Chapter 12 #2
“Most likely,” I answer with as little detail as possible, still on alert that anything I say to him is potentially high risk.
He smiles, stepping in closer. “Good.”
I glare at him. “Not like that.”
He glances back down the galley before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, an electric jolt running down my spine. “Are
you sure? Well, I’ll be around if you happen to change your mind. Y’know, about round two.”
My eyes flare, and I take his wrist in my hand. Before my brain can catch up, I’m using it as the lever to pull him into the bathroom, locking the door behind us.
I use my forefinger to poke his chest. “Listen, let’s get one thing straight, buddy. There will be no ‘round two’ or anything
of that matter because, no matter how good it was, what happened last night was a humongous mistake.”
He huffs a laugh as I continue. His peppery scent immediately fills the space, opening up a yawning chasm of want in my stomach.
“Please say you haven’t told anyone about it?” I plead, hanging my head.
His expression softens as his shoulders relax. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell a soul about the ‘definitely not bad’ almost sex
we had last night,” he says in a terrible English accent.
I close my eyes and bash the back of my head against the door. I can’t believe he heard that.
He runs a finger over his chest in an X motion. “And I’m not planning on telling anyone going forward, cross my heart.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you. But things aren’t ‘going forward’. No matter how . . .” I pause to find the best word.
“. . . enjoyable it was, it was one and done.”
“Sure.” He smiles, somehow amused by my protestations. “Whatever you want.” His throat bobs as I study him.
Annoyed by my moment of transfixion, I decide to double down. “In fact, in hindsight, I don’t even find you that attractive.”
His head tilts, his jaw muscles ticking as his smile turns practically devious, like he’s discovered a secret nobody else
knows. “Don’t lie to yourself—you like me.” A thrill shoots up my spine as I watch his tongue roll; urgh, his mouth is perfect.
I cross my arms. “I’m completely indifferent.” My breath deepens as I realize how close we are.
“Yeah, you seem indifferent, dragging me into another bathroom.” He tilts his head as his voice lowers to a whisper. “Do you have some sort of kink I should be made aware of?”
The light dances in his eyes as he whispers seductively, “Is this your thing?”
I close my eyes, hoping it will stop my cheeks from flaming so hot they almost hurt. The problem with closing my eyes, though,
are the short-term memories actively turning from soft and malleable to rock-hard in my mind. The feel of the hot water running
down my naked back, his tongue brushing against mine, his lips and fingers exploring every inch of my soaking wet body.
I open my eyes. “Oh my god, you are insufferable!”
He steps in closer, his eyes glinting playfully. “You’re uptight and a goody-goody.”
I press my back against the door, meeting his eye. “You’re unserious and unprofessional.” My heart races against my rib cage
like it’s trying to draw me forward toward him.
He lifts an eyebrow. “You like me,” he repeats. “And I like you.” Imagine being as self-assured as this man. Okay, being insanely
good-looking, over six feet tall, and possessing the hands of a god would probably contribute to this kind of complex.
I lift my chin, cutting a glance to his mouth, then back up to him. “You’re completely delusional.”
“But I’m also right,” he quips back, eyes set in razor-sharp focus.
“You have to stop.” Our low, shallow breaths dance between us.
He has to stop because I don’t think I can.
Being near him feels almost like a physical pull, an ache needing to be salved.
I want to lean into the feeling, have it envelop me like a duvet so I can disappear under it forever.
In an ideal world, I would be running into a bathroom to throw cold water on my face, but that privacy is working to my detriment right now.
His face moves closer to mine, and I don’t stop him, our lips almost brushing. “Stop what, exactly? Turning you on?”
“Looking at me like that with your ooey-gooey eyes and floppy hair.” I try not to think about when I was holding on to that
hair for dear life. My hands are magnetized; they want to float up to him again.
His mouth twists into a smile as an eyebrow lifts. “My ooey-gooey eyes and floppy hair?” He places a hand above my head. “I
think that was almost a compliment.”
“But not quite.” I shake my head.
He studies me for an excruciating few seconds, then presses in closer, his free hand brushing lightly over my waist, making
my stomach muscles tense. His voice smooths against my cheek. “Hmmm, I don’t know. It almost sounds like you’re attracted
to me or something . . .”
Like an engine struggling to start, my throat lets out a feeble growl as I pound his chest with the full force of my body,
barely making him flinch, but he steps back anyway, nearly stumbling into the sink.
“You cannot tell anyone about last night, I’m serious,” I say, ignoring the fact that I can feel his heart racing under my
hands. The pounding infiltrates my core, making my knees turn to jelly.
“I won’t if you admit it to yourself,” he says in a low smooth tone.
I let out a breath. “Okay, fine! I’m attracted to you! But if we’re both going to Paris, we’ll just have to be . . . friendly . . .
with each other.”
His jaw ticks as his demeanor shifts ever so slightly. “We spent hours talking at the assistants party; it would be suspicious
if we weren’t,” he says defiantly.
“Sure. We can be friends.” I hold my hand out to shake; he glances at it and then takes my hand in his.
Engulfing my palm with his, he says, “Friends who have seen the other naked, but friends nonetheless.” His thumb traces the
back of my hand.
A crackle of a speaker cuts through the tension. “Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be heading into a section of heavy clouds. Please head back to your seats when the
seat belt light turns on.”
I roll my eyes, trying to stop the embarrassed tug at my lips. “What is wrong with you?”
The cabin rumbles, the floor vibrating under our feet.
His eyes drop to my lips as he shrugs. “I can’t help it, I like it when you’re mean.”
“Well, get used to it.” I contort my arm up behind me to flick the lock open, but he doesn’t open the door.
He doesn’t want to leave, and if I’m honest, neither do I.
I want the walls to squeeze in like an Indiana Jones film, so it’s not my fault that we’re touching.
Plausible deniability. My chest aches at how simple these interactions should have been.
I should have been able to stay last night.
I should have been able to enjoy whatever this fleeting feeling is, but it’s way too risky.
Flirting is one thing, but anything further is a risk I can’t take for someone who is essentially a stranger.
Even if he is a charming, tall, good-looking stranger with a decent job and is good with his hands.
A bump of turbulence rocks us both, causing my back to bash against the unlocked door so hard it clicks open. We hurtle to
the floor, him on top of me. As we fall, he pulls me toward him and twists so he lands on his side and I am partially cushioned
by his hard chest. The air is thrust out of us by the landing.
After a few seconds to absorb the shock, I pull my head back to meet the gaze of two flight attendants staring down at us
with crossed arms.
Oliver huffs a breathy, nervous laugh, his hands still gripped onto me. “Oh, don’t worry, ladies. We’re just really good friends.”
Nerves fried, I return to my seat for landing to find a sleeping Spencer and two empty bags of pretzels.