Intercepted (Page 47)

The next ten minutes are the slowest, most awkward ten minutes of my life, and I learn how god-awful my voice is. At least, how bad it is when I sound like a hysterical freaking maniac. All I was missing was the smeared red lipstick and the purple hair and I was the freaking Joker. Not a good look.

When it ends, Gavin passes Donny back his phone without muttering a word.

I don’t take it as a good sign.

He reaches for his phone in the cup holder and starts dialing.

I still don’t have the best feeling.

Then he starts speaking.

“Madison? I’ve been better. You know what? No. You’re fired.”

Oh shit. Now I know I’m screwed.

“No, Madison. Marlee didn’t tell me anything. You did. I watched the video from HERS. The shit you said? The vile shit that left your mouth after you brought up my fucking family? Yeah, I have no room for that in my life. You want to run around, disrespecting the woman I love, then you should’ve been prepared for this.”

“Gavin!” I yell after he pushes the end button. “What did you just do?”

My eyes are in danger of popping out my head, and I’m having a hard time hearing over the sound of my heartbeat racing in my ears.

“I fired Madison. What the fuck did you think I’d do after I heard the shit she said to you? Fuck!” He punches the steering wheel so hard, the horn goes off. “Why’d you hide that from me?”

“Because I knew you’d react like this!” I throw my hands in the air. “I told you before we started dating I don’t want you fighting my battles for me. I don’t want you to fire Madison because of me! I can take care of it on my own.”

“Not everything’s about you, Marlee! Did you ever think about that? That I wouldn’t want a person like that working for me? That I wouldn’t want someone who treats the person I love like fucking garbage around me?” His nostrils are flaring, and the vein in his neck is throbbing. “I know you can fight for yourself, and I’ve been pretty damn good about letting you. Now it’s time for you to let me fight my battles.”

A knock on the window pulls my attention from a heavily breathing Gavin to Officer Graham, who’s standing at the driver’s window.

Gavin takes a second to collect himself and then rolls down the window. As if his freak-out never happened, he smiles at the officer and gives him his address before putting the truck in gear and driving the last few blocks to his place in silence.

But right before he pulls into his garage, he reaches over the center console and laces our fingers together.

And with the one sweet, simple gesture, I know we’re going to be fine.

Thirty-two

“Rise and shine, babe.”

I hate perky morning Gavin. It’s hasn’t even been a week since the season, but I thought he’d take this time to sleep until noon like normal adult humans with no daily commitments. Wrong. If it wasn’t for his lips trailing down my neck and his beard tickling my chest, I’d be way pissed.

But they are. So, instead, I’m just super turned on.

Hot guy superpowers . . . turning anger into lust with a brush of the lips.

“The season’s over. You have no reason to wake up early. Sleep, you freak.” Some of the words are accidentally more moan than not. Moaning does not help your case if you’re wondering.

“Come on. It’s vacation day.” He nips at my earlobe.

Dammit.

Ear biting and vacations? Those are my biggest weaknesses.

I pop out of bed faster than I think I ever have at the reminder of what we’re doing today. I’m in nothing but undies, my hair is a disaster, and my lips are still swollen from the night before, but the way Gavin’s gaze travels slowly down my body, you’d think I was red carpet ready.

“You’re so fucking beautiful it hurts.” His voice is much deeper than it was only moments prior.

“Love you.” It’s all I can say when he tells me these things, when he looks at me like I’m the only woman in the entire world worth living for, when he reminds me with one small gesture what I missed out on for so long and how lucky I am to have found it. Even if for only a little while.

Sorry.

The skeptic in me is still alive and well.

“Take a shower, get dressed, then meet me downstairs. Our driver will be here soon, and I have everything scheduled down to the minute.”

“Then I hope you scheduled an extra hour for incidentals.”

“Why do you think you’re already awake? I didn’t deploy the ear biting for no reason.” He swats at my butt as I turn toward the bathroom.

“So . . . does this mean you won’t be joining me in the shower?” I call over my shoulder, exaggerating the sway of my hips. “I hope I don’t get lonely.”

“Dammit, you evil seductress.” His footsteps quicken behind me. Before I get the chance to run, he has me tossed over his shoulder and is biting my ass.

“And don’t you forget it,” I tell his butt, which I’m eye level with.

* * *

• • •

LUCKY FOR ME, Gavin implements a very generous buffer time.

After we finish breakfast, I grab my jacket, boots, and purse. Gavin grabs our luggage, and then we head out the door. I’d packed winter things—which was Gavin’s only hint.

Waiting in front of his place is a black town car. #ClassyWithaC

The second we step outside into the deceivingly sunny, cold air, the driver, an older man in a suit, hops out of the car to retrieve our luggage. I let him take mine, but Gavin puts his away himself. I hope wherever we’re going is slightly warmer than here.

When we arrive at the small airport, instead of the long lines and the mindless waiting at the gate like I’m used to, we’re checked right in, ushered through security, and guided straight to our plane.

Read that again.

Our. Plane.

WHAT?!

I mean, I’ve flown first class a few times, but never, ever have I flown private. I’ve always said I didn’t want to fly on a small plane, but that’s before I stepped foot on this one. Because let me tell you, quality over quantity, my friends.

When we walk on board the charter plane, the pilot, Asher; copilot, Cory; and flight attendant, Giana are all waiting to introduce themselves. It’s all very formal and intimidating. #FirstWorldProblems

Once we’re in the air, Giana brings us our lunch menus.

Yeah, lunch menus. As in more than a bag of stale pretzels.

“Can I have the chicken Caesar salad, light on the dressing, heavy on the champagne refills, please?” Just because the plane is fancy doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the fact that we’re floating in the air, testing the limits of gravity, teetering on the edge of a death dive to the earth beneath us.

Not that I’m dramatic or anything.

“Of course, ma’am.” Ma’am? How old does she think I am? “And for you, Mr. Pope?”

“I’ll have the stuffed chicken, please.”

“Perfect. I’ll get that right to you,” she says and I swear, when she does, her voice drops three octaves and her blouse unbuttons itself.

Gavin drops his hand to my knee and gets my attention. “Are you excited to find out where we’re going?”

“Was that a rhetorical question? Because duh. I’m dying here!” And I’m a little bit tipsy.

“I can’t wait until you see.” He pulls my legs into his lap and slips my boots off one at a time. Then his million-dollar hands massage my feet.