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I'm very confused. Did high school geography do me dirty, or what? Because here I am, utterly befuddled.
I retreat from the plane window, turning to Julian with a puzzled look. "Um, Julian?" I start. For almost the entire flight, he's been engulfed in a meeting while I've been scribbling notes like a diligent scribe. The meeting's just wrapped, and we're finally sinking into the plush embrace of the leather seats, basking in the luxury of flying private. Speaking of private jets, I need to go over the plans for the one we have to order. I picked out all the interior styles, and I planned to use this time before we landed to get his approval for it.
"Yeah, Pumpkin?" He flashes a grin, strolling over with a drink in each hand. Another tick in the 'pros' column for Julian: he's the antithesis of obnoxious. Sure, he's got a private jet, but he doesn't incessantly summon the flight crew at the press of a button. Instead, he's up and about, fetching his drinks. There's something irresistibly attractive about a man who doesn't mind getting his hands dirty.
"Thanks," I murmur, accepting the hot tea. "So, geography isn't exactly my forte," I confess.
"Aww, is that another red flag for my list?" He teases.
Suppressing a smirk, I take a heated sip. "But even I know the Statue of Liberty isn't lounging around in D.C."
He arches an eyebrow in mock surprise. "It's not?" Leaning forward, he peers out the window, feigning astonishment. "Well, would you look at that?"
"Jules," I press, my tone laced with urgency. His face lights up when I call him Jules, a nickname I’ve been using more frequently. "We’re supposed to be in D.C. Why on earth are we flying over New York?" My gaze flits to the cockpit door, seeking answers.
He places a reassuring hand on my knee. "We need to be in D.C. by 11:30 a.m. tomorrow."
I tilt my head, puzzled, as he chuckles.
"What are you scheming?" I probe, setting my tea aside on the sleek wooden table that could rival the sheen of a glazed honey donut – a thought that inadvertently awakens a hunger pang.
"When we started dating, we kept all our dates discreet. We were trapped in our apartments. I think that was amazing for us; it stripped us of all the early dating games and got us right to the good parts, where we can sit back, relax, and cuddle," Julian begins, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "But it also led us to shy away from going out. I want to take you out and show you off. I want us to do both, have dinner dates or cozy nights in." His smile widens, brimming with excitement. "I'm doing what I should've done ages ago." The anticipation in his eyes is palpable. "I'm taking you out on a proper date."
"What?" My response is a mix of shock and awe. I plaster my face against the window again, the New York skyline gradually unveiling itself. I had assumed his insistence on arriving in D.C. a day early was purely logistical – a precaution to avoid any hiccups before our meeting. I couldn't have been more off the mark. He planned this. He’s hijacking, maybe not the best term to use well on a plane, our business trip to bring me on a date. In New York!
“A date is a dinner at a local restaurant. You flew me to New York.” I whisper. My heart picks up its pace, which is challenging since my cardio is shit.
He simply shrugs, "I wanted to create a special moment," he says.
My knees bounce with nervous energy. "You didn't have to go to such lengths. Flowers would have been special enough," I counter.
“Flowers are ordinary. You’re not.” He replies.
I melt like butter on a hot Texas day. I blink away the sudden rush of emotions. "Do you have a thing for women who cry? Because at this rate, you're going to think I'm a fountain." My attempt at humor barely masks the overwhelming sentiment.
Then, in a swift motion, he pulls me onto his lap, eliciting a surprised yelp. "Jules," I protest, but a glance around assures us of our privacy. Adjusting my position, my dress hikes up, revealing more skin than intended.
His hands trace the length of my thigh, his breath a mix of desire and adoration. "I love you, Pumpkin," he confesses, sealing the declaration with a kiss that slows time itself. In that moment, all my worries dissipate, leaving only a profound sense of love and longing.
"I want you so desperately, Poppy," he whispers, his voice laden with raw need. "I want to take you right here. I want your screams to be heard below as we fly over New York. I’m so hard; I’m aching for you." He shifts his hips, nudging my core.
"Crew, prepare for landing," interrupts the pilot, jolting us back to reality.
Ugh! Why now!
Julian reluctantly breaks the kiss, a groan escaping him. As I start to rise, his grip tightens.“Give me one more second to hold you in my arms, Pumpkin.” he pleads, yearning etched in his gaze.
I lean in, "I'm all yours tonight, Jules," I whisper, promising an evening of unwavering passion.
I lean forward and nuzzle my nose in his neck.“I’ll give you all the time you want to be inside my body. Anyway, you want me, you can have me.” I kiss him as I slowly slide off his lap.
His grey eyes darken to a dark, stony granite, "Anyway?”
I nod and untuck my hair as I try to hide my giddy smirk.
He looks down at his watch, his eyes hopeful as if it's suddenly going to be tonight in the next second. I giggle and sit back. My road might still be bumpy, and the monsters of my past are still chasing me, but it's going uphill, and that's all that counts.
Chapter 22
