Perfect Timing (38 page)

“Actually, I do. Someday, I’ll tell you how the son of a bitch nearly killed me.” And in his face she saw something that assured her it had cost more than it was worth. “Seems our mutual misconceptions go both ways.” He picked up the drink, downing it like it was ninety proof. “Care to guess what your wedding-night performance cost me in therapy?”

It drew a bug-eyed stare. “But that’s not what happened.”

“For years I told myself that letting you go was the right thing. Knowing that you were safe, that you’d made some kind of peace with your father was my only consolation.” Aidan sat on the sofa, Isabel sitting in the leather chair across from him. An old ease sat down with them. “But the second I walked into your office, every doubt, every question, even the ones I had no answer for went away.”

Henry returned, informing them that they were prepared for takeoff. The dampness of her clothes had turned to a chill and Isabel wrapped her arms tight. Aidan got up and retrieved a blanket, attempting to drape it around her. She flinched. It was as unexpected to him as it was to her. Being in a room with Aidan and physical contact, they were such different things. He handed it to her, despondently turning away. Maybe it was sensory overload. She couldn’t take anything else in. “It can’t be that simple, Aidan. We’re not the same people we were in Catswallow. Even then, I was never
one of them
 . . . your girlfriend.”

“Actually, Isabel, I think that’s the reason it’s lasted,” he said as the cabin lights dimmed. “In case you never noticed, my track record with girlfriends pretty much sucks.” There was a hum of agreement as she wrapped the blanket tight. “And maybe you never have been my girlfriend, but you’re the only woman I’ve ever really wanted to be my wife.”

The frown curved upward, Isabel spinning in the chair to face the window. The plane rose against a black sky, rain trickling across the glass. She could feel Aidan’s eyes on her. As the lightning flashed she saw his reflection in the pane. His grim face was more ominous than the storm. She turned and he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers locked together.

“I meant what I said to Fitz. If I had to choose, I’d choose you. I told you that on our wedding night.” He was quiet, the moment drifting to one of those endless pauses she hated. He put a fine point on things by pulling a thin gold band from his pocket, placing it on the table between them. The sight of it drew a shaky breath from Isabel, and she watched it seep solidly into him. “Once we get where we’re going, I don’t need to leave again. Sony doesn’t have that contract yet. One phone call to Patrick and I’ll happily retire, take up fly fishing, maybe woodworking.” Isabel inched back, her head cocking. “Okay, so I’ll have to work on a hobby list. But my point is the same as it was back in Vegas. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep us together.” He hesitated, all of him so serious she didn’t dare interrupt. “But here’s the thing. When you factor out the smoke and mirrors, it seems to me that I’m the one who’s known exactly what he’s wanted—how much and for how long. You, on the other hand, have made a spectator sport out of running away from me. You have to believe in us, Isabel, as much as I do or it’s never going to work. It
is
that simple.” He got up and disappeared through a galley into another room.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

O
KAY, SO WHEN DID HE BECOME SUCH A WELL-ROUNDED, INSIGHTFUL
individual?
Curling tight in the chair, Isabel pulled the blanket to her chin, staring at the ring. She should grab it, because if this were a merry-go-round, it would be brass. But things were always easier to handle when Aidan was romantically out of her reach. She didn’t touch it. It had the luster of a dream; it wasn’t supposed to come to life. How could he ever live up to it? How could she? Nuzzling into the blanket she closed her eyes, trying to imagine what might happen if she let go of gravity.

Minutes passed as the plane bumped and shimmied, Isabel sensing that gravity had become a pertinent issue. The turbulence swelled, leaving her to wonder if a Gulfstream was as safe as a Learjet. Did Aidan do the research, or did the plane just catch his eye? They bounced around more like high seas than rough air. The lightning seemed remarkably close. Isabel looked behind her; Henry wasn’t anywhere. Maybe he’d gone for the parachutes. Ignoring standard safety rules, Isabel unbuckled the seat belt and stood, the next bump putting her right back in the chair. She stood again with a single thought in mind:
If they were going down, if this was it, Aidan wasn’t getting the last word.
But as Isabel shuffled forward, negotiating the unsteady cabin, the ring caught her eye. It moved in the wake of the turbulence, vibrating fast to the table’s edge. Instinctively, she dropped to her knees and caught the ring, her hand closing tight around it. Her fist turned palm up, her fingers slowly unfurling. The token band of metal, it wasn’t even a Cracker Jack prize in Aidan’s wild world—yet he’d hung on to it as if it were his greatest treasure. Her fingertips brushed over it, realizing what it meant to him. Clear enough. But what did the ring mean to her?

Sure she was angry with Aidan; who wouldn’t be after the stunt he’d pulled at the radio station? Although his motive wasn’t nearly as indulgent as she’d initially assumed. A breath stuttered out; it all but crushed her to absorb the ingrained reasons Aidan had stayed away for so long. The plane shimmied harder. Isabel’s fist closed around the ring, drawing it tight to her body where it would be safe. Now that she had it back, the thought of losing it was inconceivable. It belonged to her.
He belonged to her.
There had been a life and goals and another lover, all of it within her reach. In theory, in conversation, in fact, it was a noble ending. But none of it made her quite whole, because none of it included Aidan. Fighting the uneven air on which the moment balanced, Isabel stood steady and tucked the ring in her pocket.

Making her way through the galley, she found Henry engrossed in a romance novel. She recognized the title. He appeared oblivious to the rough ride. “Um, it has a good ending. When he wakes up from the coma, they live happily ever after.”

He smiled and nodded. “Is there something I can get for you, Mrs.—Isabel?”

“No, I’m good,” she said, gripping the cabinetry. They traded awkward glances. While Isabel felt compelled to offer some explanation for what she wanted, he didn’t seem to be waiting for one. “Well, I just wanted to know . . .”

“Yes?” he said, closing the book.

Her hand brushed over her pocket. “Aidan. He’s in there?”

He smiled again. “You know, the pilots might like that cup of tea. I’ll be in the forward cabin for the rest of the flight.” He unbuckled his seat belt and disappeared into the front section of the plane.

On her left was a bathroom. Isabel made a cursory stop, checking the damage. It wasn’t so bad. The mascara hadn’t smeared. It was just gone. In fact, most of her makeup had washed away as wavy damp hair fell around her shoulders. Fingertips rose to her reflection. Misty green eyes, a nose that denoted character, and a resemblance she’d have forever. Happy with the image, it was certainly more confident than years ago. Maybe, all along, this was what Aidan saw.

Opening the door, she was surprised to find a bedroom. Sitting in the middle of the bed was Aidan, plucking at a guitar. He’d changed out of the suit pants, wearing a worn pair of jeans. That much was a familiar sight. A television flickered from behind her, the sound muted. Aside from the shuddering, she could forget they were on an airplane. But what she couldn’t overlook, what she didn’t want to forget was the fantastic flutter in her belly. Only Aidan could coax such an acute vulnerability to the surface.

“Turbulence bothering you?” he asked, looking up.

“How’d you know?”

“I know you. It’s beyond your control.”

“Aidan—” She hesitated. “The turbulence isn’t the only thing throwing me off balance.”

He put the guitar aside, folding his arms. “If you mean us, I can’t help that, Isabel. I don’t want to.”

He wasn’t going to make this easy. Why should he? After what she’d put him through back in Vegas, he had a right to some assurances. He had a right to be angrier than she was over any radio station buyout. “Aidan, I . . . On our wedding night, what I made you believe, it had nothing to do with anything that was in my head.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning . . .” She stopped, having trouble linking the intimate emotions with simple words. It was overwhelming. “Meaning it was incredible, that I never wanted anything more in my life.” Silence was all she got in return, the same look she’d give him when demanding alternative behavior. “Meaning I’ve never felt that way—not with anyone.” It was more than he wished to know, the fact diverting his glance as his own vulnerability surfaced. In the small space she took big steps, knees pressed to the bed. “Meaning I thought about what you said. I considered everything you did—why you did it.”

“And?” he said, looking back at her.

“And I’d give anything for you to make me feel that way again.” He didn’t move. It was agony, perhaps a bit of payback, making her wait for a reply. He still didn’t speak. Instead, he got out of the bed and circled her. Isabel didn’t turn, Aidan standing behind her. His voice was soft. Isabel was certain that her heart was pounding decibels louder—an unspoken code she thought was long lost.

“You understand that this is an even playing field. That you won’t be in control.”

His hand touched her waist and her eyes closed tight. “I appreciate the control part, but I don’t know about an even playing field.” As much as she wanted this, a tiny piece of Isabel made itself known, not wanting to give in to those fragile feelings.

“I can’t help that either.” His hand pushed her hair over one shoulder. “I don’t want to.” For a moment there was nothing—nothing but Aidan, which in the past was too much. But a more mature instinct also seemed present. It made Isabel want more. He accommodated and she felt the dress’s zipper slide. There was cool recycled air, the wild warmth of Aidan’s mouth making contact with her bare back. She drew a long shaky breath that he had to feel. She knew he did, pulling her tight to him, almost holding her up. “Your choice, Isabel. But if you turn, game over.” She considered the tight proximity, if she could get to the door before he got to her. Of course, they were on an airplane. Where would she go? Perhaps that was part of his plan. Her head tilted back, eyes closed tight as his mouth met with her neck. The kisses were soft and safe, a sharp contrast to his hands, which moved with more obvious intent—across her stomach, over her breasts. If she wanted this, she had to trust him. She stood straight, the less passionate motion causing Aidan’s hands to drop. She hesitated. He waited. Slowly, Isabel chose to turn, high heels bringing them as close to even as they were going to get.

“I surrender,” she said, a soft shrug to her shoulder.

He was done with boundaries, capturing her with a singular kiss, Isabel’s response a reflex. With his arms fast around her, there was husky confession from Aidan, “Do you have any idea how fucking great you kiss?” The abrupt assertion was warm and rattling, Isabel thinking,
Ditto,
but unable to find her voice. “I’ve wanted to say that since I stole a Jolly Rancher right out of your mouth.” The long-overdue information caused her gaze to dip. It passed by the open button on his jeans before settling on his bare feet. “No,” he said, “look at me.” She obeyed. “Don’t stop looking at me.” Her only response was the sharp bob to her throat. In any other situation, disrobing from the damp dress would have proved an awkward act. But Aidan unwrapped her like that prize piece of candy, all of her crinkling with anticipation. It was a submissive visual that heightened vulnerability, weakening any control. And perhaps, she thought she even liked it. He kissed her again, Isabel’s fingers gathering fists full of the cotton shirt he wore. Aidan reached up, undoing her grip. “No again.” She blinked at his insistent tone. “I don’t want anything between us, Isabel. Nothing to hang on to but me.” Quickly unbuttoning one more button, he dragged the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. For a moment she didn’t know what to do with her hands. “And remember what I said.” Her wandering gaze made up for the nervous flutter that her hands wanted to express. An edgy glance locked on his, recalling the instruction. Solid eye contact put her at ease, her hands finding their place, touching him. Aidan kissed her again, Isabel reaching hungrily for another. He didn’t oblige, moving a half step back. Apparently, the rule regarding focus did not apply to him as Aidan’s eyes moved decidedly down her body. She hung onto a thin veneer of control, allowing him to look. “When, um . . . when did you start wearing thigh-high fishnets and lacy black bras?” There was a fluster in his voice, telling Isabel that he was as affected as her.

“Tonight,” she answered. “I guess I wanted to look the part.”

“It’s, um, beautiful,” he gulped. His eyes jerked back to hers. “But you own the part—no special wardrobe required.” From there a slow fire began to smolder, Aidan offering the kisses he’d withheld. She kissed him back, their mouths meeting a rhythm they’d only flirted with before. With perfect timing, he unhooked her bra as Isabel reached for the zipper on his jeans. She kicked off the heels, the two of them landing on the bed where almost nothing was between them but a pair of thigh-high fishnets.

“Do you want me to take the stock—”

“On,” he insisted, his mouth and hands traveling south, peeling off her underwear, “just leave them fucking on.” The combination of curse word and hard order pulsed through Isabel, letting the last bits of control fade. Small kisses rocked between stocking and skin as his hands, slightly more anxious, pushed her legs apart. His fingers found their way inside her. Isabel gasped at an onslaught of sensations, his mouth meeting with an even more sensitive spot. She’d never experienced such a stirring, everything she felt for him marrying with this one decadent act. Her body pressed harder toward him, wanting to lasso the feeling. It reached a pinnacle, his tongue moving with precise fiery strokes. It told her to let go, that perhaps walking around in such a state would prove counterproductive. At the second Aidan intended, it crushed around her, sending Isabel miles outside her comfort zone. She wanted to reach for him, unable to determine up from down, much less a moving target. Moments later, Aidan rose over her. A wider than usual grin was anchored to his face. “Good to know.”

“What’s that?” she asked, her voice ragged, her stomach rising and falling, breathless, the lone participant in an Aidan Royce marathon.

“It’s clear that money and fame aren’t going to hold your attention. I think I may have stumbled on something that will.”

“A definite possibility,” she said, giggling at his discovery. “If we weren’t already married, I’d demand it in a prenup.”

“Well, wouldn’t the lawyers have had fun with that?”

With an unexpected burst of energy she caught him off guard, pushing against his shoulders, Aidan finding himself flat on the bed. It wasn’t control but the desire to return the erotic spell—well, perhaps a little control. Lingering kisses made their way from the split of the snake’s tongue, dipping past its painted coiled bottom and across Aidan’s smooth chest. At first he seemed all for it, Isabel arriving to the point where even the edge of European-cut briefs would be challenged. But as she settled in at his waist, he stopped her, pulling Isabel back to him.

“Not this time,” he said, though a wavering voice disagreed.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s something else I’d rather you did for me. Something a little wicked.” He hesitated before asking, “How do you feel about fantasies?”

“Fantasies?” she said, her own voice vacillating. “Um, sure. I don’t know much about that sort of . . .
thing
, only bits of Mary Louise’s phone conversations with Joe. Stuff you don’t really want to hear but do . . .” The rambling stopped as her gaze flitted about, looking for battery-required paraphernalia, perhaps an out-of-place riding crop. Mary Louise, who wouldn’t know a stallion from a mule, mentioned those a lot.

His own glance followed hers around the room, a mischievous smile settling on Isabel. She recognized the look. He’d thoroughly rattled her and he was enjoying it. Propping himself on an elbow, Aidan’s expression darkened as his mood turned tawdry. She braced for impact, reminding herself that his experiences covered the gamut while hers covered . . . well, Rhode Island. “What I want,” he said, his tone pure demand, his forehead bumping against hers, “more than anything, Isabel, is our wedding night.”