Caribbean Crush Read Online R.S. Grey

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
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Her eyes widen in alarm. “No, this is completely complimentary. I apologize for not leading with that. This new seat is free of charge . . . just for you.”

Okay . . .

Well, as weird as this is, I’m not going to just sit here and argue. I might as well see what this lady is offering me. This could be legit. I might be the beneficiary of some kind of exciting free upgrade. That happens to people, right?

It doesn’t take me long to get my things. Just before I stand, I aim a sad smile at sleeping neck-pillow girl. She would have made a good airplane buddy.

The flight attendant offers to take my carry-on bag, so I’m left to just follow behind her, aware of everyone’s eyes on me. No doubt they heard what she just said. They’re wondering when their upgrade is coming. Because I feel so guilty, I can’t look anyone in the eye before we slip through the partition dividing those grimy peasant seats from first class. I swear they scented the air. The lighting is better, softer, warmer. The aisle is wider. The seats themselves aren’t seats at all; they’re practically private cabins. The seats are arranged in a single-double-single configuration, and almost everyone who’s already seated has drawn their curtains for privacy.

There looks to be a whole team of attendants, one or two for every guest.

Good god.

I assume I’m being led toward a solo spot, but then the flight attendant stops near a pair of seats right in the center of first class.

“You’ll be right here. 3B.”

I catch up to her and turn to check out my new digs. This is nothing compared to where I was previously parking my butt. This is luxury, dripping with class and refinement. My pale-blue seat is large enough to fold down into a bed. In my private cubicle, there’s also a small cabinet, on top of which rests a Dior-branded Dopp kit and pajamas tied with a coordinating pale-blue ribbon. I’m already amazed, and that’s before I look up to see the man sitting in 3C.

My heart plummets, then soars. My mouth drops open with astonishment, and when Phillip glances up from his book, he looks just as surprised as I am. He pulls his reading glasses off and just . . . stares.

Which doesn’t make sense.

Why is he so surprised?

Didn’t he know I was on board? Wasn’t he the one to call me up here?

My free upgrade was obviously courtesy of him.

“Sir?” the flight attendant asks with hope laced in her question.

He nods with an astonished gaze. “Yes . . . it’s her.”

She looks at me, her eyes softening as she waves for me to take my seat. She stows my luggage in the cabinet beneath the mounted TV and then spends what feels like forty-five minutes going over every single feature imaginable: my massaging, ventilated, and cooling seat; the Bose headphones; a built-in beverage bar; snacks; magazines; eye mask . . . I half expect her to bring out a brand-new Jet Ski or something. By the time she steps back, I’m barely even registering everything at my disposal.

“Enjoy. I’ll be back by in just a minute with a warm towel,” she says before walking away.

My mouth opens and closes like a guppy as I half faint, half slide down into my seat. I glance over the short wall between Phillip and me. “What’s happening?”

Phillip’s forehead is furrowed so deeply that his eyebrows practically connect. “I’m not sure, actually . . .”

I’m annoyed that he seems to be as confused as I am.

I need answers!

“You clearly orchestrated this,” I say, waving my hand around the plane like he was not only responsible for me being here but also everyone else on board too. “Phillip! You said you weren’t going to come after me!”

He barks out a laugh and shakes his head in disbelief. He turns to face me, conviction in his gaze as he exclaims, “I didn’t!”

When my expression doesn’t ease, he goes on. “I swear to god this is not me coming after you. Though got to say I’m relieved . . . it just doesn’t cut it. I wanted to come after you, Casey. Don’t get me wrong. This morning, I was pacing in my suite trying to decide what to do. A thousand times, I almost came for you, to insist that we were making the wrong choice—that the arrangement we struck didn’t take into account our unique circumstances.”

“What unique circumstances?” I ask, sounding skeptical.

A beat passes, and I watch the way his expression eases and the tension in his shoulders lessons as his entire demeanor softens.

“I’ve fallen for you,” he admits boldly.

His overwhelming confession barely seeps past my force field of shock.

If he didn’t orchestrate this . . .

How did this happen?


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