Page 91 of I Almost Do

Then James opens his office door. He reaches out a hand for me, so I tuck my briefcase strap onto my left shoulder and put my right hand in his. I glide out of his office with the dignity of a queen. Like I'm not wearing a catastrophically wrinkled pencil skirt and blouse, with my lipstick kissed right off my swollen lips, whisker burns on my neck, and what must be utterly spectacular sex hair.

I make inadvertent eye contact with Rebecca as she sits at her desk, a blush heating her cheeks as she fans her face with a sheaf of papers.

I nod as we stroll past her. "Have a good day, Rebecca."

She dips hers in acknowledgment, her lips tipping into a grin. "You, too, Clarissa. James."

I don't turn my head, but I sneak a glance at James. His lips are swollen, there's a smear of lipstick on his collar, and his hair is an emo rocker’s wet dream.

He catches my look with a side-eye of his own. Our lips quirk at exactly the same time. And we race for the elevator.

Epilogue

You Make My Dreams

James

Two Weeks Later

Clarissa is practically vibrating in the seat next to me on our private jet. She typically flies commercial. As do I, unless I’ve got an entire team in the air, purely for environmental reasons.

But her plans for our honeymoon included me having not a single clue where we were going.

I squint at her and quote her words back to her in mock complaint, “You say I won’t need clothing. And I’m just saying that it seems like something I should question. Who knows what you plan to do with me once you have me naked and alone in a foreign locale?”

I turn to Jerome, our flight attendant, as he returns with a shot each of Mezcal for Clarissa and me. “I’m a suspicious person, Jerome. Where could my wife possibly have planned to take me that involves no clothing? And what could we possibly be doing there?”

Jerome grins and says, “I’d love to tell you, Mr. Mellinger, but my boss has forbidden me from mentioning it.”

Clarissa presents an exaggerated face of innocence. I lift an eyebrow first at her, then Jerome. “Your boss, huh? I thought I was your boss.”

He smiles benignly. “Did you, sir?”

Clarissa snickers and lifts the shot glass to her lips.

When Jerome walks away, I toast her with the Mezcal, then place my hand on her knee, sliding it just under the skirt she’s wearing. I inch my hand higher and higher, until it rests exactly where I want it, with my pinky finger pushing gently and rhythmically against the silky fabric covering her pussy.

Her eyes fly wide. “James,” she says breathlessly.

It’s my turn to look innocent. “Yes?”

She squirms beside me, then frantically rubs her thumb over her bottom lip. Finally, she throws her arms straight up in the air as though she’s stretching. Then she yawns and announces quite loudly, “You know it’s going to be a long flight. I’m going to take a nap. In the bedroom. Because I’m sleepy.”

She’s the worst liar I’ve ever seen in my life. No finesse, whatsoever. “So it’s a long flight, is it?”

She represses a grin. “Yes.”

She stands, and I join her. “The bed sounds like a good idea, then. Since it’s a long flight.”

She turns her head back toward the security detail at the front of the plane, then smiles at me, clears her throat and says, “That’s what we need. A nap. You must be tired.”

“Not even a little,” I say, leading her by the hand back to the bedroom where I have absolutely no intention of sleeping.

“NewZealand,huh?”

“Have you been? It’s supposed to be beautiful and February is still the warmest part of summer here,” she asks.

I take in the luxurious and, most importantly, private home she’s rented for the next two weeks. There are floor to ceiling windows enabling us to enjoy the view. A wall of accordion-style glass doors retract to provide access to a patio space that includes everything from a fire pit surrounded by plush cushions to a sparkling salt water infinity pool. All of which overlooks a pristine private beach.

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