Indigo Nights: A Sexy, Contemporary Romance (6 page)

After I’d made her come five times, Beth had gone back to her room to prepare for check-in. She’d left in a rush, leaving me dazed, recovering from another explosion against her creamy skin. She’d seemed sated and I took satisfaction from that.

I showered quickly, hoping to catch up with her before we boarded. Grab her number, touch her. I’d really like to see her again, make it good for her again. If not today, then while I was in London.

Beth Harrison was everything a woman should be in bed: responsive, willing and a mesmerizing sight naked. She was also confident about her body and sassy enough to have called me a peach. She might have been a little shy at first, but any reticence had disappeared as my tongue touched her skin. I grinned and toweled off. I dressed quickly, eager to see her again.

I got to the lounge in record time and after scanning the main area and not seeing Beth, I passed the showers, heading to the table I’d found her at yesterday. I couldn’t stop the grin on my face as I rounded the corner. Our table was empty.
Shit.
She wasn’t here yet. I checked my watch. She was going to have to be quick; they’d start boarding first class any minute. Perhaps she’d got stuck on a call, but who would be calling her so early? Someone in London, maybe? A boyfriend? She didn’t strike me as a cheater, and she’d told me she’d never had sober sex. She didn’t seem like a liar.

I slumped in a chair and waited.

The same waitress who’d booked Beth’s hotel room approached me. “Can I get you any refreshments, sir?”

I wanted to ask her if she’d seen Beth, but knew how desperate that sounded. “No. Thank you.”

I tried to busy myself scrolling through the email on my phone, but before I knew it, we were being called for boarding. At least I’d see her on the plane. An exchange of numbers wouldn’t be so private with the cabin crew gawking at us, but it would have to do.

I strode to the gate, on the way checking travelers, scanning faces. She’d probably just wanted to take her time to get ready. Not that she needed to. She’d looked pretty close to perfect when I’d last seen her—her silky hair mussed up, her lips well kissed, but I could understand if she hadn’t wanted to travel with “I just got fucked” tattooed on her forehead. I grinned again.

I headed straight to the desk and down the ramp to the plane. I glanced down at my ticket. As I’d thought, 8A. They hadn’t changed the seating.
Good
. I didn’t want her far from me.

Jesus, Dylan, what are you thinking? She was a good lay. Calm down.

But I was anything but calm. I wanted to see her. I wanted to know more about her. Who might be calling her? Why was she going to London? Had she grown up in Chicago? All of a sudden, I had too many questions. Perhaps on the plane we could sit at the bar and just talk. I wanted to get to know her, which was unusual.

I turned left as I entered the plane.

“Good morning, Mr. James.”

I didn’t glance at whoever spoke. It was a man, which meant it wasn’t Beth and therefore I wasn’t interested.

There were passengers in front of me, so I craned my neck to see if she was already in her seat. The sides of each seat were too high to get a proper look. As I got closer to my seat, I saw hers. Empty. I spun to see if she was behind me.

“Champagne, sir?” A blonde flight attendant held out a glass.

I shook my head. “No. Are we all assigned to the same seats as yesterday?”

The flight attendant squinted at me. “Yes sir, you’re still in 8A.”

“And everyone else? They’re all in the same seats?”

“Umm. Yes, I think so. There may have been some changes in economy, why—”

“Okay, thanks.” I stripped off my jacket and she took it from me.

I kept one eye on the people trailing in. The cabin was pretty full already. The seat next to mine remained empty. I took out my laptop and notebook from my carry-on luggage and slid my case into the overhead compartment.

Damn. She still wasn’t here. I checked my watch. I should have taken her number before she left my hotel room. I could get them to hold the plane if she was running a little late.

I took my seat. What would I say when I saw her? I’d just keep it casual.

The slamming of doors caught my attention and the crew began to round the cabin, collecting empty glasses. Where was she?

An announcement asked for all mobile phones to be switched off. She must have had her seat reassigned.

“Excuse me.” I caught the blonde as she walked by.

She smiled. “How can I help you, sir?”

“You said the seat allocation had remained the same.” Something gnawed in my gut. “But there was a young woman sitting next to me yesterday.”

The flight attendant frowned. “Oh, yes. I think there was.”

“So, where is she?” I was impatient and it was beginning to show.

“Let me check, sir.” The blonde scurried away.

It would be inconvenient if she’d been assigned to a seat farther away. I couldn’t recall whether there was a first class section upstairs on this flight. I would be really irritated if she was there when she could be next to me. I set my phone and my laptop to flight mode. When I glanced up, the blonde was heading my way.

She leaned toward me. “Sir, she didn’t check in. She’s not flying with us today.”

What. The. Fuck?

I nodded curtly and fixed my stare on my laptop, trying to get a handle on myself.

Where was she? Had she fallen asleep? Was she embarrassed by the way I’d made her scream and decided that she couldn’t face me?

Jesus, I was furious. With myself for not having made sure I had a way of contacting Beth, and with her for not checking the fuck in. What had happened? Beth fucking Harrison had got in my head; that was what had happened. And women didn’t get in my head. Not since . . .

Well, not since a long time ago and it wasn’t supposed to happen again.

Beth

I couldn’t stop grinning as I closed my hotel room door behind me, my thoughts fuzzy and my body deliciously sore. I needed to snap to attention and get my ass down to check-in. My shower would have to be a short one.

I grabbed my purse on my way to the bathroom, rifling through it to find my phone. I tried to unlock it single-handedly as I switched on the shower.

Seven missed calls? Shit. What had happened?

I stepped back from the shower and put my voice mail on speaker as I began to undress. I was going to have to multitask to make the flight.

The voice of my dad’s second wife, Marissa, came through the speaker. She sounded muffled. The words heart attack caught my attention like a blade scratching over glass and I froze.

Heart attack? Another one? Quickly, I started to dress, grabbed my phone and headed back into the bedroom, glancing around to see what I needed to gather. The message ended and the next one was from my brother, Jake, asking where I was. Fuck. Luckily I hadn’t unpacked. I grabbed my case and raced down to the lobby.

My father had had a heart attack last year but had recovered well. He’d been lucky. The third voice mail was from my dad’s wife again. The message was clearer. They were at the hospital. My stomach began to churn as I spiraled into worst-case scenario. Was he still alive? Was I too late?

Guilt and fear ran through my veins.

Passing through the lobby of the hotel, I glanced around to see if I could spot Dylan. I wanted to tell him about my dad. To tell him that I wouldn’t be on the plane. It was a stupid thought. He’d been a one-night stand. An epic one-night stand, but we weren’t about to start sharing sob stories.

It was early so there wasn’t a line for cabs. I looked up at the heavens, grateful for small mercies.

In the taxi, I called my brother. It went straight to voice mail, so I called Marissa back. Voice mail again. They were probably speaking to each other. Normally I’d be pleased. Their relationship wasn’t a strong one, but the fact they were speaking this morning must mean things were very wrong.

The cab wasn’t going fast enough.

“How long now?” I clicked my seatbelt, hoping that it might be a hint that I was ready to go a little faster.

“About thirty seconds less than the last time you asked.” The cab driver pulled up at a light.

I was sure I smelled of sex, but I hadn’t had time for a shower. I grabbed a hairbrush from my bag and started to work through some of the tangles Dylan had caused the night before. Guilt churned in my stomach. If I’d thought to take my phone with me, or if I hadn’t been so stupid as to go up to Dylan’s room, I would have known my father was being taken to the hospital sooner. There was a reason I didn’t do one-night stands. And now I was being punished for it.

I needed to call my sponsor. My thoughts were spiraling out of control, and I knew that alcohol would calm me down, dampen the noise of the voices in my head—it would stop the guilt of not having my phone with me last night, the guilt of enjoying myself while my father was sick, and the shame that right then, I wanted to be on a plane, sitting next to Dylan, not in a cab racing to the hospital.

Nausea washed through me as I pressed dial. My sponsor was in London so would be wide-awake. It went straight to voice mail.

I’d been in Alcoholics Anonymous since I’d moved to London from Chicago. My brother had gone with me for the first few times, loitering outside, there to catch me when I fell apart. But I hadn’t. AA gave me belief that things would be better, and with every meeting, I got stronger. I’d not had a drink since my first meeting. I’d learned that preventative action was the key to staying sober. I didn’t get the urge to drink anymore, because I never let it get that far. I controlled my environment, so I wasn’t exposed to any kind of pressure to tempt me to drink. Last night I’d given up that control and now I was paying for it. In some ways I was lucky I was in a cab on the way to a hospital. There was no temptation right in front of me. I wasn’t quite sure whether I’d be able to resist if there had been.

We pulled up outside the hospital and I shoved some money at the cab driver and ran through the sliding doors. I should have listened to the rest of my messages. They would have told me where I should go. After several wrong turns, eventually I raced down the right corridor toward my stepmother.

“Oh God, Beth. I thought you’d be in London.”

I scanned the corridor. There were several sets of double doors left and right. “Where is he? Is he okay? Can I see him?” My pulse was pushing through my skin.

“Yes, he’s fine.” She took my arm and we started through one of the double sets of doors. My stepmother and I hadn’t had any kind of relationship until my father’s first heart attack. His condition had brought us together, given us common ground.

“My flight was cancelled. Is he okay?”

“It wasn’t a heart attack. They think it was just anxiety.”

No wonder she was so calm. “Anxiety?” It was as if someone had opened a pressure value, tension seeped away from my muscles, the voices in my head softened, and the fog began to clear. And it had happened without alcohol, without me having a drink.

She shrugged. “He’s getting older. They said it’s common to mistake it for a heart attack. I just have to sign some paperwork and he’ll be out. You didn’t have to come over. Didn’t you get my message?”

My stomach twisted. I should have reacted more logically when I got the missed calls. Maybe not rushed right over here and missed my flight. Would Dylan be wondering where I was? Would he care? He was probably relieved he didn’t have to have some awkward
goodbye, see you around
moment. I’d spared him that.