Chapter 5
Chapter five
A Few Minutes Later
The engines growl beneath the floor as we prepare to taxi to the runway.
He gestures to the seat beside him, a decision sending a jolt to my heart even if I pretend otherwise. The leather is buttery soft and the seat is heated. His thigh is a mere inch from mine.
Too close. Not close enough.
He drains the rest of his champagne and rests his forearm on the armrest between us. I do the same and the flight attendant whisks the glasses away for takeoff.
There’s something about our energy tonight. It’s reckless. Dangerous.
The jet turns onto the runway. My stomach seizes. Zach glances at me. I hold his gaze.
We lift.
Seattle falls into a glitter of sparkly lights and our world narrows to cabin light, vibration, and electric energy.
The crew moves stealthily. Seatbelt signs chime off once we level. The forward cabin dims further, amber sliding into something softer.
New flutes of champagne are presented. I take a sip and allow the bubbles to settle under my tongue. Caviar service is placed between us with near silent precision. Silver lid lifted. Blinis. Crème fra?che smooth as silk.
“You do realize,” I break the silence, “most people would have offered peanuts.”
He turns, glass resting between his fingers. “When will you get it through your thick head? I’m not most people. Especially to you.”
My pulse skitters.
I stare at him and laugh under my breath. “You’ve lost perspective.”
“Possibly.”
He spreads crème fra?che over a blini, adds a measured spoonful of caviar and hands it to me without breaking eye contact.
I take it. Our fingers brush. Salt and cream dissolve in my mouth. I close my eyes for a fraction of a second before opening them again.
“This is absurdly delicious,” I sigh.
“You deserve absurd.” He smiles. “Always have.”
I laugh nervously because…Jesus.
The flight attendant discreetly indicates the smaller dining table in the galley complete with white linen, candles encased in glass, and plates positioned dangerously close together.
Zach rises first, unhurried, and I follow him back as the cabin lights dim a fraction lower. We settle side by side, our shoulders nearly parallel. I can’t help but wonder if the arrangement is intentionally intimate.
We talk about safe things at first. Julian’s scheduling anxiety. Marisol’s obsession with Disney. Irving’s inability to sit through any ceremony without wry commentary.
Our knees keep touching, the contact accidental. In theory. Neither of us moves away. Every time the aircraft sways slightly, our legs brush together again, and a quiet pulse shoots through me before I can brace for it.
My senses are heightened. Hitched breath. Heat gathers fast in my core and lingers. Proximity to Zach is intoxicating, even through the layers of fabric. My body responds before my mind catches up.
I tell myself it’s the plush surroundings. The champagne. The altitude.
It isn’t.
Desire pools low and steady, spreading warmth through my stomach and down my spine. As if every nerve has woken at once. I’m hyperaware of the line of the faint flex of his body when he shifts. The space between us shrinking with each quiet adjustment.
This can’t actually be happening. Not after years of maintaining careful distance.
My nipples are stiff to the point of painful. Wetness soaks my panties. I stare straight ahead for a moment, trying to steady myself, but the reality crowds in from every angle.
If I edge even an inch closer, our hips will align. If I turn my head, my mouth will find his shoulder.
The thought makes my pulse stutter. God, I want this man with every ounce of my being.
I swallow, trying to act composed, while my body quietly betrays me. Beneath the thrum of utter desire, one thought keeps circling.
Is this real?
Or, am I about to wake from a dream?
Dinner arrives in courses. First salmon, translucent and delicate, and oysters glistening on crushed ice. He watches me take the first bite.
“Your mind is working overtime.” His eyes soften.
I can’t look at him right now, I’m too worked up. “Always, it’s my fatal flaw.”
Wagyu follows, seared to perfection. Wine is poured. He waits until I taste it before taking his own sip.
“Did you plan all of this?” I hold my glass high and admire the deep red catching the cabin light.
He clinks his glass to mine. “Yes.”
Indulgent. Excessive. Yet, he offers absolutely no apology. Or defense.
What unsettles me is the steadiness. Zach isn’t showing off. He’s calm. Decisive.
Next, earthy, rich truffle over lobster perfumes the air. It’s heaven on earth. He leans back, studying me.
“You’ve gone quiet,” he notes.
I risk eye contact. “I’m eating.”
“Hmmm.” He pours more wine.
“You haven’t mentioned the acquisition,” I dare to look at him again.
His jaw pivots subtly. “Tomorrow. Not tonight.”
“Tonight is about…what?” My heart stutters.
He holds my gaze. “You.”
The word lands impactfully in my chest. I peer down at my plate to steady myself.
Moments later, the flight attendant clears dinner. Dessert replaces it. Gold-leaf chocolate soufflé in small porcelain ramekins. Champagne sorbet glistening like frost.
“You’re ridiculous.” My words lack bite.
Zach doesn’t respond. He intently watches me lift a spoon and taste the soufflé. Rich. Dark. Warm.
He inclines closer before I register the movement. His thumb brushes the edge of my lower lip. I freeze.
“You missed some.” He pierces me with a heated stare.
The pad of his thumb drags slowly across my mouth, collecting chocolate. His eyes never leave mine. Then he lifts his thumb to his own mouth and sucks it clean.
Heat detonates in my bloodstream. The cabin shrinks to the two of us alone.
“Zach,” I breathe, unsteady.
He hovers, waiting. “Yes.”
The control in his voice cracks something inside me. I don’t think. I close the distance.
My mouth finds his with force I didn’t know I possessed.
The kiss is not careful.
It’s a full-blown collision.
One of his hands threads through my hair. The other hand finds my waist and holds me there almost as if he’s been waiting years for this moment to materialize again.
I taste wine. Chocolate. Heat.
He makes a low sound in his throat, rough. Unguarded. The vibration travels straight through me. I edge into him harder, palm flat against his chest, the steady thud beneath his shirt thrums.
There’s no hesitation left in me. No default to our friendly Monday ritual. No shields of teasing and banter.
Zach deepens the kiss, slower now, more deliberate. There’s only breath. Heat.
Finally, we’re not pretending.
When we breaks the kiss, it isn’t because we want to. It’s because air becomes necessary.
His forehead rests on mine. His hand remains at my waist.
“Skylar.” My name sounds rough. Ragged.
My pulse pounds in my ears. “You don’t get to do this and then walk it back.”
“I won’t. Never again.”
No hesitation.
Inside this aircraft, sealed in warm light and intention, something irrevocable settles.
We’re no longer orbiting.
We’re falling.
Neither of us is trying to stop it.