Duncan's eyes widen. "Oscar? Cool name. I think I like your dad."
"Well, Mom had to convince him to let you stay in my room instead of the couch, which is probably close to thirty years old and kind of lumpy. So remember that when you meet him."
Duncan laughs and shakes his head. "I really like your dad. For the record, if you were my daughter, I would most definitely make me sleep on the couch." His grin widens. "I cannot be trusted."
"Duncan?"
"Honesty is my downfall."
"Seizing opportunities and losing them to honesty."
"It seems as though you know all about me," he says. "Now tell me more about you."
"It's my cousin Scarlett's wedding. We're about the same age and she's everything I'm not."
"So she's ugly and has no personality."
I fight the urge to lower my eyes.
Pretend. This is just pretend. That will be my new mantra, an ongoing chorus for this weekend.
"No," I say, "she's perfect. She's sweet and successful. She's great at everything she's ever done, and she's marrying her high school sweetheart. His name is Kurt."
"Let me guess: they're waiting until their wedding night and she wants a hundred babies."
I shrug. "Yes, the bouquet at the wedding won't be the only flowers picked Saturday night. And as for babies, I think it's more like four. I'm pretty sure she's had them named since they started dating. You know, doodling their names in the margin of her high school notebook?"
I keep talking, telling him about my crazy grandmother, Helen, how she loves to play games, especially cards, and how she's ruthless. "She's super competitive and doesn't like to lose."
"I like her, too," he says.
"The older she gets, the more direct she becomes. So don't be surprised if she asks you a million questions or tells you exactly what she's thinking. I think her filter is broken. The warranty is expired so we're all forced to put up with it."
He laughs.
I have a hard time imagining Duncan Willis with my family. I mean, they're my family. I'm used to them. But to an outsider...I only hope and pray that they take it easy on him.
"Really..." I take a deep breath. "My family is great. I love them, but they can all be a little overwhelming. I'll do my best to keep you out of the mayhem."
"Do I appear that fragile?"
It's my turn to look him up and down. His chiseled jaw contains just the right amount of facial hair. Since it's more than stubble and less than a beard, I deduce it's the perfect length, meaning it's trimmed and on purpose. He's still in his suit, like all of the ones he wears at the office. As I scan his tall, trim, yet muscular frame, I realize I've never seen him in anything but a suit. The idea of Duncan Willis in jeans or shorts makes my tummy quiver. What does he wear when he sleeps? Does he exercise? What's his favorite color?
A million questions come to mind.
"Kimbra?" He reaches for my chin. "You went away."
I swallow, hoping my questions and mental images weren't accompanied by drool. "No, you don't seem fragile. It's just that they can..."
"I think I'll make it. Will you?"
"Me? What do you mean?"
"What were you thinking a second ago?"
Warmth fills my cheeks. "I realized I've never seen you in anything but a suit. I wondered what you wear when you sleep, if you exercise, and about your favorite color."
His lips quirk to a grin. "It seems we both have an issue with honesty. To answer your question, I sleep nude."
Before I am able to mask my reaction, my eyes opened wide. "Um, my parents...my grandma..."
"Will we be sharing a large dorm room?"
I shake my head.
Fuck! Duncan Willis sleeping nude in my bed.
He winks. "Then I think we'll be good. And yes, I exercise. Mostly I run, but I also do weights twice a week. Since our call last night, I've decided it's blue."
"Blue? What's blue?"
"My favorite color is blue, like your eyes."
My cheeks rise.
"What about you?" he asks.
"Green is nice."
"I was thinking more about your sleeping attire." His eyebrows rise. "Or lack thereof."
"Me? What do I wear to sleep?"
He nods.
"A nightgown or shorts and a top."
"You really should try wearing nothing at all. It's very liberating."
"I-I..."
Duncan brushes my cheek. "I enjoy making you blush."
As we pull into the private airstrip, Duncan traces the edge of my neckline. "I think I need to ask some more questions."
Though I'm distracted by his touch, I manage to answer. "Oh, okay. About what?"
"This is very important, so keep with the honesty."
"Yes?"
"Since you've been dating a CEO for the last five months and since he has access to private planes, has he, Miss Jones, made you a member of the mile-high club?"
I grin, enjoying his easy banter. "No, Mr. Willis, you see, my boyfriend is kind of a jerk. Five months and he's never once taken me on one of his planes."
The car stops and Duncan reaches for my hand. "I'd tell you to break up with that dick, but there's still time to rectify that issue. Maybe you should let him attempt to make up for his previous inattentiveness."
Pierce opens the door. Once we're out of the car, I look up at the plane and my feet forget to move. It's bigger than I imagined, like something in the movies. The stairs are down and a woman in a blue blouse and matching skirt is standing at the top of the stairs. "Wow," I say. "This is better than the airline tickets I had in mind, and I bet there's no layover."
Duncan scoffs. "You're correct. It's a direct flight." He gestures toward the stairs. "Your carriage awaits." As we approach he leans close to my ear and whispers, "I hear the club is still accepting new members."
His warm breath tickles my neck. I take a step and then turn back, smiling at Duncan over my shoulder. "You asked if my current boyfriend has made me a member, not if I am a member."
Duncan's steps stutter. His green eyes blaze and a tendon in his neck twitches. "And?"
I widen my smile, enjoying his reaction. "And...I'm not a member."
"The first step toward your boyfriend's redemption awaits."
At the top of the stairs, I nod at the lady in blue and turn toward the large cabin. On the table, arranged in a secured vase, is a bouquet of beautiful pink and red flowers. There are all different kinds: roses, lilies, carnations, and daisies. It's stunning.
It doesn't seem right. I mean, surely Buchanan and Willis Pharmaceuticals doesn't normally have fresh flowers on all their flights. I look from the flowers to Duncan, silently questioning.
Duncan pulls a red long-stemmed rose from the bouquet and hands it to me.
"What is this about?"
"Each experience with you is another flower in our bouquet."
Our. The word reverberates through my mind.
"It doesn't matter if I wasn't the first to pick it," he goes on. "What matters is that you'll allow me the honor of sharing it with you. This weekend, I'd like to work on our bouquet."