She had to admit to being a bit disgusted as she glanced surreptitiously over at Jackson. He didn’t appear as if he’d slept in his clothes. No. He looked just as good as when she’d met him in the Paris terminal. He’d even managed to shave while she’d been away from her seat, working fruitlessly on her own appearance.
He had on a new shirt, and he didn’t seem in the least affected by their sex play. It seemed she was the only one still thinking about it. If only she could act as if he hadn’t had his fingers inside her body less than thirty minutes ago.
With the clock ticking down, she stubbornly refused to say a word. If he wanted to pretend they hadn’t spoken for hours on end, that they hadn’t nearly made love, that they hadn’t had an almost magical encounter, she would follow his lead.
When an hour later the plane began its descent into JFK, her nerves sputtered and sparked. Would he even say good-bye?
This distance he’d suddenly placed between them confused her. Heck, she confused herself. Maybe he was disgusted with her, thought she was too easy. She herself wasn’t exactly happy with what she’d allowed him to do. And now she felt lost as they approached the landing strip.
When the wheels touched down, her heart sank. The flight was over. It was time she accepted that Jackson had merely found a way to entertain himself on their trip. She’d been the show and the encore. That he hadn’t “gotten off” didn’t matter. Maybe it had been on his bucket list to make a woman fall apart on an airplane. Well, he could certainly put a checkmark on that one.
It wasn’t just their make-out session that was making her feel so dismal all of a sudden. It was because of the hours they’d spoken, the way he’d listened to her, the things he’d shared—now all gone.
She’d fallen almost instantly under his spell, and she hadn’t quite figured out how to pull herself away from it. Trying to decide whether she should bid him farewell—Live long and prosper—Alyssa was shocked when he turned toward her with gleaming eyes.
JACKSON MIGHT HAVE appeared to be reading the document on his laptop, but he’d been staring blankly at the same line since Alyssa returned to her seat. It was déjà vu all over again—since he’d met her in the terminal at Charles de Gaulle, he hadn’t gotten a lick of work done. And what was with this sudden, uncharacteristic indecisiveness?
As the plane touched down, he was completely at a loss. All he knew for sure was that he didn’t want the journey to end quite yet. He needed to spend the rest of the night with this woman, and he didn’t care what it would take to get her to agree to it. He was just unsure of what to say next—almost a first for him.
Jackson Whitman was always sure of what to say. Until today.
This fascination he had with her should have been setting off all sorts of alarms in his brain, but he chose to ignore his instincts. He needed to finish what they’d started, right? This wouldn’t be anything more than a night of great sex. He wouldn’t lie to her, wouldn’t fill her mind with visions of happily ever after; that would be despicable. He’d be straight with her and tell her again that they weren’t finished. He’d leave off the yet, though—no need to be too blunt.
Jackson normally chose women who knew the score, who wanted what he wanted. Occasionally, he’d run into a woman who angled for more than a night, but he was quick to put the kibosh on that.
He was good to the women he bedded; even those who pushed for more didn’t complain when the night was over. Sure, most, if not all, would have wanted him for at least a few more nights, but he was strictly a one-night kind of guy. That way feelings never had a chance to get involved.
He’d already shared too much with Alyssa, which should have been the ultimate red flag—but for some reason he found himself not caring.
“I have a room for the night.”
“What?” Understandable that she’d be startled, since he hadn’t spoken to her since their earlier make-out session.
“I want you to spend the night with me.” He couldn’t be clearer than that.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, her hand tangling in her hair.
His fingers joined hers as he tugged her closer and kissed her, short and sweet, enough to deepen her breathing. “I think it’s an excellent idea,” he said, not allowing her to look away.
“I don’t normally do what we were doing . . .” Her cheeks flamed as she admitted this.
He should stop now. He knew he wouldn’t, though.
“Come with me, Alyssa. I promise you won’t regret it,” he said, using his most persuasive voice.
“What time is it?” she asked.
That threw him off track. What did the time matter? Glancing at his phone, he looked back up. “Eight in the evening. We’re early.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve.”
“What does that matter?” He was confused.
“We’re in New York City on New Year’s Eve. I’m going to Times Square.” Her tone of voice told him that he could take it or leave it. She hadn’t said whether she would go with him to the hotel room, but he was more than happy he’d reserved the penthouse suite at the W Hotel, right on the square.
“That’s where the room is. Anyway, there’s no way you could get into Times Square at this hour, even if you wanted to—they closed it off early this afternoon. If you want to see the ball drop, your only option is a room with a view . . . and my view is excellent.”
Her eyes widened, and still she said nothing, which was making him practically twitch. When she was silent as he helped her gather her carry-on and the two of them stepped from the plane, he would have killed to know her thoughts.
“I’ve missed my connecting flight, but I really should see if there’s another one tonight,” she finally said, making his heart thud. She left him standing there as she went to a ticketing agent.
When she came back, she sported a smile on her face. “No flights tonight, and not even a fee for the rebooking. I don’t leave till tomorrow morning.” With that, she picked her bag back up and began heading toward the exit.
“Do you have bags?” he asked.
“Yes.” Without further words, they went to baggage claim. He wanted to demand to know her answer about the hotel room, but he wouldn’t beg, so he stood impatiently by her side as the baggage carousel turned.
It was another hour before they managed to get the bags through customs, and neither said a word the entire time. All he wanted to do was get her into his bed. He couldn’t possibly make small talk. Not with what he had planned for her this beautiful New Year’s.