She grabbed his hand as soon as he was seated. “Takeoffs always makes me nervous.”
So, he sat stiffly next to her until they were in the air. For two people who had never touched, they were certainly making up for lost time today. He was surprised she had even booked their seats together.
As soon as he could, he stood to get his laptop, intent on putting some distance between them, even if it was only mentally. But as he tried to study some spreadsheets, he felt her eyes on him as if they were burning into him. He tried his best to ignore it until she said, “You’re so hot. Really. Even when you’re being an asshole, which is most of the time, you still rock those suits.”
His head jerked toward hers, his mouth falling open in surprise. Still she kept on as if discussing the weather. “We’ve all talked about it and agreed. You are completely fuckable until you open your mouth.” Her last sentence seemed to echo around them within the small confines of the airplane. He quickly looked around to see if anyone had overheard her. The lady across the aisle flashed him a disapproving look.
Turning back to Emma, he cleared his throat and asked, “I . . . um . . . thanks, I guess. I rather hate to ask this, but who is ‘we’?”
She put her hand up in front of him and started counting on her fingers.
“Beth, Ella, Claire and Suzy.” Hell, this was worse than he thought. Why would they be discussing him? Sure, maybe it was a little bit of an ego boost to be considered fuckable—at least until he considered the part about him opening his mouth. As he was floundering for a reply, she put her hand on his thigh and his thoughts scattered all to hell. “I need to go pee; can you help me?”
Fuck! Just when he thought things couldn’t get more uncomfortable. “Emma . . . I don’t . . . Er, can’t you hold it? I don’t think it’s a great idea for you to be up walking around.”
When she cupped herself like a child, he felt himself go light-headed. “I can’t wait. I’ll hold your hand, I promise.”
Of course, the damn bathroom was several rows away. He didn’t relish the thought of her wobbling around, but he could also live without being peed on.
On a loud sigh of resignation, he unbuckled his seat belt and then turned to do hers as well. He extended a hand to her as he stood, pulling her gently into the aisle in front of him. When she stood there looking around in confusion, he put a hand on either side of her hips and pushed her gently down the aisle. She stopped once to compliment a woman on her shirt and another time to introduce herself to a small boy who was playing with a plastic car. When he finally got her to the restroom door, he opened it and pushed her forward.
Then he stood outside the door for what seemed like an hour before he heard a crash inside. Alarmed, he knocked on the door, “Emma, are you all right?” No answer, so he called her name twice more. When she didn’t answer, he was at a loss.
He couldn’t just leave her in there. The door lock showed green, meaning that she hadn’t locked it. “Emma, if you don’t answer, I’m coming in there.” This time he heard her say what sounded like “help.” That was all he needed. He opened the door and gaped at the sight. Emma was bent over the toilet with no shirt on. His eyes almost popped out of his head as he caught sight of her breasts pushing against the fabric of her lacy black bra. “What the . . .”
He finally took his eyes off her chest long enough to notice her trying to pull something that looked like her shirt from the toilet. “Help me! I took my shirt off to wash a stain out of it, and I accidentally dropped it in the toilet. I don’t know what happened, but it started flushing and now it’s trying to eat my shirt!”
“Emma . . . drop the shirt.”
She jerked up to look at him, and the thin silk top flew from her hand, sucked loudly down the toilet. They both stood staring down for a full minute as if the shirt would magically reappear. He finally realized that he was standing in the doorway where anyone could come by and see Emma half-dressed. Shit, what was he supposed to do now? “Do you have another shirt in your carry-on?”
Shaking her head, she said, “No, just panties.” Yeah, that’s exactly the mental picture he needed to go along with the tits he was now trying hard not to stare at. He pushed the door shut behind them, wedging against her in the small space. Not a good idea, but he didn’t want anyone looking at her. He expected a flight attendant to come by at any moment and accuse them of trying to join the Mile High club; in his freaking dreams, maybe. He started unbuttoning his shirt and she giggled nervously.
“You’d better be careful; that toilet is dangerous,” she warned.
As far as he was concerned, the only danger in the bathroom was of his cock exploding through the zipper it was uncomfortably pressed against. He got the last button on his shirt undone and struggled to pull the shirt loose from his slacks. Finally, he unbuckled his belt and managed to free the material. He pulled off his button-down shirt and then started easing his undershirt off. He was damned grateful to be wearing layers today, because otherwise the men on the plane would be in for a real visual treat.
Next he handed her the white T-shirt, saying, “Put that on.” It was a testament to how out of it she was from the medication that she stood holding it in confusion. “Honey, if you don’t put that on, you’re going to have to march back down the aisle and spend the rest of the flight in that skimpy bra.”
He wanted to fall to his knees and offer up a prayer of thanks when she said, “Ohhh, I gotcha.” He started pulling his shirt back on while she wiggled against him, pressing her breasts into his chest as she maneuvered his T-shirt over her head. They were both breathing heavily by the time she finished. Probably for two completely different reasons, though. He was starting to feel like the only thing missing in the bathroom was a stripper pole and a stack of ones. When he opened the door to leave, an elderly woman was tapping her foot while giving him a disapproving scowl.
“I . . . um, was just helping my wife. She lost her shirt.” Shit! Yeah, that sounds so much better. Behind him, Emma giggled as he took her arm and pulled her in front of him. “Hush,” he whispered in her hair. The situation already looked bad enough. Was it his imagination or was everyone on the damned plane grinning at them? He pushed her into her seat, wanting to escape the scrutiny as quickly as possible.
He had just taken a deep breath and started to relax when Emma leaned against him. “Why are your pants unbuckled?” He looked down in horror to see his pants hanging open. In all of the confusion, he had tucked his shirt back in his pants but had failed to button them and buckle the belt. No wonder everyone on the plane had been looking at them. He might as well have been high-fiving as he walked back to his seat. My God, they had barely been flying for thirty minutes and he had already managed to embarrass himself more on board than he had in a lifetime.