AFTER THE RAIN (Bonus edition)

23. Maybe, just kinda maybe

She would deny it if ever asked, especially by Marcus.

Totally, absolutely, utterly, positively, definitely, categorically and any other words in the English dictionary that ended in 'ly' deny it! She would deny it loudly and proudly and repeatedly – and again using any other words that ended in 'ly'. She would shout it from the rooftops and the balconies and any other high things that people stand on that allowed them to see other people below, or whatever! Deny, deny, and deny some more, because for the last forty minutes, it had felt like she had been having sex in the back of a helicopter with Marcus.

But, like she said – D E N Y.

Because it hadn't really happened.

Because everything that had happened had been perfectly normal.

Because it was all necessary and perfectly, innocently explainable.

Okay, so maybe it hadn't been entirely necessary for her to press her back into him like that. But it could have been necessary, because that's what people do when they sit on other people's laps to stabilize themselves, don't they? Maybe, just kinda maybe, it hadn't been entirely necessary to grip his thighs with her hands, but she had needed to anchor herself when the helicopter had gotten a bit wobbly. His thighs were the closest things to grab onto, and they had seemed like a sensible choice at the time – so firm and muscular. You have to hold onto something, right?

Possibly, she hadn't needed to tilt her neck back just enough that her face was only centimeters from his and she could feel his hot breath on the side of her cheek... possibly. Okay, okay, and perhaps, just a tiny bit, maybe it wasn't soooo necessary to slide backwards and forwards on his lap those few times while adjusting her position. But the bags had tilted and pushed her a little and she had needed to readjust her position – that was totally, legitimately necessary. But maybe it had not been entirely necessary to have the readjusting take the form of a kind of bump-and-grind lap dance. Perhaps she had taken that one a bit far, because she had felt something down there stir a little...

And some might say it was also unnecessary to accidentally move her hands just that tiny bit higher when the luggage had slipped again and bumped her, giving her yet another reason to readjust. But it could have all been necessary. None of it was blatantly inappropriate. None of it was totally unnecessary in a way that would indicate she was one of those perverts who got off on dry humping unsuspecting victims.

But whatever the necessity factor of the whole thing had been, she had just experienced the most erotic, sexually-charged, mind-blowingly, amazingly sexy moment of her entire life in the back of the helicopter. Let's not forget the pilot, because they hadn't been alone in there. If they had been...

***

Marcus would vehemently deny it to anyone who asked. He had not just taken full advantage of an otherwise innocent situation to the point that it'd felt like he had been having sex with Stormy for the past forty minutes. Having the most exciting, naughty kind of sex that any two people could possibly have. Like in the back of a car at a drive-in, knowing full well they could get caught at any moment. That's how it had felt. But no – let's be clear about this – no advantage had been taken. None. He had done nothing inappropriate.

Maybe it hadn't been totally appropriate to wrap his arms so tightly around her, but she needed to be held in place, otherwise she might have wobbled around during the flight. He was only doing that for her own protection, really. Any gentleman would have done the same thing in his position. But maybe it wasn't entirely appropriate that his hands had sort of slipped a little so that they were more on her upper thighs, very upper thighs, than around her waist in the acceptable manner of platonically and protectively holding someone in place.

And perhaps when they'd slipped, it shouldn't have happened so slowly that his hands had taken their time tracing their way down her body, over her dress and across her small, petite curves. Okay, and maybe it was just a little inappropriate that he had moved her hair out the way and let his fingers trace the back of her neck ever so slowly as he did so. But her hair had been in his face. It was basically blowing in his eye; any man would have needed to move it. But maybe someone might have perceived it as inappropriate when he leaned so close to her exposed neck that his face came into contact with it. That he had inhaled her scent and his lips had touched her neck and when he had moved, they had kind of grazed the entire length of her sweet-smelling, slender neck.

And someone out there might also say that it had been unnecessary to sort of... well, okay, he had kind of pressed himself into her a bit – but only because she had started wiggling on his lap. He couldn't help it. He was a man, after all. It was a perfectly natural response to a woman – a very, very, very attractive woman – sliding up and down on his lap. Nothing to be ashamed of, a natural response.

So why did he feel like a lascivious old man, copping a secret feel? A pervert taking advantage of an innocent situation? Because – if he had to be truly honest, if he was in the dock being sworn in before a judge – that's exactly what he had been doing. He had totally taken advantage of the moment of closeness between them, a moment that should have been totally innocent. Especially when Stormy had leaned forward just enough for him to sort of see down the top of her dress just a tiny bit – no bra, no bra! Marcus hoped that Stormy hadn't noticed any of it, especially because there are certain things a man can hide, and certain things a man cannot hide physically, if you get the drift...

The helicopter landed safely – no plummeting soup cans and all that – and they both disembarked. Marcus couldn't bear to look her in the eye, though. He felt as guilty as he had the time he'd stolen a chocolate from the shop when he was eight. He'd felt so guilt-ridden that when he got home and climbed under his bed to hide, he wasn't even able to eat and enjoy it.

And he knew his face was betraying him, because it was bright red – stained with embarrassment and guilt. He could feel the heat radiating off it, like his body was at least five degrees hotter than what was natural and normal. He glanced quickly at Stormy and noticed that she too was avoiding eye contact; her eyes were flicking around wildly, looking everywhere but in his direction. It made her look a little mad, actually. Her cheeks too were no longer that pretty pale pink, but rather a crimson color.

Shit. She knew.

He was officially that guy. The guy that accidentally bumps into women on the street, who pushes up against them in the lift or on the subway, the guy at work who all the women complained about because he was always finding "legitimate" reasons to hug and touch them.

He was totally mortified. And really disappointed in himself, to be honest. Why was it that when it came to Stormy, he wasn't able to control himself and keep his primal urges at bay? And to make matters worse, he'd been the one that had made a big deal about "not being the guy who fucks her on the side of the road". Only, if he had his way right now, he could quite happily be the guy who fucked her against the side of the helicopter. But he knew it wouldn't be like that for him – and that's why a full-blown war was being waged inside him, between what his heart and his hormones wanted, and what he knew was the right thing to do.

But with all wars, there had to be a winner and a loser. And right now, he was losing. That part of him that was fighting so, so, so hard to hold onto control was failing. And fast.

Soon, his heart and hormones were going to flatten logic and reason in one almighty last stand, and then he was going to have to give in.