Page 11 of Mistletoe Missus
Mitt peered outside. “And the weather?”
Through the swirling snow, I saw a jet on the tarmac, engines running, with lights blinking on the outside. The aircraft steps opened, and men from far away moved to get everything ready. But my palms grew sweaty while searching through the squall that was close to being a white out.
“Yes. What about the storm?” I questioned nervously.
“Radar shows we are clear for takeoff. A storm is approaching, but if you don’t leave now, you won’t be leaving tonight.”
Mitt put down my purse and took off his jacket. “Here.”
He placed his warmth over my shoulders, adding an extra layer of protection against the bitter chill from outside. His woodsy scent engulfed me and clouded my better judgment, not giving me a moment more to look back on my decision and leave the way we came. I could always get a taxi back into the city and leave all of this behind me. But when Mitt’s hand took mine, I found myself running through the snowy night with him, the incoming storm nipping at our asses.
Snowflakes coated my face and made my hair damp as we boarded Mitt’s private jet. We breathed hard, close to panting, when Mitt met my eyes, and we smiled like love-sick fools at each other. He let out a deep chuckle as he wiped my face with his warm hands, and I watched snowflakes moisten, dripping down his toasty skin. His brown hair almost appeared black from the dampness it had gathered from Mother Nature whirling outside.
“Mr. Morgan, please have you and your guest find your seats. We’re preparing for takeoff,” a flight attendant said, her dark hair pinned up in a bun, and she wore a freshly pressed below-the-knee dress.
She took my oversized purse from Mitt and placed it under the seat Mitt pointed out to me—a comfortable beige lounge chair with recline seating, and he took his jacket from myshoulders. I fell into the leather as I peered out the window and couldn’t believe I was doing this. My hands fumbled with the seatbelt and Mitt helped me, locking it into place and finding his seat beside mine.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Anything for my bride,” Mitt breathed with a reassuring smile and strapped himself in.
“Good evening to my wonderful passengers, about to embark on their journey of wedded bliss. Please fasten your seatbelts because we will take off momentarily and have a four-hour flight to snowy Colorado,” the pilot spoke throughout the cabin.
The flight attendant glanced at us. Her eyes ensured all safety precautions were taken for us, and we were ready for departure. But I was quaking inside like an earthquake before a massive tsunami hit.
“We’re going to Colorado?” I shrieked.
Mitt answered with his voice sounding a million miles away. “Yes. Colorado is the only place where we can get married on such short notice.”
Had I lost my mind?
SEVEN
Blustery Takeoff
Tinsley
Gas fumes filled my nostrils as I heard the engines roar louder, and my hands gripped the armrests for dear life. My knuckles hurt and were white. My mind reeled at top speed with negative thoughts. I was about to lift off on a jet before Christmas Day with a snowstorm brewing on the plane’s ass and marry billionaire Mitt Morgan, a man I barely knew.
What was I thinking?
This was too much. I had second thoughts.Someone get me off this freaking plane!
“I can’t do this,” I mumbled repeatedly as I watched the wintery scenery move at a slow pace. “Stop the plane!”
Mitt pried my hand closest to him from the armrest and squeezed it tight. “We can do this. You can do this.”
I snapped my eyes shut. “Maybe we should wait? You know... go the old fashion route and go out on a date in New York, and not marry each other four hours away!”
My head bounced slightly against the headrest and my chest was heavy with a weight I wanted off as the pressure built, and I closed my mouth, only breathing through my flared nostrils. Gravity fought me and the strain of it pushed against my head.
Mitt chuckled softly. “It’s a little late for that now, since we are almost at a thousand feet.”
“A thousand feet!” I exclaimed and tugged on his hand. “Squeeze my hand tighter.”
“I can do better than that,” Mitt said as he let go of my hand, and I felt the shift of my seat. “Lean forward.”
I did as instructed.
