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And even though she's asked more than once for Timothy's tux size, I haven't yet had the courage to tell her about his dramatic fall from the Empire State Building observation deck.
"Wait. No. I'm not involved. So tell me, Kimbra..." I like using her first name. "...how long have we been dating?"
"Yes, and we'll need to stay at my parents' house. My mom wants us to share a room. She thinks if she and my dad give their permission, someday I might get married."
"Miss Jones...Kimbra, please clarify for me. Am I hearing you correctly? Your rules include sharing a room at your parents', where they want me to deflower their little girl?" My neck cranes upward as heat fills my cheeks. I try to ignore the way our hips are plastered together. "I'm not a little girl and that flower has already been picked." He pulls me even closer and winks. "Even better. Too much responsibility. Perhaps there are other flowers still available?"
"It's my cousin Scarlett's wedding. We're about the same age and she's everything I'm not." "So she's ugly and has no personality."
I smile at the thought of Scarlett and Kurt on this plane. Duncan's probably right. Bent over a couch a mile in the sky is more than likely outside my cousin’s realm. Vanilla, missionary—the way a proper woman engages in meeting her husband’s needs is probably more her style.
"Used to what? A pink canopy bed? You might not know this about me, since I've been such an awful boyfriend for the last five months, but I like pink. I have a pink canopy bed in my penthouse." I turn toward the window. “Pink curtains too. Actually, pink has always been one of my favorite colors.”
"How do you know? Have you been sneaking into my place?" “You said your favorite color was blue.” I caress her cheek and look deeply into her eyes. “It is now.”
"Judy," Helen says as she pours herself a cup of coffee, "please tell me we're not talking about your butt plug again."
Kimberly, do you think that will help you and Duncan?" Before she can answer, Helen pipes up. "Judy, not everyone likes a plug up their ass. I, myself, am more of a vibrator girl."
"Are you serious?" She shakes her head and asks me again. "Are you serious?" I kiss her nose. "You're gorgeous. Your family is hilarious. You have nothing to be embarrassed about." "Were you just there? Did you just hear my grandma talk about vibrators?" I nod. "And your mom talk about butt plugs."
"So we won't be discussing sex toys at the wedding reception? Because I have the Amazon Prime app on my phone—"
"You don't have to do this," I say. "All these sweet things." "You're right. I don't." Duncan reaches for my chin and lifts my lips. With our noses nearly touching, he says, "And I don't have to do this either...but I want to." Our lips unite.
"She entered my office and stole my breath." Helen's eyes narrow. As the lines around her eyes and lips become deeper, her cheeks rise. "I don't think that your breath is the only thing she's taken."
My gaze meets Helen's. Will she rat me out? Will she tell Kimbra how much I've truly fallen for her, that this is much more than a weekend arrangement? That this is something I've been fantasizing about for years. Well, minus the farm, sex toys, and funny-as-hell grandma.
"I believe she mentioned something about riding..." Kimbra's head moves back and forth. "Not on my parents' porch in the middle of the morning while my grandmother is..." "Brushing her teeth," I volunteer.
Duncan's eyebrows move up and down. "So I was thinking, would you like to brush your teeth?" My forehead tips to his shoulder. "Stop. I'll never be able to use my electric toothbrush again." "Well, we could go straight for the toys. I do have Amazon Prime."
I close my eyes and see the image I've been seeing all night, the one of Kimbra in a wedding dress. Each time I see it, the visualization is more complete. Now it's not just her, but the same little church, Oscar walking beside her. I can't understand why it won't go away. I shouldn't be the one seeing it, because no way in hell am I the man at the end of the aisle.
Buckling my seatbelt causes the alarm to stop. I reach for her hand. "Talk to me. I'm sorry. You're not a bitch, but you're being cold and I don't know why. Tell me what I did."
And for the record, I wasn't one of those eight-year-old breastfeeders like that kid on Game of Thrones. I don't remember it, but I do love breasts. There may be a connection. Anyway, my mom and I have dinner every Monday night, ever since I went away to college."
"One more thing, Miss Jones." My pulse quickens at his warm cinnamon breath on my neck. "Yes?" "No brushing your teeth. That's my job."
"And," I admit, "it was everything. Everything I've never wanted."
"We left our flowers on the plane,” he says, peering around the large bouquet in his hands. “And after four days of earning flowers, including our first flight...and your induction…the walk in the woods...Grandma Helen...I didn't want you to forget."
Maybe next Monday you can join us? But first, I thought maybe I could bring you the flowers and…” He wraps his arm around my waist. “…fuck, Kimbra. If you must hear me say it, I wanted a reason to come back to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, the weekend, and the future.”
"Really?" I ask amazed. "But you knew when I said we would be away that it would mean sleeping." "And I seized the opportunity." I run my hand over his chest. "And you're asking me to your place? You do realize that will make night five." "Yes, my math skills are rather impressive. I know that four plus-one is five. And if you add another plus-one, it will be six. Would you like me to continue?"
special.” “It is,” she says with a chaste kiss. “Now show me around. This place is huge. I can’t wait to see your pink room.” “My pink room?” I ask, wondering what she means. “Is that like a red room toned down?”
"Remember the striptease you did for me?" "Yes." "I think I'd enjoy watching you brush your teeth." "There's a problem. I didn't bring it. Earlier today I was specifically told not to use it." "Who would demand something so personal as poor oral hygiene?"
“You trusted me with the real you. I want to trust you with the real me.”
"No more professionalism, Miss Jones. If I don't have your hand in mine, I need to be touching you in some way. Prepare to be manhandled—by one man—for the rest of the night." "Is that part of the Duncan Willis royal treatment?"
"Kimbra, I don't know what you've done to me, what spending this last weekend with you has done, but whatever it is, it's not pretend. Honestly, it's not even fantasy. I could never have created fantasies that would live up to the real you.”
"A half hour," I whisper as we get into the car. Duncan nods as he speaks to Pierce, "Drop us off near the entrance on Fifty-ninth and be back in thirty minutes." "Thirty, sir?" He's probably thinking that's crazy. Duncan's gaze catches mine. I nod. "Thirty," Duncan repeats. "There's a chance of rain," I offer. "Yes, ma'am." "Oh," Duncan whispers. "I like you wet."
Our eyes meet again in the reflection. “You’re mine.” “Yes.” His warm breath is on my neck. “And if you’ll have me, I’m all yours.”
