Okay, so that will kill at least a half-hour of his six-hour flight. Now what? Should I write him a letter?
I decide to do just that but I have to be quick about it for his shower has to be winding down right about now. I can’t open a word file on his iPad but I can write it in an email text and send it to him. So I do.
I title my letter Things I Love About You and in it I tell him all the things I love about him, duh: the silvery color of his eyes first thing in the morning when bright daylight irradiates them, the way his silky dark hair fans across his forehead when we’re riding in his new convertible Jag, making him look so young and sweet, and the look on his face when he has an orgasm—his eyes glaze over then close and his expression is one of pure ecstasy.
I lie back on the pillow and cast my mind over the days of our nascent relationship. More things to love drift into my head like feathers on the wind: the rakish way he looked dressed all in black that night at his naughty club, his sexy moans that made me physically ache for him when he kissed me that same night, his expression when he first showed me his new houseboat, which we shortly thereafter christened…
Ah, there’s just so much I love about Ian Blackmon. The shower is off now but I hear the sink faucet running so he’s still busy—I have a few more minutes. Closing my eyes, I see him behind the wheel of his new Jaguar F-Type. Oh, yes, his intense pleasure whenever he slides into the driver’s seat of one of his fast cars: his eyes gleam with an unholy light and a focused concentration grips him, as if the sexy car requires all of his attention to operate.
Then there’s the beautiful businessman side of him: the suits he wears are not ordinary ones by any stretch of the imagination: they are lovers woven of fabric, that hang just perfectly off his muscled frame, wrapping sensuously around him, in a lush dance with his body in motion. Yes, I wax poetic about stupid fucking suits when it comes to Ian. Conservative at work, he favors dark suits and muted shirts with solid ties. But it doesn’t matter: they’re well cut and expensively made, and with that body he would look good in anything or nothing. Certainly nothing.
I write all of this down, knowing there’s so much more that I could be writing this list for days on end. Alas, the limited reasons I’ve listed will have to do for now. He’s emerging from the bathroom and it’s time for the Let’s Watch Naked Ian Get Dressed show. It’s my second favorite pastime. I sit up straighter in the bed and wait impatiently for the damn towel to drop.
“What are you up to?” His tone is teasing as he unexpectedly turns to catch me gaping, his left eyebrow lifted in an amused query.
“What are you up to, is the better question,” I ask breezily, noting a favorite part of him standing at attention. Do we have time for one more go-round? “I was just sending you an email to read on the flight to New York.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, plus I compiled a playlist on your iPad,” I say proudly. “That should eat up a whole forty-five minutes. Then if you have a three-hour nap and a leisurely two-hour meal, that will get you all the way to New York.”
Ian grins and swaggers over, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand reaches over and he gently brushes back the hair in my face, then grasps my hand. “Promise me you’ll keep Mason by your side every single minute when you’re not in this condo.”
“Should he sleep with me, too? For protection, I mean?” His responding glower is answer enough. “Okay, I promise, Ian. I understand the danger involved. Promise me you won’t go to Lucien’s alone… in fact, you shouldn’t go there at all. Perhaps you might meet him at a public place?”
“I promise I won’t go alone. The problem with meeting him, Ella, is that the man isn’t just going to pick up the phone and joyfully arrange to meet me at the place of my choosing. I don’t even know if he’s in town for certain but I couldn’t exactly phone him for his schedule.” He peers closely into my eyes. “Claudia is going to call you with the girlfriend’s contact number. Don’t forget to call. Okay?”
I nod. “What should I say, do you think?”
“Explain who you are and then, if you think it necessary to loosen her tongue, tell her about what happened to you and how Lucien feared the two men were behind it. Segue from there to ask if she knows anything about them. You may not want to mention Natasha’s name upfront because according to your friend Maya, the evil one broke up their long-term relationship.”
Again, I nod in assent, now troubled. I never met this Natasha person but I hate her already. She wants to hurt Ian through whatever means she can, and that includes me. I hope we can hurt her first, though I have no idea if it’s even possible.