1. Sienna #2
I took it, my fingers just barely brushing against his, and tried not to think about what that did to me as I glanced down at the glass instead.
It tasted exactly like what I needed to get through this conversation and however long it would take to actually get on board and lock myself in my private seat.
“So,” he said, sinking back into his seat with his glass of amber liquid in hand. “Flying solo on a couple's trip. That’s bold.”
“I didn’t say it was a couple's trip,” I shot back over the rim of my glass.
He shrugged. “You said Amalfi. You said ex . And I’m pretty sure you said you kept the vacation, so I made a logical leap.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and dodged the conversation entirely. “You heading to Italy for business or pleasure?” I hated the word as soon as it came out. Pleasure .
His head tilted left and right, weighing it up. “Bit of both. Mostly business,” he said, leaning forward a little and dropping his voice before continuing, “but I won’t lie and say I don’t enjoy the pleasure part more.”
I snorted into my glass. “Christ.” The confidence in him was annoyingly overwhelming.
Not arrogance, though he was definitely cocky, but he moved and spoke like he’d earned the right to say what he wanted.
Like the world had bent enough times for him that he didn’t feel a need to fake it.
Subject change. Now. Before he says something else. “So, you’re rich, then?”
He laughed — properly, this time, not hidden behind his hand or muffled. “Why are you asking?”
I shrugged, taking a sip of my drink before setting it down gently . “That’s just the vibe you give off. You’ve got ‘I own a yacht and have a mistress in Monaco’ energy.”
The grin from his laugh stayed plastered to his cheeks. “I’d argue with that if it wasn’t half true. I don’t have a mistress.”
“Oh, good,” I said dryly. “Just the yacht, then.”
He chuckled as he brought his— bourbon? whiskey? —to his lips. “Last I checked, we’re both in the first-class lounge, Sienna.”
I shot him a look before directing my gaze elsewhere. “There’s a difference between first-class rich and whatever… this is,” I said, gesturing toward him.
“You say that like you fit into the first category.” He didn’t miss a beat. Just laid it out there, not like it was an insult, but a fact. I scowled at him. But then he spoke again. “You don’t. That’s clear. But I’d bet good money every man in this room’s wondered what you taste like anyway.”
I nearly choked on my saliva.
A voice crackled over the speakers above, blessedly saving me. Now calling boarding for our First-Class passengers with StrathOne Air for the 7:15 pm flight to Naples, Italy.
I stood faster than I probably should have, gripping the handle of my carry-on in my hand and tugging at the bottom of my dress to make sure it hadn’t caught on anything. Matt rose beside me with far too much easy grace, polished off the last of his drink, and set the glass on the table.
“After you,” he said, motioning toward the exit.
The temptation to flick him on the forehead almost won out.
The walk to the gate was quiet, him trailing behind me without a bag in sight.
I could feel his eyes on me as we scanned our passports and boarding passes, could feel him staring as I walked down the gangway in front of him.
I glanced behind me when the feeling faded, catching a quick glimpse of him speaking to one of the attendants in the gangway, but kept moving.
I wasn’t going to be wooed by a random silver-haired mystery man with a voice like silk and hands that could probably make me forget how to say my own name. Especially not one who seemed like he was already convinced he could .
Except I’d already thought about it. Twice. Fuck, three times now.
“Here you are, Miss James. 1A. Enjoy the flight.”
I had to check with the flight attendant that I was definitely in the right spot before I was even slightly confident this…
suite , if I could even call it that, belonged to me.
The walls that blocked each one were tall enough to reach my eyes, creating a private space with a lounging chair that looked far more like a La-Z-Boy than an airplane seat and an already-made bed on one side. Ridiculous. Fantastic.
I set my bag down inside just in time to see Matt’s head appear around the corner of the cabin, smiling as he refused help from one of the attendants. I hesitated in the entryway to mine.
He passed the first set of suites.
I glared at him.
He checked his ticket and let out a bark of laughter. “Convenient,” he said, stopping beside the door of the suite one down from mine. 2A.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned. “That’s too close. That’s weird .”
An attendant wordlessly passed him a small suitcase as if that was completely normal, and he rolled it just inside before flashing me a grin. “What are the odds?”
“You did something,” I accused, narrowing my eyes.
“I didn’t,” he chuckled, raising his hands in surrender as he leaned against the exterior wall of his suite. “I booked late. It was the only one available.”
I gave him a long, exhausted look. His smile didn’t fade in the slightest.