Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
‘Are you going to sit there all day, lady?’ He holds his hand out to me, and I take it automatically, letting him pull me from the car.
‘What’s that?’ I ask, nodding at the toy-like plane sitting a few yards away from us.
‘That’s a plane.’ There is humour in his voice. I’m pulled towards the jet, not feeling any more enthusiastic as we get closer because it’s not getting any bigger, and I’m not filled with any further confidence when Jesse has to dip to enter the damn thing to avoid smacking his head. I halt on the ridiculously small amount of steps that will have me boarding, and Jesse turns to see what’s keeping me when our arms are pulled taut between us. ‘Ava?’
‘I’m not getting on that thing.’ I’m attacked by an unreasonable bout of fear. I’ve never been afraid of flying, but this little plane is really pumping the anxiety through my veins. I feel a little breathless, too.
He smiles, but frowns at the same time. ‘Of course you are.’ My arm is tugged gently, encouragingly, but I’m not shifting. In fact, I’m backing away. ‘Ava, you’ve never said you’re scared of flying.’ He re-dips and stands up straight, back on the outside of the jet.
‘I’m not. In big planes. Why are we not going on a big plane?’ I look behind me and see heaps of big planes. ‘Why can’t we go on one of those?’
‘Because they’re probably not going where we need them to.’ he says softly. I feel my arm go lax in front of me from where he’s getting closer, and then his palm is on my cheek. ‘It’s perfectly safe.’ he assures me, pulling my face away from all of the big planes that I’d like to board instead. I don’t care if they’re not going where we need them to. I’ll go wherever they take me.
‘It doesn’t look safe.’ I glance past him and see a perfectly positioned woman with perfectly styled hair, perfect make-up and a perfect smile. ‘It looks too small.’
‘Ava,’ His soft, re-assuring voice pulls my eyes back to his. He’s smiling down at me. ‘This is me, your possessive, unreasonable, over-protective control freak.’ He kisses me gently. ‘Do you really think I’d willingly put you in danger?’
I shake my head, fully aware that I’m being a complete baby. My fear has surprised me, though. I should be shocked that he’s booked a private jet, but I’m not. The fact that I’m expected to fly on this private jet is more shocking. ‘I feel a little nervous.’ I admit quietly, the visible closeness of all personnel, including the captain behind me, registering in my apprehensive mind.
‘Answer my question.’ he pushes.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Good.’ He rounds me and clasps my shoulders, pushing me gently up the steps. ‘You’ll love it, trust me.’
‘Good morning!’ The perfect woman, who’s still standing perfectly in place, greets us, holding her arm out in a signal of where to go. It’s really not necessary. There are one of two ways, and I’m not going anywhere near the cockpit.
Peering inside, I notice just a few chairs, all massive, all leather, all reclining, and just two rows of them—one of each side of the jet. I’m directed to the middle, turned around and eased down into the soft plumpness. I keep quiet and resist the urge to bolt as Jesse secures my seatbelt and takes a seat opposite me. He immediately lifts my feet to his lap.
‘Champagne, sir?’ Perfect lady is back, and I spy her beaming at my God, but I’m too busy gathering my pathetic anxiousness to trample.
‘Just water.’ Jesse answers shortly, with no smile, no acknowledgment and no please. She beats a hasty retreat, and Jesse slips my ballet pumps from my feet, dropping them carelessly to the floor before getting comfy and repositioning my feet so they’re at a good angle for him to massage. ‘Okay?’ he asks.
‘Not really.’ I have no idea what has gotten into me. ‘There were regular flights available, weren’t there?’ I ask suspiciously, having a quick glimpse out of the under average size window.
‘I don’t know, I didn’t check. We don’t do commercial, Ava.’
‘You don’t. I do.’ I wiggle my toes. ‘I haven’t got swollen feet yet, you know.’
His thumbs are working delicious, firm circles into the instep of my feet. ‘Close your eyes and make yourself comfy, baby.’ he orders tenderly, and I do. My eyes slowly shut, and the last image I see is of my God lovingly massaging my feet, trying to ease me out of my unwarranted fit of nervousness.
I let my mind shut down and drift into a semi-conscious state of bliss. It’s not a difficult task to achieve when he’s touching me, even if it is just my feet. It’s the usual scenario of Jesse drawing all of my troubles out of me, whether it’s justified troubles, or completely trivial, unnecessary troubles, like a sudden fear of flying. My subliminal state only barely notes that regardless of trivial or justified troubles, Jesse is the maker.