“You deserve this, Maria,” I reassure her. “You deserve to enjoy a few days in the Bahamas.”
“Wait…you’re taking me to the Bahamas?”
I nod.
“The Bahamas. Right now?”
“Is that okay with you?”
“Um…yes,” she says, and her beaming smile shows she’s finally come to terms with the truth that she does deserve this, with a little help from the vision of conch, aqua water, and white sand dancing through her head. “Holy hell! You’re insane, but yeah, okay! Count me in! Let’s go relax in the Bahamas!” she squeals and jumps into my arms.
“And have sex, too. Lots of sex,” I add and punctuate that statement by squeezing her ass. “Lots and lots and lots of sex.”
She giggles. “How long have you had this planned, crazy man?”
“For about two weeks now.”
“You’ve hidden this from me for two whole weeks?” she questions, shocked I’ve managed to pull this off without her knowing.
“Let me tell you, it was no easy feat.” I wink. “But we only have about an hour to get to the airport, so you’re going to have to move your sexy ass. Our bags are packed. All you need to do is change into whatever you feel like wearing for our flight.”
She doesn’t hesitate to jump into action.
“I can’t believe we’re going to the Bahamas. Right now! For the first time in my life, I’m happy I didn’t ruin a surprise!” Maria dances down the hallway, and I stand there, watching her, smiling like a loon—smiling like a man who’s in love.
Maria
“You seriously got us a private jet,” I repeat what I’ve said at least ten times since we arrived at Teterboro Airport and didn’t have to go through security or deal with any of the other annoying shit that comes with flying commercial.
Rem just smiles, having tired slightly from answering the same question three or four times ago, and continues the process of putting our carry-on bags in the fancy little closet in the front.
I walk around the cabin, taking in the luxury cream leather seating, the champagne on ice, the charcuterie display of fruits and nuts and cheese and crackers and meats. I even check out the back area where a bedroom with pretty white linens and a bathroom with an actual shower reside.
I’ve never flown private. Not once in my entire life.
My sister Isabella, on the other hand? Well, she loved flying private. She and Oliver flew private often, and now I’m understanding why.
“Champagne?” a flight attendant with red hair and a name tag that reads Susan asks with a friendly smile. She holds out a glass, and I take it…because apparently that’s what you do on private jets. You drink fancy champagne.
“Thank you.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Winslow, if you want to start getting in your seats, we’ll be taking off shortly.”
Mr. and Mrs. Winslow? I probably shouldn’t like the way that sounds so much.
“Uh…I’m not—” I start to stay, but Remy cuts me off by pulling me down onto his lap. Champagne sloshes out of my glass, and I squeal.
“Rem!”
He just laughs like a man without a fucking care in the world, and damn, I love the sound of it.
“You know what I think?” he asks quietly into my ear, and I turn my head to meet his eyes. “I think I’m going to find a way to keep us fused together for this entire trip.”
“Did you recently buy stock in super glue?”
“Not that kind of fused, babe,” he comments and presses a kiss to the shell of my ear. “My cock inside you at all times kind of fused.”
Oh boy.
“You trying to con me into a Mile High Club situation?” I question with a quirk of my brow, but he just shakes his head.
“Mile High Club initiation usually involves bathrooms, and that’s not our style right now.”
“We’re too good for the giant bathroom on this jet?”
“Not too good.” He shakes his head again. “Too dirty.”
Wait…what?
I start to open my mouth to request that he elaborate on that statement, but he distracts me completely by grabbing a blanket from the back of the leather chair beside us and placing it over our legs.
And then he slides his hand up my bare thigh, under my dress, and his pesky fingers proceed to slide my panties to the side. His finger is inside me before I can even realize what’s happening.
I clench around him—the feel too shocking and too good at the same time—and search his eyes. “Remy,” I whisper. “What are you doing?”