The Perfect Plans Series [Box Set] (35 page)

“It’s not much, but I call it home,” he follows my span of his flat.

“I think it’s great,” I smile at him reassuringly, crossing the room towards the art lining the shelves. “These are amazing pieces.”

“Yeah, they are. I love to travel. I always pick up something cool from every place I go.”

“It’s quite the collection.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. “Let’s get that dinner started. Well,
I’ll
get it started.
You
take a seat,” he taps one of the stools at the island. “What would you like to drink?”

Sitting down, I fold my hands on the wood block surface, the sudden touch filling me with visuals of Alex and I on my own island upstairs. I feel my cheeks flush pink, despite the secret solace of my erotic replay in my mind.

“Aby? Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Ah, sure, whatever you have would be great.”
Get a grip.
This is not the time to get lost in thoughts of Alex. Incredibly charming, sexy and thoroughly attentive—fills every sexual desire imaginable—Alex. Electric tingles charge every ounce of my body, adding to my already heat-reddened face.
Just great.
Time to camouflage my schoolgirl crush, “So, you travel a lot?”

Removing the cork from a bottle of Shiraz, he looks up. “I do,” he begins pouring the wine, “ . . . as much, and as often as I can.”

“Thank you,” I take the glass with a smile, immediately taking a sip.

“Luckily with my line of work, travel is a kick-back,” he explains, taking a drink before pulling a few bowls from the small refrigerator and placing them on the island.

“Oh? What do you do for a living?” Peering into the bowls, I note our dinner’s ingredients—chicken, red peppers and Spanish onions—all diced and ready to go.
Interesting . . . a man who plans ahead. Refreshing.

“I’m a journalist.”

Immediate coughing engulfs me, spewing red wine everywhere, spit from my lips in an attempt to recover from almost choking.
He works in the media?

“Are you okay?” he offers me a dishtowel, his face is laced with concern.

“I’m,”
cough, cough.
“ . . . fine,”
cough.
“Swallowed the wrong way.”
Holy shit!
He works in the bloody media.
“
You work for a newspaper?”

“No, not anymore. I’m actually freelancing. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good, really.” My fake reassurance seems to work as his focus returns to making dinner. “Freelance, wow. How’s that working out?”
For the love all that’s holy,
please
tell me he isn’t paparazzi.

“It’s a bitch,” he flashes a twisted grin. “But I had to take the leap. I left my job at the Chicago Tribune last year and haven’t looked back since.”

“Is that where you’re from, Chicago?”

“Yup, born and raised. I have to say, I was pretty pumped when Amira mentioned that you’re from Canada. Cheers to the Great White North,” smiling, he holds up his glass up. His smile is infectious. Clinking my glass to his, I take another sip, my momentary panic attack at bay.

Okay, so he worked for the Chicago Tribune. That’s certainly not gossipy material. It’s real, actual news, news. Right? I could simply ask him what he writes about, but let’s just play it safe and move on. However, I think I’ll leave out the fact that my boyfriend is a famous actor.
Good plan.

“So, your boyfriend travels for work as well?”

Dammit.

Caught off guard at the sudden reference to Alex, I fumble with my glass, knocking it over. “Shoot! I’m so sorry!” Grabbing the dishtowel, I attempt to soak up the red wine before it seeps into the wood block surface. “Will this stain? I’m so sorry, Andrew!”

Reaching for a roll of paper towels, he helps me, our hands brushing in the movement. Our eyes meet in a moment of awkward silence.

“Aby, it’s okay, I got it,” he smiles, taking the wine-soaked cloth gently from my hand. “I’m sorry if bringing up your boyfriend made you uncomfortable.”

Why is he saying that?
Jesus, why am I so damn easy to read lately?
“Not at all,” I lie. “I’m just clumsy.”

“Good to know,” he teases. “What about you? Are you working here in London? Or just enjoying an extended holiday?”

“Hopefully, it’s a permanent move. I started my new job last week.” Feeling much better with the twist in conversation, I relax a little.

“That’s great. Where?”

“Ashley-Fines.” From the expression on his face, he’s familiar with the company. “You’ve heard of them?”

“Oh yeah, great marketing firm. What’s the position?” he busies himself with cheese, grating it into a bowl.

“Well, coincidently, it’s a freelance position with one of the marketing divisions. I can go into the office anytime, or work from home. It couldn’t have worked out better.”

He looks up, listening intently as he prepares a tossed salad. “That sounds great. Freelance is the way to go.” Pausing to glance up once more, his lips curl into a warm grin, “Cheers to that too,” he offers, refilling my wine and raising his glass.

Smiling, I clink mine to his and take another sip. “The only problem I have right now is the daunting task of figuring out the subway system. I can’t very well spend all of my money cabbing back and forth to the office.”

“Your boyfriend won’t be driving you to work in his bad-ass car?” he asks, placing a dish of warmed tortillas on the island. “What?” he continues in my questioning silence, “A guy’s going to notice a freaking Aston Martin parked out front.” His mischievous smile is cute. Hell,
he’s
cute
.
Maybe I should find out if he’s single, Emily would certainly like to know.

“Unfortunately, he’ll be away quite a bit, so, no, I won’t get to avail of his bad-ass car every day,” I laugh.

“That’s too bad. It’s one hell of a car. Have you driven it?” He takes a seat on the stool beside me, handing me the dish of warmed shells.

Oh, I’ve driven it all right . . . I handled Alex’s stick beautifully.
“I did. Briefly.” Nonchalantly, I prepare my fajita, attempting to halt the heated visual of riding Alex
in
that bad-ass car. I absentmindedly palm my phone in my pocket wondering when I’ll hear from him.

“What’s his name anyway?” Andrews question jars my gaze. “He does have one doesn’t he? Your boyfriend?”

“Of course,” I laugh, “His name is Alex.”

“Well, if Alex doesn’t have the time to show you around the tube, I’m your guy.”

“Really? That would be great!”

“Does tomorrow work?”

“Absolutely,” I smile.

“Great, let’s do it,” he flashes his pearly whites.

This is awesome. Not only will I get a personal tour of the London Subway system, I’ll also fill another day without Alex. Things just keep getting better and better. “Cheers to my neighbor, and a great meal,” I offer up my glass.

Turning towards me with his wide grin, he raises his glass, “Cheers.”

“HE-HELLO?”

“Aby . . . ”

Leaning up a little, I frantically push my hair out of my face, holding the receiver closer to my ear. “Alex? Are you alright?”

“Yes. Sorry to wake you.”

“Don’t apologize. I was just worried, I thought something was wrong,” my breathlessness recovers.

“Other than missing you? Everything is fine,” his admittance brings an instant smile to my face. I’m overjoyed to know that he’s missing me as much as I miss him.

Taking a quick glance at the clock I note it’s three o’clock in the morning. That would make it seven at night in L.A. He must have just finished his day. Waking to the sweet timbre of his voice is something I would welcome any time—day or night. “Miss me, huh?” I tease, leaning back into the pillow.

“You have no idea. How’s night number two in your new flat?”

Taking a moment to gaze at the empty bed beside me, I reply with the most honest answer that comes to mind, “Lonely.”

“My sentiments exactly at the moment. If only you were here with me . . . ”

“What
if
I was with you . . . ?” I add a flirtatious bite to my tone. The thought of what we would be doing if we were together, alone in his hotel room, ignites my blood. I’m practically drooling, my skin perking up from the onslaught, tingling all over beneath instant goose bumps. “Tell me,” I whisper breathlessly.

His breath comes audibly through the phone, augmented noticeably upon my request. Clearly he understands what I want. If I can’t have his hands on me, I want his words. A poor substitute, but I’ll take what I can get. “If I had you here beside me in this king-size bed . . . Oh, Aby, we wouldn’t be talking, that’s a certainty.”

“What would we be doing?” I’m close to panting. I‘ve never had phone sex before. He turns me into a wildcat, doing things I never thought I’d do. The sheer anticipation quickens my pulse, heating my skin. Pushing the covers off slightly, I await his response.

“I believe the question is, Miss Ryan, what
I
would be doing.”

“What
would
you be doing?” my request is a breathless whisper. My brain is just about fried and he hasn’t even said anything exceptionally racy yet. Solely the mere thought of his magic hands leaves me wanting, anticipating. Only, they’re not his hands currently sliding over my tank top covered breasts, they’re mine.

“I’ll tell you, but I want you to do it for me. I want you to follow each and every instruction.”

I’m breathing uncontrollably at his suggestion, closing my eyes in absolute submission to his verbal demands.

“I’d slide my hands along your shoulders, curving them around your collarbone, grasping your breasts in my palms, squeezing them. Are you cupping your tits for me, Aby? Are you running your fingers along your tight nipples? Tweaking them?”

“Yes,” I admit breathlessly, twisting my nipple between my thumb and forefinger. “Alex . . . ”

“Rest the phone against your shoulder, sweetheart. I’d be using two hands.” I gasp at the sensual timbre of his reminder.

Following his instruction, I adjust myself on the pillows, resting the phone securely in the crook of my neck.

“I’d expose your nipples, bending to savor one of the pink berries, licking with the gentlest touch, my fingers teasing the other. Can you feel it, baby? Can you feel my tongue on your nipple?”

“Y-yes . . . ”

“I’m sucking your hard nipple into my mouth. Greedily. You taste so good . . . ”

“God . . . Alex . . . ”

“I’m running my hand down your stomach, into your slick panties . . . sliding my fingers through your soaked lips . . . across your clit . . . ”

My body convulses as I mimic his words, sliding my fingers through my wet folds, brushing them lightly across my engorged clit. Quaking in response, I breathe helplessly into the receiver.

“Are you with me, Aby?” he whispers. “Are you rubbing your clit for me?”

“Y-yes . . . ”

“Slide your finger inside, baby. Push it into your tight pussy, curve it slightly to push on that spot. You know which spot I’m talking about, don’t you? The one that makes you quiver?” his apt description emits a moan from my lips.

Pushing my finger inside, I do as he asks, curving it, pumping it back and forth. My hips start mimicking sex as though he’s above me, pushing his hard cock inside me. The sensations are incredible, and he’s not even here.

With my eyes closed tight, the sensual cadence of his voice transcends distance. He’s here with me. His fingers inside me. The incessant stroking, the tugging and pulling on my nipple, they are all his touch.

I can hear his harsh breaths. It’s an aphrodisiac amongst his shuffling sounds. “I can feel you stroking me, baby. Your tiny fingers wrapped around my cock as far as they can go. It feels so good. I can’t take it . . . I need to be inside you . . . ”

“Oh, God . . . ” I murmur, spreading my legs farther apart, pushing my finger inside my needy core as far as it can go.

“Open wide for me. Let me slide my cock deep . . . ”

At his words I slide another finger inside my seeping pussy, the fullness causing me to gasp. “Fuck me, Alex. Fill me . . . ” I beg, fingering myself at a steady pace, my wetness coating my fingers.

“Yes, baby. You’re so tight . . . ” he whispers through accelerated breaths. The continued shuffling sounds on the other end of the line signal his constant stroking of his cock. My lust-fueled brain evokes an image that sends my ardor higher. I’m peaked on the edge of a precipice, ready to plunge head first into climax.

“I’m going to come . . . make me come, Alex . . . ”

“Pinch your nipple for me, baby. Slide your thumb across your clit.”

He knows me so well. Following his final instructions, I fall, screaming his name through the phone. My euphoria barely registering his labored breathing on the other end of the line, his guttural groan indicating his own climax.

Remaining momentarily silent, we regain our composure, our breaths slowing with each passing moment.

“A few more days, Aby. A few more days and you’re mine.”