat. “Noah,” she said again, and this time it was a reprimand, yet one that was accompanied by her gorgeous smile.

“Head on back there,” he said softly, his voice doing nothing to hide his need for the woman sitting next to him. “I’m right behind you.”

She stuffed the almonds back into her bag and shoved it under the seat. Then she kissed him before stepping into the aisle and disappearing toward the back of the plane. He stayed facing forward, not wanting to be obvious, and counted to sixty. Twice. And then he couldn’t wait any longer.

Noah took a deep breath and relaxed as his eyes took in the green vacant sign. She’d left the door unlocked for him. They were going to do this. And he could do this. Confined spaces had become less of a threat when Jordan was around. Just being in her presence calmed him, as if her frenetic energy drew out the opposite from him. Plus, how bad could a small space be when her delicious skin was on his?

He threw open the door and stepped inside, only to find the vacant sign was telling the truth. Jordan wasn’t there. He moved to back out of the space, realizing he’d chosen the wrong door, just as another passenger backed into him and slammed the door shut. Noah pitched forward over the small excuse for a counter, his forehead slamming into the mirror. This didn’t surprise him. Physical injury brought on by his often clumsy girlfriend was fairly common—and to Noah, endearing—though Jordan didn’t usually hit with this much force.

“Oh shit.”

Though the stars hadn’t yet cleared his vision, Noah knew that voice, and it sure as hell wasn’t Jordan’s. When he straightened himself to full standing position and focused on the mirror, he took in the sight of Griffin standing behind him, right behind him, with barely room to breathe, his head thrown back in laughter against the door. The closed door.

“What are you doing?” Noah asked.

“Same thing as you, I’d guess,” Griffin said, taking no notice of Noah’s palms gripping the counter, knuckles white against the dulled silver. “Guess I should have paid better attention. I totally thought Maggie went right, but she must have gone left.” He laughed harder. “And Jordan’s gotta be in the one just next to us. Jesus, we’re a couple of assholes. I’m sorry, man.”

Griffin spun back to face the door, nudging at the lock. Once. Then twice. Then Noah watched as his fellow occupant’s fist curved around the small bolt, struggling to pull it free.

Noah ran his hand through his hair as his throat tightened.

“You’ve got to fucking be kidding me,” he said. “This is not happening.”

Noah turned toward the door and pushed Griffin to the side against the toilet so he could wedge himself in front of the door, slamming the heel of his palm against the stubborn bolt. Nothing.

He backed away, sliding into a sitting position on the counter, the only way to give himself a few inches to breathe.

“What the hell did you do?” he asked, observing as Griffin’s eyes widened. Noah pressed one hand to his chest and the other out in front of him, trying to force an arm’s length between them.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Griffin said, the realization evident in the words.

Noah closed his eyes and took in a long, slow breath, a calming mechanism he hadn’t needed in quite some time. He nodded but focused on his breathing before saying anything else.

“Look, Reed, I appreciate you stating the obvious, but let’s just get the fuck out of here. Okay?” he said through labored breaths.

Griffin’s shoulders slumped as he pressed himself back against the door. Noah could tell he was trying to create more space, and he had to give the guy credit for that.

“Hold on a sec,” Noah said, remembering the back door to his and Jordan’s apartment, the one they rarely used because the door was misaligned and the lock always got stuck.

He hopped off the counter, and Griffin wedged himself into the corner, not that it mattered. Their shoulders still touched, but Noah didn’t have time to care. He grabbed the small door handle and pulled the door toward the inner frame and then tried the lock again. Nothing. So he pushed the door into the outer frame and tugged at the bolt again.

Freedom.

He popped the door open and stumbled into the slightly larger space between the four bathrooms. Four bathrooms? Well, that explained his misjudgment. He’d pay better attention next time. Fuck, who was he kidding? There would be no next time. He was pretty sure sweaty palms and uneven breathing before the good stuff even started would not be the way to get Jordan to scream his name—in pleasure, that is. She’d probably scream her head off if he blacked out before she even got his pants unzipped.

“How’d you know?” he asked Griffin before they headed back to their seats. “That it was a panic attack.”

Griffin shrugged. “Maggie has similar symptoms sometimes, before a migraine comes on. I’d do anything to keep that from ever happening to her again, but I can’t take it away from her, you know? It sucks, and I’m sorry it happens to you, too.”

Noah had to hand it to him. Griffin was a good guy. That’s part of the reason Noah had such a hard time being around him. When he’d met Jordan on the train to Scotland three years ago, he fell for her almost instantly. But because his ex was with him on the exchange program, things got complicated quickly, and Jordan ended up dating Griffin for their first few months in Aberdeen. He was good to Jordan. And even though things didn’t work out because, despite their rocky beginning, Jordan had fallen for Noah as quickly as he’d fallen for her, she and Griffin parted as friends and were still pretty close.

If Griffin had been an ass, it would have been easier for him to just let it go. But Noah was the ass, the one who almost missed out on being with the person he loved most; he’d be a dick to hold his own mistakes against Griffin. It was time to let it go.

“Thanks? I guess,” Noah said. “Are we having a moment or something?”

Griffin laughed. “I think we are.” He paused for a second. “You were going to risk that for Jordan?”

Noah laughed, too. “Yeah. I was. But I’m officially reconsidering.”

Griffin held out his hand, and Noah gripped it in a firm shake.

“Leave the past in the past?” Griffin asked.

Noah let out a long breath, and with it he released three-year-old doubt and regret.

“Leave the past in the past.”

Chapter Eight

Miles

If sitting seventeen rows behind Griffin, Maggie, Jordan, and Noah plus getting stuck in the middle of a three-seat row didn’t make Miles a fifth wheel, he didn’t know what did. He knew he shouldn’t be sulking. He did get a great deal on the ticket, after all. But he also knew from watching Maggie and Jordan glide past him to the cluster of lavatories in the back of the plane, and Griffin and Noah scrutinizing their every move, that there was a whole lotta somethin’ going on, and he would be the only one this weekend getting nothing.

The woman to his left had slept most of the flight but now was leaning across the aisle, conversing with the man in the opposite row’s window seat. Greek was a loud language. Or maybe she just had to shout to make her voice reach beyond not only the expanse of the aisle but also the poor guy sitting on the end seat. Miles couldn’t get a good look at him past the woman’s animated gesticulations, but he could tell the passenger was smiling, and he liked that this stranger was just as amused by the conversation as he was.

Sleep never came easily for Miles, and he had whiled away the hours either feigning the activity or reading the romance novel he ended up running back to Hudson News to purchase. What could he say? He judged books by their covers, and this one had him at a half-naked couple. Turned out the story was pretty good, too, if you were into happily-ever-afters and all that crap.

A third voice joined the cross-aisle convo, and moments later the woman next to Miles was standing up, repeating a word he didn’t understand.

“Efharistó,” she said to the man across the aisle as he rose along with her. “Efharistó.”

And then she was in his seat, and he was in hers, and Miles was—staring. Except Miles Parker didn’t stare. He was the object of other people’s gawks and ogles, men and women alike. It’s not like he was an asshole about his looks, but he never put on the bullshit of false modesty. He was hot. He knew it. And he liked the effect it had on others.

“It means thank you.”

Miles was sure the guy had some sort of European accent, but it was too slight to place. What he was more concerned about was the fullness of the lips from which the accented voice came.

“How did you know I spoke English?” Miles asked, finding his voice.

Those lips turned up into a sinful grin, and Miles followed the corners of the man’s mouth to the apples of his cheeks and the crinkle of his cinnamon-colored eyes.

Again with the staring.

“I was watching you speak to those American girls who walked by just before. The one with the red hair—she is your girlfriend?”

Miles grinned at the thought of being watched. Then he chuckled at the question. He was, technically, Maggie’s plus-one for the wedding. He loved her more than anyone else he knew. And yet, the answer was an emphatic no.

The stranger’s thick, dark brows furrowed, and for a second Miles let his gaze drift to the passengers coming up the aisle. He nodded as Griffin and Noah passed them by, confirming his suspicions.

Still laughing, Miles said, “The lighter-haired one, that is the boyfriend.”

His new seatmate narrowed his eyes. “Then can I admit something?” he asked, and Miles crossed his arms over his chest.

“Sure. I like admissions.”

Mystery Man scrubbed a hand across the dark stubble on his jaw.

“I noticed you at the gate at JFK.”

Miles sighed. “My apologies, then.”

“For what?”

“For being too wrapped up in the first pity party I’d thrown myself in a long time to notice you. Because I do now, and let me tell you…you’re hard not to notice.”

He held out his hand toward Miles and started, “I’m—”

But Miles shook his head. “No names,” he said. “What would be the point?”

The guy shrugged and laughed. “I guess there isn’t one.” He turned then to face the passenger in front of him, reclining his seat and resting his hands behind his head as if he were lounging at the beach.

Miles followed suit.

Shit.

There was a beautiful, way-too-charming man sitting next to him, and Miles just gave him the polite fuck off. When did he ever shy away from flirting? This was the fun part. But something about this guy set off an internal alarm, one Miles couldn’t recognize or define.

“You know,” Mystery Man said, still staring at the cabin’s ceiling, “we don’t need to share names to make a good time of the rest of the flight.”

Miles agreed to himself that this was a good point. He should explore it further.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

“Another admission,” the man said. “When I saw you at JFK, I wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” He leaned closer, enough so that Miles could feel his breath on his own lips. “Do you wonder what it would be like to kiss me?”

Well, he sure as hell was wondering that now.

“I bet you say that to all the men you meet on airplanes,” Miles teased, aiming for the casual confidence he usually oozed, but his heart rate increased. He decided to write it off as arousal. After all, he hadn’t been with anyone since Paige, and the man next to him was quite the specimen. Maggie wanted him to let go this weekend and enjoy himself, and here he was being offered the chance for some guaranteed enjoyment.

“I do,” Miles said, imagining what the lips so close to his would taste like. “But I’ve never been one for putting on a show.”

Without another word, the man whose name he desperately didn’t want to know stood from his seat and headed toward the final rows of the plane—and the cluster of lavatories that lay beyond.

Miles felt his dick strain against his jeans, the sensation silencing any sort of warning he’d tried to give himself moments before.

He shook his head and grinned, then followed his seatmate to the tail of the aircraft.

After all, a fifth wheel never said no to a sixth, especially when they both seemed to want—or in Miles’s case need—the same thing. A release, something to push the past back to its hiding place in favor of pure physical desire. It’s not like he was a stranger to random hookups, and this one had the promise of no repercussions. When the plane landed, Miles would be on his way, and so would the man with no name. For now, he could stand a little pleasure before a weekend that only promised the reminder of emotional pain.

He barely got the door shut and bolted behind him before Mystery Man’s lips crashed against his. He’d been anticipating how those lips would taste from the second the guy sat down next to him, and the reality did not fall short of the fantasy.

Coffee and something sweet, like he’d just stepped out of a patisserie or some other European-sounding bakery, not like he’d been languishing for hours on a plane, breathing the same recirculated air as hundreds of others.

If this was his first taste of Europe, Miles wasn’t complaining.

He nipped at that full bottom lip, then took in a sharp breath as a strong hand palmed him where he throbbed inside his jeans.

Fuck the playful nipping. Miles felt those lips part against his, and he kissed his delicious stranger hard and deep as the hand on top of his zipper slid down, fingers cupping him firmly as Miles tried to keep his knees from buckling.

He let out a low growl and ran his hands through the thick caramel hair he wanted so desperately to touch.

Miles wasn’t a stranger to casual sex, but there was something agonizing about not knowing this guy’s name, even if it had been his own idea to keep names out of this. A name alone was the shallowest form of identity, yet it established a connection. Whatever happened on this plane, when they disembarked, it would be over. No name. No way to find each other again.

Miles spun his man of mystery so his torso lay pressed against the door. Taut biceps flexed under the tanned skin of his arms. He splayed his palm between his shoulder blades, the man’s thin T-shirt leaving very little to the imagination.

He rocked his pelvis into the small of the stranger’s back and groaned as those tawny arms lifted so his hands could spread against the pocket door. He was letting Miles take the lead.

Miles reached around to find his companion rock hard inside his well-worn jeans, and without warning, the words just fell out.

“I need to know your—”

The lavatory door flew open, and both Miles and the other man tumbled into the cabin, nearly bulldozing Miles’s former seatmate. Passengers in the rearmost seats turned toward the commotion, and Miles did exactly what typical Miles would do in this situation. He smiled, and then he bowed.

“…name,” Miles said under his breath. “I need to know your name.”

“Sygnómi! Sygnómi!”

His fellow occupant chuckled and took it all in stride as the Greek woman kept repeating, over and over until she was locked safely in the lavatory, “Sygnómi! Sygnómi!”

“She’s saying she’s sorry,” the man with no identity said, and Miles shook his head and let out a relieved laugh.

Thank you, he thought as he glanced back at the lavatory door. You saved me from myself.

He was about to turn back toward the cabin when he noticed a rectangle of paper on the floor. His almost-mile-high partner was already heading back toward their seats. Because he hadn’t thought that paper was there before, he bent down and picked it up. Only when he read it did he realize he should have left the trash pickup to those in charge.

Because Miles couldn’t unread what he read, couldn’t unknow what he knew. So he stared at the business card again.

Alexander Karas. Sous Chef. Ambrosia Café.

Thessaloniki

“Are you coming?”

The question sounded like it wasn’t the first time being asked, and Miles realized Alexander must have come back to check on him.

Alexander. Alex. He was totally an Alex. Miles could feel it.

He shoved the card in his front pocket and turned to face the man he was sure he was connected to by so much more than a name now.

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m, uh, gonna head up front for a bit and see my friends. See you in a few?”

Alex smiled. “I’ll save your seat.”

And without another word, he sat back down as Miles did his best not to look like he was rushing to Maggie—but he needed two questions answered, and she would know the first one.

He found her lounging against the window next to her seat, a sleeping Griffin resting his head on her shoulder.

“You look…rumpled,” Maggie said. “You never look rumpled.” She narrowed her eyes. “What were you doing, Miles Parker?”

He shook his head a little too violently, but fuck, she didn’t know how important this was.

“Mags…what’s the name of Elaina’s family’s restaurant?”

She pursed her lips and squinted her eyes.

“You know how much I suck at restaurant names, sweetie. They kind of get filed as unnecessary in the short-term memory department. I can ask Griffin when he wakes up.”

“Hey, what am I? Invisible?”

Miles turned to where he swore Jordan was sleeping just seconds ago.

“Ambrosia,” she said. “Ambrosia Café.”

Question number two—would Miles and Alex be able to leave the plane as strangers, safe from seeing each other again? The odds weren’t looking good.

Maybe it was a good thing the lavatory door wasn’t properly locked and things ended before they went too far.

He knew what Maggie would say if he explained. She’d call it serendipity, say it was meant to be just like when she met Griffin. But serendipity didn’t apply to him, even if knowing Alex’s name only made him want to know more. What would be the point in getting to know a man who lived thousands of miles away? What good would it do to even consider what someone like Alex would think about someone like him?

He didn’t know the answers to those questions, only that they were pushing through all the barriers he’d spent so long constructing.

One thing was for sure. Miles was screwed.