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I study him—some of my lipstick is on his mouth. I move my thumb there, trying to clean it off. “I’m afraid to look at myself in the mirror,” I confess.
“It looks like we joined the mile-high club.”
“Mason!” I giggle. “Stop it.”
“It does, though. I’ve messed up your hair,” he says, trying to smooth it back down.
“If I’m going to look like I’ve had sex in an aeroplane, maybe I really should,” I say. And I’m only half-kidding about that idea.
“Let’s see, have sex in your dad’s jet, with your dad and brother sitting in the cabin? I don’t know what could possibly go wrong.”
I slide my hand up his chest and toy with one of the buttons on his polo shirt. “We could be fast.”
“No.”
I laugh at how quick and firm his answer is.
“I like you, Catherine, and I really like having sex with you, but I value my F1 seat,” Mason says. “Along with my life.”
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s fix ourselves up and then you can go out first. I’ll slip out after you.”
I move in front of the mirror and gasp as soon as I look at my reflection. OH MY GOD, I DO LOOK LIKE I JOINED THE MILE-HIGH CLUB.
And I have a meeting today.
My hair is messy, my lipstick and eyeliner are smeared, and my face is red from where Mason’s scruff burned against it.
“Shit! My meeting! I’m meeting with someone!” I say, panicking.
“Baby, you’ll fix yourself up, and you’ll be fine.”
Mason reaches around me for a tissue and wipes my soft pink lipstick off his mouth. And just like that, he’s cleaned up, and nobody would suspect he’d done anything at all.
“I hate you.”
He chuckles. “I’m going to try to discreetly slip out.” Mason opens the door a crack, then shuts it. “Isla is coming up the aisle.”
“She might be able to help me. Go out and send her in.”
“What? She’s going to think I was in here doing you.”
“Um, isn’t she going to think that now that you’ve opened the door, shut it, and I’m not sitting anywhere in the cabin?”
“Shit. You’re right.” He opens the door and steps out, and then a few seconds later Isla steps inside with an amused look on her face.
“No, we did not do that,” I immediately tell her.
She grins. I blush. “We kissed. All clothing stayed on,” I insist. “I swear, that’s all we did.”
Isla’s eyes dance. “Well, then that sucks, doesn’t it?”
I can’t help it. I laugh, and she joins me. “I need a favour. As you can see, I’m a mess. And I have a meeting this morning. I can’t have you go back and get my bag, because, oh, that’s not weird at all, right? Could you get yours and let me borrow some of your make-up? A hairbrush?”
“Of course. I’ll be right back,” she says.
I breathe a sigh of relief as she heads back out the door. I lean against the white marble worktop, studying my reflection in the mirror and wondering what I can use of Isla’s that would help me look presentable.
There’s a quick rap on the door, then she comes back inside. “You’re very lucky you’re friends with a TV reporter,” she says, retrieving a make-up bag and setting it on the worktop next to me. “I’ve got some make-up-remover wipes in there. My lipsticks won’t look good with your colouring, but you can at least get presentable and then reapply new lipstick. I also have a hairbrush.”
