His chauffeur drove extra slowly, testing Justin’s patience. He reined in his temper, and called his assistant from the car phone. “Rita—”
“Oh my gosh, Justin, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but my laptop’s toast. Ship a replacement to my address in L.A. Make sure it gets there before COB today. And I need a new charger. Have it waiting for me at SFO.” He didn’t have Vanessa’s number memorized—an oversight that was going to be corrected ASAP—and his personal cell was the only phone that had it.
“Anything else?”
“Cancel all my appointments for today and tomorrow. If anybody calls, I’m not in. And get me on the first flight to L.A.”
* * *
Vanessa ended up going home, where she sat trembling in front of the TV. None of the news stations had anything about the crash in San Francisco. She googled, but that didn’t yield much either. Everything was speculative—one early report said a man had died, then published a correction. It seemed like nobody knew what was really going on. Probably more interested in posting something first, she thought angrily, rather than something accurate.
Frustrated, she undid her hair and started pacing. Jittery energy and tension gripped her. Even now Justin’s family might be preparing for a funeral.
She hugged herself. No. She wouldn’t be negative.
But she still hadn’t heard anything about the accident, and his phone kept forwarding her to the voice mail. Surely, if Justin was okay, he would’ve called.
Maybe there was some other reason why he couldn’t call. Maybe he’d lost his phone in the accident. She picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts. The names of clients, friends and colleagues flashed by. Her family probably didn’t know any better than her, and she didn’t know the numbers for Justin’s family.
Of course, she could find it easily enough. But it seemed awkward to call one of the Sterling & Wilson offices and ask, “Hey, did Justin survive?”
She was Justin’s wife. She should be the first one to know. And if she hadn’t been so damn insistent about keeping their relationship secret, she would have been.
Keys jangled at the door, and she turned sharply. Justin walked in, and for a moment her brain couldn’t process what it was seeing.
“Hey,” Justin said, opening his arms.
“You’re not dead!” She jumped into his arms, linking her hands behind his neck. “You’re not dead.”
“I’m fine, baby. I’m fine.” He wiped his thumbs over her cheeks, and she realized once again that she’d been crying.
“I thought… I couldn’t reach you and nobody knew anything.”
“I know, I’m so sorry. I forgot to charge my phone last night.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s all okay now. Are you hurt?”
“Nah. A couple of bruises, nothing to talk about. It’s almost a miracle.”
She pressed her palms against his cheeks and brought his head down for a kiss. She couldn’t believe he was with her, healthy and whole.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
He kissed her back, his mouth desperate for her, and she poured her soul into the moment.
Without breaking the kiss, he carried her to the bedroom. They stripped each other out of their clothes, hands hurried and clumsy. His fingers tunneled into her hair, coiling it around them. He gripped her pelvis, and she spread her legs, wanting to feel him inside her so much, to know he was really here with her.
He pushed into her, his thick cock gliding into her right where it belonged. There was no slow savoring, just desperate relief and joy that they had cheated death.
He adjusted the angle, grinding into her sensitive nub with every thrust. Legs wrapped around him, she held onto his wide, solid shoulders, and sobbed out her relief and pleasure.
He let go, his face stark in climax. She put her hand against his flushed cheek.
Mine.
* * *