The Patterson Girls (17 page)

Well, that time was now, and she had to admit, since hearing about the curse and talking to Lucinda about her conception woes these last few days, she'd begun to sense a strange ticking coming from deep within her. She was thirty-five years old and medically she knew that if she wanted to have children, or at least a child, her window of opportunity would get smaller over the next few years as her fertility declined. How many couples did she see who were in their late thirties by the time they'd decided to try for a baby and had needed IVF to achieve it?

‘Earth to Madeleine?' Abigail's voice jolted her from her thoughts.

She shook her head and smiled at her sister, noticing that the young family had moved on. ‘What?'

‘Your flight is boarding.' Abigail nodded towards the gate, then stood and heaved her cabin bag over her shoulder. ‘You going to hug me goodbye?'

Madeleine also stood and held her arms open for her little sister. ‘You look after yourself, okay? I guess I'll see you next Christmas.'

Abigail nodded. ‘Unless I decide to come for a holiday in Baltimore before then.'

‘That would be good.' Madeleine meant it—it would be fun to show Abigail around Maryland, introduce her to Hugo and Celia, although she doubted she'd come. Her youngest sister was as much of a workaholic as she was, so unless she travelled to the US with the orchestra, it probably would be next Christmas before they saw each other again. She wondered if Dad would have sold the motel by then and if so, where he might be living. Where would next Christmas actually be?

‘Well, until next time.' Abigail pulled back from Madeleine's embrace. ‘Have a good flight.'

‘You too.'

Abigail breathed a sigh of relief as she waved Madeleine through the gate and onto her flight. Her week of playing charades and pretending her life was peachy-good was over. And it had been exhausting. She'd almost confessed her jobless state to Madeleine on the bus but once again hadn't been able to bring herself to do so. What good would it do? Charlie was already on her way back to Meadow Brook—having put her life on hold to help Dad. If she was going to say anything she should have done so the day she'd arrived, the day they'd all asked what she was doing travelling without her beloved violin. But pride had hindered that confession.

She'd planned on taking a quick walk around the tiny terminal before coming back to the gate, but even the effort of stretching her legs seemed too much. So instead, she slumped into the slippery plastic chair and let her bag drop to the floor beside her. It was time to head back to London and work out what the hell to do with her life. First thing would be hunting for a job and that prospect was about as appealing as jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

‘Is this seat taken?'

Abigail looked up at the sound of a deep voice and felt her stomach do a tumble-turn.
Him!
The guy she'd met in the arrivals hall only a week ago.
It couldn't be!
The guy who'd been playing her imaginary boyfriend ever since. She ignored the pinprick of guilt that hit her at the thought of her lies and focused on him instead. If possible, he looked even more gorgeous than he had before. Perking up, she shook her head and hit him with a welcoming and perhaps slightly flirtatious smile. ‘It's all yours.'

Mr Gorgeous dropped his backpack to the ground and lowered himself into the seat. Her insides tightened as his muscular thigh brushed up against her own. Although he wore jeans and she had on a pair of very comfortable black trousers, her skin flared at the brief connection and she couldn't help staring at his long legs as he stretched them out in front of him.

‘This is a sweet coincidence,' the guy said, leaning back and resting his arm along the back of her seat. ‘Did you have a good Christmas?'

From this over-friendly gesture to the easy smile on his face, he had cocky written all over him, but somehow it only made him more attractive. As did the fact he'd remembered her from their brief encounter the week before.

‘It wasn't the best,' she admitted. But not wanting to tarnish any conversation they might have with the thoughts of her dad's heart thing and the emptiness of home without her mother, she offered her hand and promptly changed the subject. ‘I'm Abigail. I don't believe we introduced ourselves last time we met.'

He took her hand and held it a tad longer than appropriate. The warmth that transferred from his skin to hers lit her all over her body, making her girly bits tingle in a way they hadn't since her last debacle of a relationship. ‘Nigel,' he told her, and it was all she could do not to screw up her nose.

Nigel?
How could someone that looked like him have a name like Nigel?

Still, she swallowed her disappointment. A person wasn't defined by their name and this guy had a lot of other things going for him. His height, his chiselled looks, his light-up-the-room smile, his outgoing personality to name but a few. ‘Nice to meet you, Nigel.'

‘And you, Abigail.' His tone matched hers—playfully suggestive—and the way he said her name made her want to whimper in pleasure. His gaze raked lazily over her body. ‘I like your t-shirt.'

Her breasts suddenly felt heavy as if her bra had shrunk three sizes. What was it about this man? Despite the fact that he had a terribly unfortunate name and they were barely even acquaintances, she wanted to drag him off to the nearest corner and have her wicked way. She clamped her thighs together and smiled. ‘Thank you. I bought it on Oxford Street.'

‘I work near there. Where do you live and work?'

She gave him the basic facts—Islington and Barbican—but tried not to talk too much about herself. She mentioned she played the violin and worked in the music industry but quickly deflected the conversation back to him. And Nigel seemed more than happy to talk about himself, his love of surfing—which he'd indulged while home this last week—and his passion for his career in advertising. Although obviously a little arrogant, he also made her laugh.

Halfway through a story about a hair care company they'd recently created a campaign for, he leaned forward and slid his hand into her hair, twisting the long blonde strands around his finger before letting it work free. ‘You'd make a gorgeous hair model,' he said, causing her cheeks to flush as he dropped his hand. ‘In fact, you'd make a gorgeous anything model. Have you ever thought about it?'

She scoffed at his cheesy but undeniably pleasing line. ‘No. I eat far too much junk food.'

‘It doesn't show.' Again he unashamedly looked his fill but Abigail felt anything but annoyed. Every cell in her body felt heightened with awareness and she thought perhaps Nigel was her bright star in what had been a rather disappointing month.

When their flight was called twenty minutes later, he stood and offered his hand to help her up. That spark shot between his hand and hers again and as their gazes connected she knew he'd felt it too. She licked her lips, unable to remember the last time she'd felt such primal attraction to anyone. She wished she could somehow engineer sitting next to him, because the long hours ahead would be much more enjoyable with him cracking jokes and flirting beside her.

‘Want to have a drink while we're waiting in Hong Kong?' Nigel asked as they made their way towards the boarding queue.

Abigail nodded, mentally punching the air. ‘That'd be lovely.'

The truth was, after sitting with Nigel for barely half an hour she wanted to do a lot more than have a drink with him.

Abigail's bald-headed, ample-bodied, middle-aged travel companion tried to make conversation with her as the seatbelt light flashed off above their heads, but she couldn't be bothered playing her part. If she were sitting next to Nigel things would be quite different—she allowed herself a brief fantasy of the mischief they could get up to as they soared above the clouds—but she couldn't imagine finding anything this man might say of interest. She was about to try and get comfortable against the miniscule window in the hope of getting a little sleep, when a flight attendant stopped at the end of her row.

‘Are you Abigail?' The perfectly polished woman smiled down at her.

Unsure what the attendant wanted, she nodded uncertainly.

The woman thrust out her hand and offered Abigail a tiny, folded up piece of paper. ‘From your friend in business class,' she informed her before flitting off to attend to other duties.

Abigail's heartbeat picked up speed as she unfolded the paper. All it said was:
I'm in seat 4C. Log onto the in-flight messaging thingy and we can chat.

Not even realising there was such a thing as in-flight messaging, it took a moment for her to work it out. When she finally got it up and running, she wasn't exactly sure what she should say.

She settled for:
Hi.

Nigel's reply came almost instantly.
I'm sorry. I talked far too much about myself back there. It's something I do when I get nervous.

Why were you nervous?

Don't play coy. Everything about you makes me nervous.

That made her smile so hard she thought her cheeks might split.
Oh?

Yes, and hot. You made me so hot I had to loosen my shirt collar the moment I got to my seat.

She closed her eyes a moment, her mouth watering as she visualised Nigel unbuttoning the top few buttons of the sexy shirt he'd been wearing. His next message came before she recovered enough to send one of her own.

Too full-on? I don't want to scare you off.

Not at all.
His candid confession gave her the confidence to offer one of her own.
I was just imagining you with your shirt off.

LOL. Would I sound like a sleaze if I admitted I've been imagining you with your shirt off since we met in the arrivals hall last week?

She gasped at his suggestive words, but a tingling thrill rushed through her body. How to respond?
Possibly, but considering I was sleazy first, I'll let you off the hook.

Phew. Didn't want this to be over before it started.

This?
She bit her lip to stop herself from smiling like a crazy person.

Come on, sweet stuff, you can't say you didn't feel the chemistry between us?

Is that what it is?
Abigail couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun flirting with someone.

The old man sitting next to me is snoring with his mouth open. Drool is running down and dripping off his chin, making an unfortunate stain on his trousers.

Eugh. Now that wasn't very sexy.
She pushed Send before she realised she'd typed rather than thought that last bit. Whoops.

LOL. Exactly. I wish I was sitting next to you instead.

Maybe it was because he was far up the front of the plane, maybe it was because she didn't really know him, but Abigail felt bold. She was enjoying this and wanted to see how far she could take it.
What would you do if I was sitting next to you right now?

Do you really want to know?

Yes.
Abigail waited, her heart in her throat, for Nigel's response.

When it finally came, she slapped a hand over her mouth and squirmed in her chair. Was this a type of cyber sex? Plane sex? Whatever it was it was the most fun she'd had with her clothes on in a very long time and she could only imagine what fun she and Nigel would have with their clothes off.

Would you let me?

The messages that flew back and forth between them after that quickly went from hot and suggestive to blatantly dirty and Abigail knew all too well where her game-playing would lead.

They finally touched down at Hong Kong airport and as the other passengers filed off the plane, Abigail looked ahead for Nigel.

‘Hey,' he said, smiling as she approached. He'd been waiting for her and gestured for her to go ahead of him, then placed his hand gently in the small of her back. It was the lightest touch, but it was full of intent and her skin burned as if he'd struck her with a match.

They didn't make it to the bar. Glancing around them to check for security, Nigel snuck Abigail into his frequent flyer club lounge and then pulled her into a private bathroom, locking the door behind them. Their bags had barely dropped to the floor before she was yanking Nigel up against her. Their bodies slammed together and his lips collided with hers in a hot, urgent kiss. Leaning against the wall for support, she wrapped her hands around him, sliding them down and into his jeans. He gasped as she felt the hot skin of his buttocks and then grabbed hold of her head to deepen their kiss even further. As his hands slid into her hair, caressing the nape of her neck, his delicious erection pressed against her body and she thought if she didn't have it inside her soon, she would combust. Their illicit messaging had felt like the longest foreplay in history and she was more than ready to take him.

His hands slipped from her hair and she let out a moan of pleasure as one landed on her breast. Damn the clothing between them. As if he could hear her thoughts, Nigel whipped her t-shirt over her head in one swift movement and then dipped his head to her breasts. His mouth covered one hot, already hard nipple and she felt the pull of desire tighten at her core. Fumbling, she worked at the waistband of his jeans, pulling them down and then freeing his splendid cock. Her hands closed around the silken length and he groaned.

‘Abigail, you do much more of that and I won't be responsible for my actions.'

A little voice far back in her head whispered that what they were doing could in no way be described as responsible but she wanted to let go. To have fun. To feel good about herself again.

‘To hell with responsibility,' she whispered, tightening her grip.

That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. He tugged at her zipper, yanked off her panties and trousers, and then lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. Already dying from lust, she wrapped her legs around him as he drove his erection into her.