Blown Away (A Romantic Comedy) (Five More Wishes Book 1) (6 page)

“Look at me,” Cade orders. I look at him, and he’s looking right back at me. The lust and desire are still there, but now they’re joined by another look. A look like he wants to look at me for a very long time. A deep connection look. A commitment look. My skin is alive, red, and on fire, despite the cold air. 

Our second sexual escapade has evolved into something deeper and more important. I try not to read too much in the gentle way he rocks against me, connecting our bodies. I try not to believe that this is something more than a roll in the hay, or in this instance a roll in a rattan basket, or whatever the basket is made of. But no matter how much I try not to, I’m reading all kinds of things into Cade’s sensual lovemaking, his butterfly kisses, and the emotion that’s emanating from his pores.

I’m overcome and made silent by the emotional intensity, but the physical intensity is pretty powerful, too. Wrapping my arms around him, I pull myself closer and trail light kisses down his throat, tasting his salty skin. He thrusts faster, clutching my hips tightly. I meet him thrust for thrust, and I know that he’s close to finding his fulfillment.  He fills me completely, and I tighten my inner core, holding him, which makes him groan loudly. His lips take mine in a ferocious, territorial kiss, while his body retracts and then explodes inside me.

Holy Moses.

We stay locked in an embrace, our bodies still connected, for a long time. Cade combs my hair with his fingers, and I rest my head on his shoulder, nestling my face against his neck, breathing in his heady musk.

Very slowly, reality comes knocking on my head. I try to bar it from entering, but reality is a cruel bitch with a vicious left hook. It breaks into my brain and won’t leave. And boy is it loud.

You can’t decide to be together just because you’re having a baby, the cruel bitch insists. A family has to be based on more than a surprise pregnancy. I try to block out reality, but I know what she’s talking about. It’s not advisable to create an entire life from nothing, from an accident and two explosive sexual encounters. We would need more than that to build a lifelong relationship to parent together. You need to love each other, the bitch says.

Love…the golden unicorn of single life. There’s no way Cade loves me. If he loves me, he would have told me at some point during the past twenty years. Instead of saying he loved me, however, Cade called me fart-attack for three years after an unfortunate incident in the middle school cafeteria after my second breakfast burrito.

The reality bitch is right. Fart-attack is not a euphemism for love. Cade doesn’t love me, and a life-long crush, amazing sex, and his genetic seed growing in my body doesn’t mean that I love him. I inhale his scent deeply and sigh.

This is not going to happen. This is impossible, just like flying over the continental U.S. in a hot air balloon that neither of us know how to handle. The balloon is going to kill us, and so will any kind of artificially constructed arrangement between us.

That’s what I tell him.

Slowly, I extricate myself from Cade’s embrace and get dressed. I insist that he cover up, and when we’re both totally G-rated, I tell him that even if I’m bearing his child, we can’t be together.

His reaction is suitably shocked without a hint of relief on his face. It’s kind of him not to shout “yee-hah” or some other cheer of euphoria because he’s off the hook and doesn’t have to commit to me or buy me a ring.

“We can’t build a relationship on an oops and good sex,” I explain.

“Oh,” he says with a lost expression on his face. “I thought that was what you wanted, but I guess this way is smarter.”

I want to smack him again. I understand now. He only said all of those things about toilet seats and commitment because he felt guilty and thought it’s what I wanted. Of course it’s what I wanted! But he should have wanted it, too. Rejection is a bitter pill, and it’s leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

“Where’s the caviar?” I ask. I need to stem the hurt somehow.

“You ate it all.”

“I ate a one-pound can of caviar?” No way. Not possible. Cade nods. Oh, God. I’m going to be three-hundred pounds by the time I have this baby. I’m never eating again. From now on, it’s only chicken breasts and broccoli that goes past my lips.

But for now, I’m still hungry. “Check the cooler for something else. I could go for Fig Newtons or a Pop Tart. Or a turkey.”

I’m talking very loudly, kind of like I’m hailing a cab or I’m a mad woman at Bellevue who won’t take her meds. Cade shoots me a panicked look and opens the cooler.

“I don’t see any food,” he says. “Hold on a sec. What’s this?”

He pulls out a large white package wrapped in plastic. It looks like a brick of confectioner’s sugar, which normally would make my mouth water, but the niggling doubt that a deposed dictator would store twenty pounds of powdered sugar in his hot air balloon has erased my hunger.

“Uh oh,” I say. It’s a buttload of cocaine.

“I think Samba left something behind.”

“It looks like he left his retirement account,” I say, and it makes me wonder if he was supposed to jump out with the cooler but forgot in all the excitement.

“Maybe he figured it was stored in his parachute backpack?” Cade asks.

We stare at the giant block of cocaine for a moment. It’s really big. Cade’s bicep bulges as he lifts it. It must be worth millions.

Millions.

Millions is a lot of dollars.

It’s like looking at a winning lottery ticket, a new house, and an easy future. It’s also like looking at twenty-five to life, getting tattooed with a ballpoint pen, and being the unwilling intimate companion of a large woman named Ted. I shudder.

“I think we’re in trouble. This is going to end badly,” I say.

“You figured that out, huh?”

“I don’t mean just the balloon.” I lift my eyebrows toward the cocaine.

“You have a point. Unless we’re planning on setting up shop on the mean streets and compete with the Colombian cartels, we need to get as far away from the ton of happy powder as possible.”

Cade puts the cocaine back in the cooler and stands up, dusting his hands off on his jeans.

He helps me up, and I get dizzy from the view. With all of the commitment talk, the sex, and the cocaine, I pretty much forgot that we’re hanging precariously from a balloon as it passes through the Rockies.

I slap my hand over my eyes and will the world to stop spinning. Vertigo. I hate heights, but I will myself to take a deep breath and get over it just for now. I peek through my fingers after a moment. There’s lots of blue sky, a few clouds, and mountains all around us and right underneath us. I could almost jump out of the balloon and land safely. The proximity to the ground makes me a lot less anxious.

“This isn’t so bad,” I say. “We’ve lost a lot of altitude.” I take a deep breath, optimistic for the first time since we got stuck in the balloon that we might make it out unscathed.

“We haven’t lost any altitude, Millie. We’re in the mountains. Really, really tall mountains.”

I look down. We’re passing over a peak and ahead of us is a forest of trees. A gust of wind hits us hard, and our basket knocks into the top of a tree, jolting us and sending the basket swinging from side to side. We swing wildly, and I’m sure this is it. This is the way I die.

I almost tumble out, but Cade catches me with one arm and pulls me close against him while he holds onto the basket with his other hand, preventing us from falling to our deaths. It seems to take forever for the basket to steady itself, and I can feel Cade’s body tense, as the fear wears off and irritation takes its place. He’s angry, really angry.

“All righty,” he says. “I’m tired of this shit. Time to get proactive.”

Proactive sounds good. I’m all for an alternative to dying. “What’s your plan?”

Cade opens the cooler, again, and pulls out a large knife, pointing it at me.

I put my hands up. “Don’t do it! I want to live!”

“For pity’s sake,” he mutters and puts the knife behind his back. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m not even married to you.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Then what the hell, Cade?”

“It’s the plan. You’re going to take the knife, climb up on my shoulders, and puncture the balloon so that we can land,” he says, like he’s telling me to go to the store to pick up a half gallon of milk.

“I’m totally on board with me taking the knife,” I say. “But you lost me after that.”

“It’s the only solution to our problem.”

“The only solution to our problem is for me to climb onto your shoulders to pop the balloon and plummet to our death?” I ask.

“I’m reasonably sure that it won’t pop. We will simply float downward. It will be a gentle landing.”

“Define reasonably sure.”

He takes my hand in his and looks deeply into my eyes. “Come on, Millie. Let’s not wait for death to get us.”

“Are you kidding? I would much rather wait for death than jump into its waiting arms.”

He bends down and slaps one of his shoulders. “Come on, old girl. Heave ho.”

“’Old girl?’ ‘Heave ho?’”

He slaps his shoulder, again. “Let’s do this thing. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

The man has obviously flipped his lid. He’s come down with a sudden case of mad cow disease, which has turned his brain into jelly. I look up at the giant balloon above us. It’s huge, much closer to the sky and much further away from the ground. There’s no way I’m going up there. I’m hit with another wave of vertigo, and I stumble. Cade grabs hold of me.

“You can do it,” he says low in his throat, making me want to kiss him.

“There’s already a hole in the balloon,” I whine. I’m not lying. There’s a large hole at the bottom, where the fire is billowing up into the balloon, making it stay afloat.

“I know. You’re going to put a big rip in it higher than that.”

“Higher than that? Higher than that?” I screech, sounding like I’ve been sucking on helium. “I can’t go higher than that. Why don’t you do it?”

He holds me and pets my head with his knife hand. “I can’t do it because I can’t climb onto your shoulders. You wouldn’t be able to hold my weight,” he says, logically. Damned logic.

“You drank all the champagne,” I accuse. I want to be drunk more than anything.

“I was saving our baby.” Oh. Our baby. His ownership catches me unaware, and I’m stupidly persuaded to risk my life. “I’ll hold tight to you. I promise.”

“Okay,” I croak.

I want to slap back the words into my mouth. I mean, what a shitty plan. Any plan would be better than this. I wrack my brain, trying to think of any other plan, but before I can come up with a Mission Impossible life-saving plan, Cade moves quickly. He slices the front of my skirt up to my crotch with the knife.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I yell. My skirt is in tatters with the pieces billowing up around me.

“You need to be able to move your legs,” he explains, handing me the knife.

I look at it. It’s long and sharp, the kind of knife to use for some kind of chopping for cooking. I don’t know. I don’t cook. “You gave me the knife. Are you insane?”

Cade shrugs. “I thought it was even money whether you’d stab me or not. I’m betting that your maternal instincts will kick in and weigh on the side of my safety.”

I wield the knife in a threatening manner, but he’s right. I can’t kill the father of my child. Besides, I don’t like blood, and no way am I going to die alone in this balloon.

“Are you sure it’s going to work?” I ask.

“Are you kidding? I’m not sure at all. I’m just winging it.” Cade slaps his shoulder, again. He squats and grabs my thighs, moving me to straddle him. Sure enough, ripping my skirt allows me to separate my legs and hop onto Cade’s shoulders. With little effort, he stands up with his hands clinging tightly to my thighs.

Up on Cade’s shoulders in a hot air balloon thousands of feet above ground is much higher than the second rung of a ladder. Birds don’t fly this high. Bill Maher has never been this high. It’s really, really high. Oh my God, I can’t be this high. It’s way too high. The wind whips around, blowing my hair and the pieces of my skirt. My freak-out is growing exponentially, and I feel myself going over. Well, not really, but my freak-out is telling me that eventually I will go over. I grab onto Cade’s head with a death grip, which makes sense since I’m about to die, and I drop the knife to the floor of the basket.

“My eyes! My eyes!” Cade shouts. My thumbs might be gouging out his eyes, while I hold on for dear life. As much as I don’t want to gouge out his eyes, I can’t force my hands to let him go. Screaming in agony, Cade slams down on his knees, and I roll off him. “You blinded me! I can’t believe you blinded me!”

“I can’t believe it, either because I didn’t blind you. Don’t exaggerate,” I say and hold up two fingers in front of his face. “How many?”

“Three?” he asks, squinting with tears streaming down his face.

“Exactly,” I lie. “You’re fine.”

Cade wipes his eyes with his sleeve and hands me the knife, again. “Okay. Here we go. Don’t let me down, Millie.”

His red, blotchy eyes are doing a great impression of a stray puppy. I’m a sucker for puppies, but an even bigger sucker for not letting people down. He knows my kryptonite… Guilt.

I straddle him, again, but this time I hold on to the top of his head, leaving his eyes alone. He clutches tight to my thighs as he stands, bracing his feet to balance us. I’m hit with another wave of vertigo.

“The world is going around,” I complain.

“Yes, I know. I learned that in third grade science class. Don’t worry about it. Think happy thoughts.” I try to think happy thoughts, but they all end with me falling to my death. “Reach up and slash the balloon,” he commands. “Do it! Slash it! Go ahead! Reach up there!”

Reaching up entails letting go of Cade’s head. I’m hovering over the basket, only one hiccup or slip on a banana peel away from doing the world’s longest swan dive. I’m shaking like a leaf. My heart is pounding in my chest like it’s the Marine Band. It’s all I can do not to pee on Cade. I will my knife hand to release him, but my fingers won’t comply.

“Reach up! Reach up!” Cade yells. He’s not quite as steady on his feet as he was a moment before.