Not Quite Crazy
Page 39
“You’re worth it.”
The man had all the right lines.
“What’s on our agenda?”
“Dinner . . . because a proper first date has to have food.”
She rested her hands on his shoulders, took comfort in his hands, which held her waist.
“Then there is a cocktail party I’m going to show you off at.”
That made her a little nervous. Although keeping their dating to themselves seemed impossible if she was flying in with him in a personal helicopter.
“There will be fireworks.”
She licked her lips. “What’s not to love about fireworks?”
His hand slipped around her back, his fingers playing with the edges of her dress that dipped low in the back. “Lick your lips like that again and we will start with the fireworks.”
She was half tempted to call him on that. “In your brother’s office?”
Jason pulled her forward and kissed the space between her breasts. “Our first time will not be in any office,” he told her.
“What about our second?” she asked.
“Highly possible.”
He forcibly moved her away, held her in place, and grabbed her coat. “Let’s go before I change my mind,” he said.
The French restaurant was as quiet as any establishment could be on New Year’s Eve in Manhattan. The table for two had high-back seats, offering some privacy for an intimate conversation.
They talked about Owen, and about Jason’s family. Jason wanted to know even more about her parents and brother.
He held her hand across the table, and Rachel found herself guilty of playing with her hair close to the dip in the front of her dress just to watch his eyes follow her movement.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he said after nearly spilling his wine.
“You are a very perceptive man, Mr. Fairchild.”
“What ever happened to your concern about dating me?”
She wasn’t sure. “It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”
He lifted her hand from the table, kissed her fingertips. “From the minute Owen walked out of the kitchen with a butcher knife.”
Laughing felt so good.
He was a walking hard-on. Thank God it was subfreezing outside and every time they walked out of a building his body was forced to settle down.
That dress! His eyes lingered on the opening of her coat and the way the neckline plunged. What was she wearing under there anyway? It couldn’t be much.
The car he hired took them to their next destination, their final one before the morning, if he was reading Rachel right. The way she slid up next to him in the back of the car, ignoring the seat belt. Not that you needed much of one when traffic crawled at under five miles per hour.
He placed a hand on her thigh, as if he’d already laid claim to the space. Touching her was fast becoming an addiction. Just as talking with her, texting her . . . spending as much time as he could with her had become. He found a tender space on the inside of her knee and heard her pull in a sharp breath. Jason leaned close so the driver couldn’t hear his words.
“Have the fireworks already started?”
She shifted in her seat, brushed her hand across his lap. He felt himself harden again.
“It’s going to be a long night,” she muttered.
They pulled into a turnaround, and the driver let them out.
Rachel walked alongside him, his hand urging her forward on the small of her back. They walked past the reception desk and straight to a bank of elevators.
New Year’s Eve party banners with a sticker saying the event was sold out told Rachel where they were going before they reached the top floor of the hotel.
They heard the music before the doors opened.
Jason helped her out of her coat, told his body to shut up and behave before he led her in.
“Wow,” she exclaimed. “This looks like quite the party.”
The two-story hall at the top of The Morrison had a balcony that stretched along one whole side of the building.
“You light up the place.”
“That was a cheesy line,” she cautioned him.
“I’ll work on it.” With that, he led her deeper into the room. Before stopping at any familiar faces, he first wanted to say hello to his host.
“I have someone I want to introduce you to,” Jason told Rachel.
“A client or friend?”
“Friend first, he has his own planes, but his business does often charter from us.”
It was hard to miss the tall Texan, and if on the off chance you didn’t see the man, you heard him from half a room away.
Jason moved around the entourage surrounding the man and waited to be noticed. “Jason!”
He accepted the strong handshake and one-arm man-hug.
“I see you’re charming all the women, Gaylord.” And there were several women, much younger than the silver haired single billionaire standing in front of him.
“It’s the accent,” Gaylord boasted. “And who is this filly?”
Jason placed a possessive arm around Rachel for the introduction.
“Gaylord Morrison, this is Rachel Price.”
Rachel’s carefree smile twisted. “Morrison? As in . . .” She looked around the room. “Morrison?”
He pushed his chest out and winked. “If hotels impress you more than airplanes, let me buy you dinner.”
She laughed and shook his hand. “I’m full, but thank you.”
“Sassy. I like her, Jason.”
“She’s taken.”
“Oh, is she?” Rachel turned her head Jason’s way.
He squeezed her waist. “Yes. She is!”
The glow on her cheeks empowered him. “Did Jack and Jessie make it in?”
Gaylord looked over their heads. “They’re around here somewhere. So when am I going to see you out at the ranch?”
“I should have some time in February.”
“Good. Make it happen.” Gaylord was a demanding man. “You work too hard.”
“You’re one to talk,” Jason said.
“Not as much these days. My grandkids need me.”
“I’m sure they do.” It was nice to know the man was slowing down.
“Now go find my son so I can concentrate on finding my next Mrs. Morrison.” Two of the women standing by him glanced at him with his announcement.
“It was a pleasure, Mr. Morrison.”
“It’s Gaylord, darlin’. Now go along, you’re crampin’ my style.”
Rachel was laughing as they walked away. “That guy is a riot.”
“He’s quite the character.”
A waiter stopped and handed them each a glass of champagne.
“Who is Jack?”
“That would be Gaylord’s son. Jessie is his wife and Monica’s sister.”
Rachel hesitated. “How do I not know this?”
“You do now.”
When he found Jack, he also found Monica and Trent.
Monica greeted Rachel with a hug. “I was hoping Jason would bring you.”
“He flew us over in a helicopter. Who does that?”
Trent laughed.
“Don’t get me started,” Monica said. “This one wouldn’t own a car if he could get away with it.”
Jason watched as Rachel settled into a conversation with Jessie and Monica about dating a man with a plane.
“You brought her out in public,” Trent said low enough to avoid Rachel catching his words.
The man had all the right lines.
“What’s on our agenda?”
“Dinner . . . because a proper first date has to have food.”
She rested her hands on his shoulders, took comfort in his hands, which held her waist.
“Then there is a cocktail party I’m going to show you off at.”
That made her a little nervous. Although keeping their dating to themselves seemed impossible if she was flying in with him in a personal helicopter.
“There will be fireworks.”
She licked her lips. “What’s not to love about fireworks?”
His hand slipped around her back, his fingers playing with the edges of her dress that dipped low in the back. “Lick your lips like that again and we will start with the fireworks.”
She was half tempted to call him on that. “In your brother’s office?”
Jason pulled her forward and kissed the space between her breasts. “Our first time will not be in any office,” he told her.
“What about our second?” she asked.
“Highly possible.”
He forcibly moved her away, held her in place, and grabbed her coat. “Let’s go before I change my mind,” he said.
The French restaurant was as quiet as any establishment could be on New Year’s Eve in Manhattan. The table for two had high-back seats, offering some privacy for an intimate conversation.
They talked about Owen, and about Jason’s family. Jason wanted to know even more about her parents and brother.
He held her hand across the table, and Rachel found herself guilty of playing with her hair close to the dip in the front of her dress just to watch his eyes follow her movement.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he said after nearly spilling his wine.
“You are a very perceptive man, Mr. Fairchild.”
“What ever happened to your concern about dating me?”
She wasn’t sure. “It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”
He lifted her hand from the table, kissed her fingertips. “From the minute Owen walked out of the kitchen with a butcher knife.”
Laughing felt so good.
He was a walking hard-on. Thank God it was subfreezing outside and every time they walked out of a building his body was forced to settle down.
That dress! His eyes lingered on the opening of her coat and the way the neckline plunged. What was she wearing under there anyway? It couldn’t be much.
The car he hired took them to their next destination, their final one before the morning, if he was reading Rachel right. The way she slid up next to him in the back of the car, ignoring the seat belt. Not that you needed much of one when traffic crawled at under five miles per hour.
He placed a hand on her thigh, as if he’d already laid claim to the space. Touching her was fast becoming an addiction. Just as talking with her, texting her . . . spending as much time as he could with her had become. He found a tender space on the inside of her knee and heard her pull in a sharp breath. Jason leaned close so the driver couldn’t hear his words.
“Have the fireworks already started?”
She shifted in her seat, brushed her hand across his lap. He felt himself harden again.
“It’s going to be a long night,” she muttered.
They pulled into a turnaround, and the driver let them out.
Rachel walked alongside him, his hand urging her forward on the small of her back. They walked past the reception desk and straight to a bank of elevators.
New Year’s Eve party banners with a sticker saying the event was sold out told Rachel where they were going before they reached the top floor of the hotel.
They heard the music before the doors opened.
Jason helped her out of her coat, told his body to shut up and behave before he led her in.
“Wow,” she exclaimed. “This looks like quite the party.”
The two-story hall at the top of The Morrison had a balcony that stretched along one whole side of the building.
“You light up the place.”
“That was a cheesy line,” she cautioned him.
“I’ll work on it.” With that, he led her deeper into the room. Before stopping at any familiar faces, he first wanted to say hello to his host.
“I have someone I want to introduce you to,” Jason told Rachel.
“A client or friend?”
“Friend first, he has his own planes, but his business does often charter from us.”
It was hard to miss the tall Texan, and if on the off chance you didn’t see the man, you heard him from half a room away.
Jason moved around the entourage surrounding the man and waited to be noticed. “Jason!”
He accepted the strong handshake and one-arm man-hug.
“I see you’re charming all the women, Gaylord.” And there were several women, much younger than the silver haired single billionaire standing in front of him.
“It’s the accent,” Gaylord boasted. “And who is this filly?”
Jason placed a possessive arm around Rachel for the introduction.
“Gaylord Morrison, this is Rachel Price.”
Rachel’s carefree smile twisted. “Morrison? As in . . .” She looked around the room. “Morrison?”
He pushed his chest out and winked. “If hotels impress you more than airplanes, let me buy you dinner.”
She laughed and shook his hand. “I’m full, but thank you.”
“Sassy. I like her, Jason.”
“She’s taken.”
“Oh, is she?” Rachel turned her head Jason’s way.
He squeezed her waist. “Yes. She is!”
The glow on her cheeks empowered him. “Did Jack and Jessie make it in?”
Gaylord looked over their heads. “They’re around here somewhere. So when am I going to see you out at the ranch?”
“I should have some time in February.”
“Good. Make it happen.” Gaylord was a demanding man. “You work too hard.”
“You’re one to talk,” Jason said.
“Not as much these days. My grandkids need me.”
“I’m sure they do.” It was nice to know the man was slowing down.
“Now go find my son so I can concentrate on finding my next Mrs. Morrison.” Two of the women standing by him glanced at him with his announcement.
“It was a pleasure, Mr. Morrison.”
“It’s Gaylord, darlin’. Now go along, you’re crampin’ my style.”
Rachel was laughing as they walked away. “That guy is a riot.”
“He’s quite the character.”
A waiter stopped and handed them each a glass of champagne.
“Who is Jack?”
“That would be Gaylord’s son. Jessie is his wife and Monica’s sister.”
Rachel hesitated. “How do I not know this?”
“You do now.”
When he found Jack, he also found Monica and Trent.
Monica greeted Rachel with a hug. “I was hoping Jason would bring you.”
“He flew us over in a helicopter. Who does that?”
Trent laughed.
“Don’t get me started,” Monica said. “This one wouldn’t own a car if he could get away with it.”
Jason watched as Rachel settled into a conversation with Jessie and Monica about dating a man with a plane.
“You brought her out in public,” Trent said low enough to avoid Rachel catching his words.
