Page 45 of Resurgent
“Why are there three pilots?” Charlotte whispers as we make our way into the cabin.
“FAA regulations. You have to have three or more pilots for a flight longer than twelve hours, which this one could be, depending on the wind. And a flight attendant too.”
“How are we going to join the mile-high club if there’s a flight attendant?”
“We’ll figure out a way. Maybe we’ll snuggle under a blanket on the bed and—”
“Bed? What do you—”
Charlotte stops in her tracks, temporarily speechless as she takes in the luxurious interior of the jet. The first section consists of four plush leather recliners clustered together to make a roomy seating area, each with its own small flat screen. Behind them, a table is set with a white tablecloth, crystal wineglasses, and china plates. Just beyond the dining area, two long leather divans in the same soft, dove-gray leather, which can be folded down into a bed, face each other, scattered with a few decorative pillows. Twelve portholes make the small space bright and airy, and wood finishes on the table surfaces and storage bins lend the entire space a luxurious feel.
“Close your mouth, sweetheart, or I’ll be tempted to put something in it.”
Her mouth closes with a snap. “Stop,” she whispers, her cheeks blushing as her eyes cut over to the flight attendant, who has just entered the cabin. “She’ll hear you.”
I laugh and lean forward to kiss her again. She’s adorable when she goes all prim and proper librarian on me. “Maybe we’ll invite her to watch,” I whisper in her ear, grinning to myself as she flushes an even deeper red. Grabbing her hand, I say, “Let’s go check out the cockpit.”
The pilots jump up to greet me when I stick my head in the cockpit, and while they’re patronizing at first, the more questions I ask—about fuselage, wind shear, and cruising altitudes—the more professional their demeanor becomes. I’m sure I’m coming across as the dickhead rich guy, but I hate not being in control of the plane. If I’ve got to trust a couple of guys I don’t know to fly us over the Pacific, I’m at least going to make damned sure they know what they’re doing and the plane is equipped for the trip.
Back in the cabin of the jet, I guide Charlotte to one of the sofas and, sitting side by side, we buckle ourselves in. The flight attendant introduces herself and tells us to let her know if we’d like a drink or food prepared, and then she goes to ready herself for takeoff. I don’t even realize I’m drumming my fingers on the sofa until Charlotte covers my hand with hers. I turn my palm up, closing my fingers around her hand.
“Nervous?” she says.
“What, me? Of flying? Hell no! I have my own pilot’s license and have flown planes smaller than this over people shooting at us.”
“Yes, but you were the one at the controls then.”
“Yeah…so?”
With a laugh, she threads her fingers with mine and says smugly, “You’re a control freak, just like me.”
I tap her nose. “Only when it comes to your naked body.”
“Sorry. Your gig is up. I know your secret. You like to be in control of things just as much as I do. Except instead of making lists, you’ve just made yourself an untouchable badass who can do anything—handle anything—without any help from anyone.”
Damn. Is she right? Before I can come up with some smart-ass answer, the pilot tells us we’re cleared for takeoff and the plane starts taxiing down the runway. Her grip tightens. When I look at her face, it’s pale, and her eyes are scrunched closed.
“Hey. Areyouscared to fly?”
She opens one eye. “Maybe? I’ve only flown once before, when we went to Playa del Carmen, and we were doing shots so that kind of helped.” The plane lifts off and she squeezes my hand tightly. “Okay. Yes. I’m scared. This is a really small plane. And we don’t know anything about those pilots. We’re flying to Malaysia! Over the ocean! So much can go wrong!”
I lean forward and kiss her gently. “If anything happens, I’m completely capable of kicking all three of their asses and flying the plane myself, okay? Stop worrying. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
“Okay.” Her voice is a strained whisper.
I’m counting on us getting some sleep during the flight—we didn’t sleep much before we had to leave for the airport, and when we arrive in Tawau, it will be tomorrow morning. Without much time to spare, we’ll head straight to Sipadan to dive so we don’t lose a day. But she’s clearly not going to sleep anytime soon. She needs a distraction, something to relax her. Normally, I’d play with her body or give her an orgasm or two, but with the flight attendant nearby, I figure I should go with a different tactic.
I rub the two-carat diamond on her finger with my thumb, grazing her knuckles as I sit back and rest my ankle on my opposite knee. “Tell me why a woman who makes her living planning other people’s weddings is so against getting married herself.”
She sighs. “My parents met in college. In the pictures and videos I’ve seen, my mom was beautiful, and so full of life. She wanted to move to New York and work for a magazine. She’d already won a couple of awards, writing for the college newspaper, and she had a job lined up withVogue.” She takes a deep breath. “Then she got pregnant with me and married my dad. He didn’t want to go to New York, so they stayed in St. Louis and slowly grew to hate each other.”
“Did she keep writing?”
“No. My dad thought it was a waste of time. He called it her hobby and made sure she had no time to actually make money at it, to make her dependent on him. Then she had my two brothers and by then, she was trapped. They fought. He tore down her self-esteem to build his up—with his fists and with his words. She cried. Then she drank. One time when I was about fifteen I asked her why she didn’t leave, didn’t go do all the things she’d wanted to, and live the life she wanted. She said because she loved him. I knew then that wasn’t love, but I didn’t want any part of it.
“I decided then and there my life was going to be different. I’d make sure my life was the way I wanted it, and I would never give someone that kind of power over me or my heart. I was going to have a plan for my life that I didn’t deviate from, so that I’d never find myself in that position. AndifI ever got married, it would be to a solid, dependable, boring guy who never blinded me to living my best life.”
My heart aches for her. I had two parents who loved each other so much, my father lost his will to live after my mother died. Turning our joined hands over, I rub my thumb against her palm. “That explains why you like control over things. You didn’t have any growing up.”
