a necessity than a luxury. Grace’s gasp when she entered the cabin reminded him not everyone would view it that way.
The interior was normally configured with high-backed, lumbar-support seats and generous workstations in addition to the galley, head and sleeping quarters. For personal or pleasure trips like this, however, the workstations were moved together to form an elegant dining area and the seats repositioned into a comfortable sitting area.
“Good grief.” She gazed wide-eyed at the gleaming teak paneling and dove-gray leather. “I hope Dalton International isn’t paying for all this.”
“You’re married to DI’s chief financial officer,” Blake replied dryly. “You can trust me to maintain our personal expenses separate and distinct from corporate accounts.”
She flushed a little, either at the reminder that they’d just merged or at the unspoken reminder that she wouldn’t trust him with other, more important matters.
The pink in her cheeks deepened when they passed the open door to the sleeping quarters. A quick glance inside showed the twin beds had been repositioned into a queen-size sleeper complete with down pillows, satiny sheets and a duvet with DI’s logo embroidered in gold thread. Blake didn’t have the least doubt that Julie and Alex had put those sheets to good use every moment they weren’t in the cockpit.
Different couple, completely different circumstances. Blake and his bride wouldn’t share that wide bed. The reality of the situation didn’t block his thought of it, though. Swearing under his breath, Blake was hit with a sudden and all-too-vivid mental image of Grace stretched out with her arms raised languidly above her head, her breasts bare, her nipples turgid from his tongue and his teeth.
“I’ve got a bottle of Cristal on ice, Mr. Blake.”
He blinked away the searing image and focused on Eualdo’s weathered face.
“Shall I pour you and Ms. Grace a glass now or wait until after takeoff?”
A glance at his bride provided the answer. She had the slightly wild-eyed look of someone who was wondering just what kind of quicksand she’d stumbled into. She needed a drink or two to loosen her up. So did he. This looked to be a long flight.
* * *
It wound up lasting even longer than either Blake or the captain had anticipated. When they put down at a small commercial airstrip outside New York City to refuel, a thick, soupy fog rolled in off the Atlantic and delayed their departure for another two hours. The same front that produced the fog necessitated a more northerly route than originally planned.
By the time they gained enough altitude for Eualdo to serve dinner, Grace’s shoulders were drooping. The steward’s honey-crusted squab on a bed of wild rice and a bottle of perfectly chilled Riesling revived her enough for dessert. When darkness dropped like a stone outside the cabin windows, however, she dropped with it.
The first time her chin hit her chest, she jerked her head up and protested she was wide-awake. The second time, she gave up all attempt at pretense.
“I’m sorry.” She dragged the back of her hand across her eyes. “I shouldn’t have piled wine on top of champagne. I’m feeling the kick.”
“Altitude probably has something to do with that.”
Blake’s calm reply gave no hint of his thoughts. He’d never seduced a tipsy female, but the idea was pretty damned tempting at the moment.
“It’s been a long day. Why don’t you go to bed?”
Her glance zinged to the rear of the cabin, shot back. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Some.” He put the last of his willpower into another smile. “But Eualdo’s used to me working my way across the Atlantic.”
“On your wedding night?”
He had no trouble interpreting the question behind the question. “He’s been with Dalton International for more than a decade,” he said calmly. “You don’t need to worry about what he’ll think. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
Her glance dropped to her hands. She played with the band of diamonds, and he added getting the ring resized to his mental list of tasks to be accomplished when they returned to Oklahoma City.
“Go to bed, Grace.”
Nodding, she unhooked her seat belt. Blake’s hooded gaze followed her progress. When she disappeared inside the stateroom, he downed the dregs of his Riesling and reclined his seat back.
* * *
Well, Grace thought as she crawled between the sheets fifteen minutes later, she could imagine worse wedding nights. The social studies teacher in her had read enough ancient history to shudder at some of the barbaric marriage rites and rituals practiced in previous times.
In contrast, this night epitomized the ultimate in comfort and luxury. She was being whisked across an ocean in a private jet. She’d found every amenity she’d needed in the surprisingly spacious bathroom. The cotton sheets were so smooth and soft they felt like whipped cream against her skin. Two million stars winked outside the curved windows built into the bulwark. The only thing she needed to perfect the scene was a groom.
With a vengeance, all those play-wedding scenes she and her cousin had enacted as girls came back to haunt her. Hope’s marriage had brought her nothing but heartache and fear. Grace’s…
Oh, hell! Disgusted by her twinge of poor-me self-pity, she rolled over and thumped the pillow. She’d made her bed. She’d damned well lie in it.
Now if only she could stop with the nasty urge to march back into the main cabin and reopen negotiations. As Blake had so bluntly suggested, the sex was certainly doable. More than doable. The mere thought of his hard, muscled body stretched out beside her, his hands on her breasts, his mouth hot against hers, made the muscles low in Grace’s belly tighten.
She clenched her legs, felt the swift pull between her thighs. Need, fierce and raw, curled through her. Her breath got shorter, faster.
This was stupid! Blake was sitting just a few yards away! Two steps to the stateroom door, one signal, silent or otherwise, and he’d join her.
Sex could be enough for now, she told herself savagely. She didn’t need the shared laughter, the private smiles, the silly jokes married couples added to their storehouse of memories.
And it wasn’t as though she’d arrived at this point unprepared. Teaching high school kids repeatedly reinforced basic truths, including the fact that each individual had to take responsibility for his or her protection during sex. Grace had seen too many bright, talented students’ lives derailed by their biological urges. She wasn’t into one-night stands and hadn’t had a serious relationship in longer than she cared to admit, but she’d remained prepared, just in case.
So why not ease out of bed and take those two steps to the door? Why not give the signal? She and Blake were married, for God’s sake!
She kicked off the sheet. Rolled onto a hip. Stopped. The problem was she wanted the shared smiles and silly jokes. Needed more than casual sex.
“Dammit!”
Disgusted, she flopped down and hammered
