Fighting for Flight JB Salsbury (room on the broom read aloud .TXT) 📖

“I understand. It just caught me off guard. Del Toro, Camille, my mom . . .”

“Crazy night.”

I nod.

“Feel good? Telling her off like that?”

My face heats, and I’m thankful it’s dark so he can’t see it; although, he can probably feel it through his shirt.

“How much did you hear?”

“Everything. You were yelling pretty loud. I’m proud of you, baby.” His warm hand caresses my arm, reinforcing his words.

“Proud? I acted like an idiot in there. Made a fool out of myself, out of you.”

“You stood up for yourself. Let your mom know what you’ve been keeping inside for way too long. What you did was really brave.”

Once again, he gives, unknowingly filling my emotional cup to the brim. And then some.

“Please tell me no one from your team heard. Your boss? Your publicist? Camille!” My voice grows louder as hysteria returns.

“Shhh, they had no clue. I went to find you and saw you leaning over your mom like a bear about to attack. I told the hostess to give them the message that you were sick and I had to get you home. Did me a favor. I hate those stuffy dinners, everyone blowing sunshine up each other’s asses.”

The limo slows to a stop. I peer out the window to see we’re in Jonah’s driveway. Charlie, the limo driver, opens the door and Jonah gets out. I hear him mumbling something about not talking to the media followed by Charlie’s emphatic agreement. Jonah reaches in to help me out of the car.

“Miss Raven, it’s been a pleasure.” Charlie’s face looks concerned.

I wipe my eyes and smile. “Thank you, Charlie. It was nice meeting you.”

Jonah tosses him a thick fold of bills and a chin lift and guides me to the front door. I beeline it to Jonah’s room to take off my dress and wash my face.

Stepping into the bathroom, I flip on the light and recoil at my reflection. Walking closer to the mirror, I tilt my head and squint.

Holy heck.

Black eye makeup marks channel down my face like a road map of mayhem. Blotchy red marks on my cheeks and forehead highlight my bloodshot eyes. I look like a demented prom queen, minus all the blood. And Jonah held me like this, as I screamed every cuss word I could think of.

My hands fly to my mouth. He must think I’m a lunatic.

Words thrown from my hissy fit come rushing back. The memory of Jonah’s hazel eyes, wide and set on me while . . . While I made a total fool out of myself.

Hysteria swells in my chest. I roll my lips into my mouth and force back the maniacal laughter. A fluttering bubbles up from my chest as I recall my mom’s face when I stepped to her table. Laughter explodes, ricocheting off the tiled walls. Mark’s face when he saw Jonah has me doubled over. The sorry sack looked like he soiled his briefs.

The intensity of what happened sinks in. I muffle my frenzy into a washcloth, hoping its cool contact will ease the delirium. My cheeks hurt from smiling and I check out my blurred reflection. Crazy eyes, bleeding black tears, huge smile. Pure, certifiable insanity.

I collapse into a torrent of giggles, causing rivers to stream down my face. Tears born of laughter feel so much better than those born from pain. My jaw aches, but the howl continues to tumble from my lips.

My side cramps. I press against the pain and try to calm down with deep breathing.

It doesn’t work.

My stomach muscles contract as I cackle without control. The sound fades in waves as I trade oxygen for lunacy. Is it possible to die of laughter?

I sense movement from the corner of my eye. Jonah is standing in the doorway, frozen and staring. Without the breath to speak, I hold up my palm and pray he gets the message. Yes. I’ve officially lost it.

“What the fuck?” he whispers.

I shake my head, pleading with him to stop. If he speaks another word, I’m pretty sure I’ll cough up my kidneys from laughing.

He tilts his head, studying me. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He didn’t listen. I squeeze my eyes shut, and soundless laughter racks my body.

“I . . . can’t . . . stop.” I manage to get out the words before another wave of laughter brings me to my knees.

“Baby?” His lips are twitching like he’s fighting the urge to join me in Crazytown.

He closes the distance between us in two long strides and he kneels in front of me. His face is fixed in a sexy half-grin; his eyelids are low and lustful. He grabs my face hard, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get my attention. My laughter dies under the intensity of his stare. Blood races through my veins and my belly somersaults. Heat blooms in my chest and I lean in.

“There she is,” he whispers.

My pulse surges with a furious passion that is anything but funny. Eyeing his full lips, I get closer, pressing my chest against his. My tongue slowly makes a pass along my lower lip, preparing for his attention.

“That’s my girl,” he growls before his lips cover mine.

Exploring his mouth, desire consumes me. I scrape my teeth along the inside of his bottom lip and swallow his answering groan. All the emotions from this evening are spiraling together to fuel the kiss and ramp up my need. I rip through his dress shirt, buttons bouncing off the marble floor. Pushing it from his shoulders, I run my hands down his rippled abdomen, digging my nails in as I go. His hands tangle in my hair to deepen the kiss. The smell of mint and aftershave permeate the air and seduce my senses.

His hand trails down my arm, leaving a wake of fire against my skin. With a gentle touch, he finds the slit of my dress, pushing the fabric aside at my hip. Still on my knees, I spread my legs in anticipation. He