Page 282 of The First Taste
Glaring at him, I pull the edges of my coat closer together, a breeze whipped up by the helicopter running right through me. "That’s an awful thing to say to the woman that you are supposed to be marrying."
He cocks a brow and grabs my arm. "Just be glad that I am picking you. You should feel lucky."
I'mnotfeelinglucky, I think. I clench my jaw and stare at the helicopter, my stomach already doing flips. But Dare doesn’t wait and doesn’t ask my opinion.
He just drags me toward the helicopter.
I am in my own pool of humiliation as we start to land, at last. My stomach has been upset since the lift-off point, but I was too busy replaying the scene in the hangar bathroom to even notice.
When we begin to descend, I turn to stare out the window. I’ve been so miserable this entire flight that I didn’t even really notice that we were landing on a private helipad.
We never really left the shore, but I could tell we were going up north. The shore is rockier and the ocean is frothier here, the beach leading up to a dramatic cliff. Just beyond, there is a large white mansion sitting on the beach.
When the pilot sets the chopper down, Dare springs from the helicopter, ripping off his headphones. He doesn’t even wait for me before turning and marching toward the house.
I clamber down from the helicopter, thanking the pilot, before I stop for a second. I put my hand to my mouth, fighting back the wave of sickness I feel.
If helicopters are the way that rich people get around, flitting from place to place, I don’t want to be a part of it. Shuddering at the icy wind that rolls off the ocean, I hug my coat close and hurry to follow in Dare’s footsteps.
As I finally catch up to him, he grins at me.
"So? It’s nice being in the air for such a short time, huh?"
I screw up my face and look forward, noticing the edge of a building down below the edge of the cliff. I squint at it and try to keep my expression from being bitter.
"I think I hated it more than I have ever hated any trip in my life."
He snorts. Finally, seeming to notice me hurrying to keep up with his pace, he slows his steps.
“You didn’t like the helicopter? Why didn’t you tell me?"
"I was trying not to die or throw up."
"Well, you’ll have to get used to it. I probably spend more time in the helicopter than I do on my private plane."
"That must be nice. I wouldn’t know, because I’ve never flown anywhere. Not in a plane, not in a helicopter."
He stops in his tracks, confused. "Wait, what? Really?"
"Where would I even go? Harwicke is the only place I’ve ever known."
He gives a grunt of disgust. "We’ll have to fix that." He starts walking again, leaving me to wonder how one would fix that exactly.
With the mansion looming large to our left, I point out the structure on the beach below. Winding steps that look precarious lead down from the cliff to the structure.
"What’s that?"
"The boathouse," he replies. "We will go down there at some point, I imagine. I love to sail."
His comment startles me a little bit. I hadn’t thought about what he might like to do. He exists in some parallel universe that I’ve constructed. Outside of anything positive, outside of liking, loving, or cherishing anything, to hear him say that he loves doing something like sailing... It’s just an alien concept to me.
"Are you saying that you like to play with boats?" I ask.
He lets out a cold laugh. “If you want to put it that way, yes. I keep a sailboat and a yacht here."
"A yacht? You Morgans really have it all figured out, don’t you?”
He stops again, his stare icy. "The Morgans aren't big fans of boats. The boats are a holdover from the Mercers, my mom’s family. It’s the only thing I have left of her."
