Page 9 of Wild for You
“Well, my favorite animal is a wombat … and I liked the idea of using alliteration in my name, so Wombat Willy just kind of worked? What does my name have to do with anything?” His puzzled expression is so sexy, the way his brows are pulled up like he’s trying to solve a problem.
“Your name could’ve at least given me a semblance of an idea of who I was actually fucking in the janitor's closet!” I scream. The father of the family of five shoots daggers at me and pulls his small children toward him. I try to smile through clenched teeth as I wave an apology. I suppose it’s not common decency to shout obscenities at five in the morning in an air terminal, but I’m beside myself with this news.
I plop down and throw my head between my knees as I work through my panic.
Ok, Gwen, maybe you accidentally slept with your client last night. Do the rules really count when it’s not done on purpose? Surely not. Besides, this doesn’t mean this whole promotion is doomed. You can do this. You’re just two professionals on a work trip together, and the past is in the past.
I shake my fist at the sky because although Jack seems to think this is some kind of fucking Hallmark-movie-kismet-shit, this is actually my worst nightmare come true.
“I’m confused. What’s the problem exactly? The way I see it is, we’ve already established we’ve got an amazing sexual connection, and now we’re being paid to go off to one of the most exciting and romantic places on the earth together. We’ll explore the great outdoors, hump it out, and get paid while we do it? This is the best news I’ve heard since our last World Cup win.” He places his large hand on my shoulder to comfort me, sending a rush of chills down my arm.
“Nope. That’s not going to happen!” I shrug him off and cross my fingers in an X in front of my face. “I’m sorry, Jack, but even the best sex of my life will always come second to my career. This is a non-negotiable for me.” I extend my hand for a shake. “From here on out, this will be strictly a platonic working relationship. Please forget how my vagina smells, tastes, and feels because, from now on, it's off-limits.” I set my shoulders and pull my bag toward me as they announce our plane is ready to board.
“Well, now that you put it like that … I guess I do like a bit of a challenge.” Jack rubs his beard, reminding me of just how amazing that beard felt pressed between my thighs.
“Nope, not a challenge. Just a hard limit. This cannot happen. You know, on second thought, maybe I should just call Sandra and ask her to send someone else—”
“No! Don’t do that. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. I really need this sponsorship. Without your help, I’ll have to hang up my camera gear for good. I know you’re scared, but once my manager found out they were sending you, the guy finally unclenched his jaw for the first time in a week. He said he’s heard nothing but good things about you, and you may just be my only shot at spinning this shit show.”
He extends his hand in a truce, “I solemnly swear to keep my hands to myself until you tell me otherwise.”
I stare at his hand, pondering all my options. It appears that Jack Manning knows exactly what to say to get his way, punching me right where it hurts, my ego. I take his hand reluctantly and give it a firm shake. “Ok. You’ve got yourself a deal, but no funny business. I’m a woman of my word, and nothing gets in my way when it comes to my career. I’ve given up a hell of a lot more, and I don’t intend on screwing things up just because some wild man came along and made me forget who I was for one night.” I give his hand one final squeeze, using every bit of strength I can muster.
“Ah, shit, ok, She-Hulk. That’s my flying hand.” He shakes his hand out, and I stifle a laugh. “I’ll see you in a few.” When he turns to leave, he glances back over his shoulder, “Oh, Gwenny, I don’t think I’m the one you’ll have to worry about. We’ll see if you can keep your hands offmeafter seeing these babies in action.” He holds up his hands and wiggles his fingers, and I swear my panties spontaneously combust at the motion.
I collapse into my chair and throw my arm over my eyes. How will I spend two whole weeks in paradise with Tarzan and not let him ravage me like his own personal Jane?
Shit, this is going to be harder than I thought.
* * *
Jack’s plane—ifwe’re really going to call it that—is a measly four-seater that looks like an old Chevy someone repaired in a garage with their grandfather. It’s mostly white, with a few rust spots that he’s cleverly tried to hide with hand-painted images of busty women. Really, the paintings look more like something you’d find in a cave illustrated by the first man … He made sure to get the parts anatomically correct anyway, and it appears Jack Manning is a boob guy if I had to make a wild guess based on the name of the plane—Betty White, The Tits of the Sky. I roll my eyes at the pun. Let’s just hope his flying is better than his sense of humor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him attempt to polish a rust spot. After a moment, he spits on the hem of his shirt and throws a little more elbow grease into it. “That’a girl, I can’t have you dingy-looking. We’ve got company today.”
A large raindrop lands on my forehead, rolling down my face, and I look up at the dark gray sky. “Cute, you talk to your plane.” Another raindrop falls, and slowly, they turn into a constant stream. “Uh, Jack, do you think we should wait until the weather clears up?” I point to the rust spot he failed to remove with his spit-shine attempt, “Are you sure it, er … She,” I clarify, “can hold up in this storm?”
“I don’t call her Betty White for nothin’. She’s survived a hell of a lot more than this. Trust me. Besides, it’s just a little shower. Once we get above the cloud level, it’ll be smooth-sailing.” He winks. “Hey, if you want, I could even let you take the reins for a few hours once we're up there.” He yawns, stretching his arms above his head. “You know, I was pretty keyed up last night, didn’t get a lot of sleep.”
I swallow a gulp, and a lump forms in my throat. I like to think of myself as fearless, I’m a go-getter in the office and even in the bedroom, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared shitless right now.
My hands begin to tremble, so I clench my fists to mask the movement and purse my lips tightly. “Jack, if you think you’re going to try some of that Johnny Knoxville shit while you have me thousands of miles in the air during a tropical storm, you don’t know who you’re messing with.” I fling the creaky door open and climb into the passenger seat, “Let’s just get this over with. The sooner we get to Costa Rica, the sooner I can get drunk on the beach. We’ll start working on repairing your image first thing tomorrow morning.”
Jack throws his head back and laughs, running around the other side of the plane to climb in. His long legs make it look easy. “Baby Spice—I mean, Gwen.” He corrects himself. “I’m sensing some nervous energy.” He gestures to me as I fight to put the seat belt on with my shaking hands. “Here.” He takes the belt from me and clips it with ease. When his hand brushes against mine, it sends a tingle up my spine. Then he pulls the strap tight, pinning me comfortably into my seat, and I sigh in relief. My body feels like I’m engaging in some sort of game of chicken, but with sexual tension, and all he did was buckle my seatbelt.
This will be a long two weeks.
Jack grabs his headset and places a spare on my head before I can stop him. “You look sexy as hell in that. It’s going to take every ounce of strength I have to keep my eyes off you through this whole flight.”
My cheeks heat in arousal before I remind myself that Jack is a client. I shake the feeling away and focus on the raindrops beating down harder and harder. My stomach turns, and I reach for my emergency anxiety meds. I’m usually able to work out my frustration with sex or spin class, so I haven’t ever had to take them.
I throw my head back and swallow a pill. There, in just a few minutes, I’ll be cool, calm, and collected. Maybe I’ll even start to build his profile on the way.
Jack fiddles with knobs and buttons, checking safety features, and I’m thankful he at leastseemsto be halfway competent.
“You all set, sweet cheeks?”
We begin to move forward, and I close my eyes, digging my fingernails into the side of my legs and waiting for the pill to kick in.
