7. Brooke
First class is incredible. The seats are spacious and comfortable, and even if I were seven feet tall, there’d still be enough legroom.
I smile to myself, feeling good and feeling strong about what I am doing. Which is a relief because a few minutes ago, I let the last twenty-four hours seep in, and the sudden need to cry was almost overwhelming. I was worried my walls were crumbling and I was going to start falling apart. I was beginning to wonder if my strength was only from shock, and now the shock was subsiding, and I was going to fall into a big heap.
But that’s not going to happen. No one falls apart in first class, I decide.
First class fills up quickly, and I start to wonder if the seat next to me is going to remain empty. But then, a man in his forties or fifties sits down beside me. He gives me a look like I’m greatly inconveniencing him by sitting in the seat next to him.
I give him a polite smile. But he offers me nothing but an arrogant glance down his nose at me.
“The name is Alastair Gold. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”
I haven’t. But I don’t get a chance to tell him that because he keeps talking.
“Let’s get a few housekeeping rules out of the way before takeoff.”
Housekeeping rules?
“I’m famous and wealthy and a big deal. But I don’t waste time with small talk or idle chatter, so I would very much prefer it if you don’t talk to me at all during this flight.”
Like I would want to.
He continues. “I don’t know you, and I don’t want to, so don’t waste my time or your time trying. I’ve got better things to do than sit here and make small talk with a stranger I’ll hopefully never see again.”
The feeling is mutual, buddy.
“So please do us both a favor and keep your mouth closed during the flight and—
“Excuse me, sir,” the flight attendant interrupts him.
Which is just as well because I’m two seconds away from telling this jerk to go to hell.
“I’m sorry, but I am going to have to ask you to move seats,” the flight attendant says.
Inwardly, I do a double fist pump. Thank you, God.
The man looks at the flight attendant like she’s just told him the Earth is flat. “What are you talking about?”
I have a feeling he isn’t going to make this easy on her.
“I’m afraid there has been a mix-up,” she explains. “I need you to vacate this seat.”
“What kind of mix-up?”
“This seat has been double booked. But 4A is free.”
“Good, then the other passenger can sit there,” he says.
“I’m afraid that won’t be happening,” says a deep voice from the aisle. I look up, and Mr. Handsome from the first-class lounge is standing right beside us. His presence is intoxicating, like I’ve walked into a cloud of pheromones that are currently invading my senses, and again, my mouth drops open.
“I beg your pardon?” the man next to me says. “Do you know who you are talking to?”
Mr. Handsome’s expression doesn’t change. “No, and I don’t care. You’re sitting in my seat.”
“I know people high-up in this airline.”
“I don’t care if you know God—you’re in my seat. Now get the fuck out of it and move to 4A.”
He doesn’t raise his voice, but boy, the way he says it sends shivers down my spine. There is something menacing in his deep tone. A warning. A dark promise.
The man must think so too, because when he goes to say something, he thinks better of it and gets out of the seat.
He looks so indignant and put out, I want to high-five Mr. Handsome. Except Mr. Handsome doesn’t look like the high-fiving kind.
The flight attendant shows the man to 4A while Mr. Handsome takes the aisle seat next to me.
I’m about to thank him and introduce myself, but his irritation doesn’t seem to be reserved for the jerk who just vacated the seat next to me. It seems I am in his crosshairs too. The look he gives me could burn me to ash and then some. I shrink back, thinking the previous jerk might have been a better option.
I settle back into my seat and close my eyes. I’m not good at flying. Actually, I’m the complete opposite.
I exhale a deep, rough breath.
I can do this.
“You don’t like flying?” a deep voice asks.
My eyes flick open to find Mr. Handsome looking at me.
“No,” I say, feeling the heat of his gaze.
“If it makes you feel any better, you have more chance of dying in a car or riding a bike than on a plane.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better, but thank you for trying.” I huff out a breath. “God, is it too soon to drink?”
His gorgeous, full lips twitch. “It’s only too soon for a drink if you think it is.”
“It’s only ten o’clock.”
“But it’s five o’clock somewhere in the world.”
I smile. “You’re an enabler.”
“No, I just don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. If you want a drink, have one.”
My phone vibrates on my lap. I glance at it. It’s on silent because it is still blowing up with messages. Most of them from Wilson who seems irate because I had the audacity to hang up on him while he was trying to talk this through.
“Sounds like someone is desperate to get in touch with you,” Mr. Handsome says as my phone vibrates again.
I turn it off. “Nothing worth worrying about. Not anymore, anyway.”
One dark eyebrow lifts. “I’m intrigued.”
“Don’t be, it’s not that interesting.” Just my life blowing up.
The captain’s voice comes over the speakers.
“This is your captain speaking. We have a slight delay and won’t be taking off on time. However, our flight crew will be coming through the cabin with complimentary water or soda for all our guests while we wait. We’re sorry for any inconvenience and will do everything we can to get things sorted quickly so we can have you in New York City by lunchtime.”
A murmur of dissatisfaction makes its way through the plane. But the handsome stranger next to me doesn’t react. He remains calm and unruffled. I get the feeling he doesn’t let the little things bother him. But I bet he goes off like a nuclear bomb when it’s something big. He’s got grumpy CEO vibes.
A flight attendant comes past with a cart.
“Champagne?” she asks.
“I thought it was water and soda,” I say, surprised.
She winks and grins. “Welcome to first class, honey.”
I accept the champagne gratefully. It’s not served in a plastic glass either, it’s real glass.
“Sir?” Mr. Handsome nods, and she hands him a glass.
“You can leave the bottle,” he says in a calm but deep, powerful voice.
The flight attendant doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
“An entire bottle? It’s a two-hour flight,” I say when the flight attendant walks away.
“Then you’d better start drinking.”
His dark eyes blaze with something a little wicked, and I realize he got the bottle for me because he thinks it will help with my nerves. I drain my glass.
I feel Mr. Handsome’s curious gaze on me. “So tell me, are you visiting New York for business or pleasure?”
“I’m running away,” I say without thinking because the champagne has taken over my tongue.
He lifts a perfect eyebrow. “From?”
“The giant crater that is my life after my ex-fiancé dropped a bomb on it.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Don’t be. Apparently, I dodged a bullet, or so everyone keeps telling me.”
“But you don’t believe you did?”
“Oh, I know I did.”
“Then it sounds like your fiancé did you a favor.”
“Ex- fiancé. And yes, he did. Turns out he wasn’t a good guy after all.”
And just like that, the floodgates open, and thanks to the glass of champagne and lack of sleep, I spend the next ten minutes filling Mr. Handsome in on what happened. Being ditched at the altar. But how it shouldn’t be a surprise because hey, my loser fiancé hadn’t fucked me in weeks because he was too busy shagging some chick called Laura and doing God knows what and who else. It tumbles out before I can stop it, and I start to think Mr. Handsome is going to regret even casting an eye in my direction, let alone striking up a conversation with me. But he listens intently, those dark eyes not leaving my face, only occasionally dropping to my lips.
“Oh fuck,” I say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to unleash all of that on you.”
“Don’t be sorry. It sounds like you’ve been through a lot.”
“Isn’t there some saying about making it through the storm to get to the sunshine? If not, I’m printing it on a T-shirt.”
“Then we should toast to your newfound freedom.” He refills both our glasses and holds his up, his gaze focused on me. “To new beginnings…” Wickedness fills his eyes. “And way better sex.”
The way he says sex drips with innuendo and spice, and a lustful throb begins to beat at my core.
Heat crackles between us before I manage to lift my glass to my lips to take a sip.
The airplane jets come to life, and my anxiety skyrockets, instantly throwing cold water on the moment.
We start to move, and I grip the armrest.
“Jesus,” I whisper while inwardly cursing myself. When I canceled the plane tickets to Las Vegas I should’ve used the money to buy something other than more plane tickets. Like a spa day. Or used it to replace the six hundred dollars Wilson the Loser stole. Why did I choose to put myself through this hell?
The flight attendant sweeps through the cabin, collecting cups and telling everyone to straighten their seats and put their trays away. When she tries to take the champagne bottle from Mr. Handsome, he simply commands, “Leave it.” And she does as he says.
And I’m grateful because my heart is racing and my nerves are frazzled, so I’m going to need more champagne for when we land.
I press the back of my skull into the headrest.
The flight attendant takes us through the safety demonstration, and a few minutes later, our jet is racing down the runway. I hold my breath. I’ve never been a good flyer. It used to annoy the hell out of Wilson whenever we visited his family in Connecticut. He’d get annoyed and tell me to get a grip, saying I let myself get worked up over something I have no control over, which was pointless.
Okay, you zen asshole.
I close my eyes and release my breath slowly through my lips.
I don’t have to worry about him anymore.
My mind flips back to the phone call. You’re vanilla. And my eyes flick open as the humiliation sweeps through me again.
He called me predictable and boring. But I couldn’t even get him to bend me over the couch to fuck me.
We lift off and my stomach dips, and I grip the armrest so hard my knuckles are white.
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” comes that deep voice next to me. I glance at him. He’s relaxed and calm, and it’s actually helpful. He seems so in control, so sure of every move he makes, and I can’t imagine him dying in a plane crash because of it, which is really good for me and everyone else on this plane.
I let out a shaky breath and laugh off my anxiety. “You’re right, it wasn’t.”
Because our glasses are gone, he hands me the bottle.
“Go on,” he encourages. “Liquid courage.”
I grin and take a hearty swig. “Anyone would think you were trying to get me drunk.”
“It’s purely for medicinal reasons.” He leans closer and wipes a drop of champagne from my chin.
Goosebumps pebble my skin because, holy shit, this man smells too divine for words.
I blame the champagne because, out of nowhere, I imagine him in bed. He’d take control, there’s no doubt about it. He’d use his deep, commanding voice to tell you to come, and you would. And he’s definitely like the guy who would give you a thousand orgasms before he took his own.
Damn.
I pull my knees together to squelch the heady pulse that just took up between my thighs.
How long has it been since I’ve had an orgasm, four weeks? And even then, it wasn’t with Wilson. It was after he had rolled over and gone to sleep and I snuck into the bathroom to finish off what he started.
I take another swig of champagne. I should probably go easy. All the bubbles are making me feel reckless.
I turn to Mr. Handsome and offer him my hand. “My name is Brooke.”
He takes my hand, and a warm zip of electricity bolts through me. “Lev.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, the heat of his gaze skimming along my skin like sunshine. “And what about you—are you heading to New York for business or pleasure?”
He smiles, and it’s devastating.
“Business.” A wicked gleam burns in those dark eyes as he drops his gaze to my lips. “But now I’m thinking it might be pleasure.”