Chapter 2
YASMINE
I’m not sure how we got here, but one minute I was begging a stranger to help distract me from my freakout as I spiraled and was on the verge of having a full-on nuclear meltdown when the aircraft suddenly changed altitude, and the next minute his hands were on my face.
My stomach isn’t somersaulting from the turbulence; it’s him causing it to tumble, dip, and dive like butterflies performing a coordinated dance.
I shouldn’t have asked a stranger on an airplane for help.
Only I did.
When he cupped his hand around my cheek and laid his forehead against mine, I didn’t stop him or push him away.
Because it feels good.
Comforting.
Nice.
Incredible.
I feel safe with him.
My pulse thumps wildly; my body no longer trembling from fear but quivers from his touch, and from the way his words coach me with expert precision.
He moves his fingers, threading them into my hair at my nape, holding me firmly against him as we connect, forehead to forehead.
“Listen to my voice, Mina,” he coos, calling me by the nickname only my mom and dad use. It’s the only thing they ever agreed on when they were married.
I don’t know what made me blurt my pet name, but it was out of my mouth before I could catch it. I guess my screwed-up flip-out is messing with my rational thinking.
Luckily, the hum of the engine is loud enough to drown out my scared whimpers when the aircraft dips again, my stomach churning wildly.
Cole looks up at me through his lashes, pinning me with those piercing, gentle gray-blues of his. “I’ve got you.” His reassuring words draw me into his safe space, where he envelops me in comfort, then says, “Tell me one thing you can taste.”
I don’t question why he needs me to tell him; I just reply, “Coffee.”
“Did you have one before you boarded?” he asks, his voice slightly muffled.
“Yes.” I press my forehead more firmly against his, leaning into him for protection, and there’s a whooshing sound in my ears that makes me feel like I am underwater, which I get every time I’m on an airplane and it is taking off.
“You’re safe. Keep looking at me, Mina,” Cole commands.
I couldn’t peel my eyes away even if I tried.
He then says, “You’re doing great, now tell me two things you can smell.”
“Your aftershave.” The heady notes are imprinting themselves in my brain. They’re rich and earthy, with a smooth and sweet undertone, like a forest during sunset. “I like your aftershave.”
“You do?”
I nod, making our kissing foreheads rub against each other.
“Tell me something else you can smell.”
I quickly reply with the first thing that springs to mind, “Mint.”
“I brushed my teeth before boarding. I hate the taste of coffee in my mouth.”
This makes me smile. Cole whatever-his-second-name-is might look like a rockstar, but he’s a stickler for oral hygiene.
Heck, maybe he is in a band.
With his dark hair, tattoos, all-black outfit, and muscular build, he definitely looks like a drummer or maybe a guitarist.
If I placed an order to the universe for the perfect man, he’d be it.
He’s my type.
To a T.
Not only is he kind and caring, but he also exudes an aura of sex and dominance that makes me wonder whether his full-sleeve tattoos cover his entire body or just parts of it.
A bolder woman might have asked when she sat down beside him, but I kept quiet once I felt calmer.
Instead, I stared and enjoyed how his black, fitted T-shirt hugged each of his sinewy muscles and huge biceps, indicating he works out like a madman.
And yet, although strong, his touch and protection are gentle, leaving me a puddle of goo in his hands, with one of his fingers drawing small circles at the back of my head.
Cole lowers his voice, then coaxes me. “Now tell me three things you can hear that aren’t your heart or your thoughts.”
He breathes against the skin of my cheek, our faces so close I can see every freckle and tiny imperfection. There’s something wonderfully raw about this moment, and that’s what makes it so special: it’s spontaneous and beautifully imperfect.
As a wave of calm washes over me, the ringing in my ears isn’t as loud anymore; my nerves are settling, and are less jittery.
I try to drown out the external noise, and list three things. “The rumble of the engine, people talking, a baby crying.”
“You’re doing so well, now take another deep breath in and then out,” he instructs.
I draw a cleansing breath into my nostrils, then exhale hot air.
Yeah, I’m definitely starting to feel less on edge and more like myself.
Cole shoots me a megawatt smile that’s brighter than the sun. “Tell me four things you can feel against your skin.”
“Your hand on my face,” I whisper. His warm palm makes me feel grounded.
“Your other hand in my hair.” The tiny circles he’s drawing with his fingertips brush over my scalp, sending tingles of pleasure down my spine like a soothing waterfall.
“Your forehead on mine, your breath on my mouth.” Whatever is happening between us, all I know is that I’ve never felt such a desire to lean in and kiss anyone as much as I want to kiss him.
I want him to keep touching me with those big, strong hands of his.
If we weren’t surrounded by dozens of passengers, I’d be clambering over the armrest, straddling him shamelessly, and grinding my pussy against his cock, dry-humping him until I’m coming and he’s begging to fuck me…
Oops, where did those thoughts come from?
I’ve never believed in instant attraction before, that is, until now.
His control over my body causes my nipples to tighten against the silk of my bra, sparking a fiery heat that surges through me, annihilating those thoughts I shouldn’t be having, and I remind myself: one, we are in a public setting; two, he’s a stranger.
Even though I feel the urge to tell him about a fifth sensation as my nipples pebble, I hold back.
I can’t remember a time when I felt a rush or excitement like this, all from just being this close to someone. Only it doesn’t feel like a simple touch; it’s the care and gentleness toward me that makes butterflies dance in my stomach.
“You are so brave, Mina. Now tell me five things you can see.”
My fear has transformed into something completely different, more like fascination, as he continues to hypnotically dust his thumb across my cheek, back and forth, back and forth, luring me into a meditative state.
He’s got my head spinning, like the world’s best amusement ride I never want to get off.
Stop kidding yourself. He’s distracting you as you asked him to. Stop reading more into this.
I finally tell him things I can see. “Your eyes, you have the grayest blue color of eyes.” Like a moody glacier. “Do you wear contacts?” I ask.
Cole leans back, breaking our skin-on-skin contact, our foreheads no longer connected, but his hand remains on my face. At the same time he unthreads his other from my hair and replies, “They’re real.”
“Wow.” I narrow my gaze for a better look. They look ethereal, like a portal to a far-off galaxy.
Smiling, he then urges me to continue with the other four things I can see, laying his free hand over mine again.
I list them. “Your smile.” It’s dazzling. “And your freckle just below your right eye.” It’s tiny, however, being this close, it is as clear as day. “You have great cheekbones.”
“Yeah?” Looking amused, he sounds shocked.
I nod, feeling slightly self-conscious that everything I see is him and not any of my surroundings. I could be on the moon for all I care.
He has the bone structure of a supermodel. Surely he must know this already.
For a fleeting second, my attention drops, and I list the last thing I see. “Your tattoos.” His arms are covered in a sea of black-inked intricate designs, with scripted words woven together.
They’re beautifully detailed and must have taken hours to do.
“Do you like my tattoos?” he asks.
“I do.” I like everything about him. From the moment I saw him, I sensed honesty and trustworthiness, or I wouldn’t have let someone I’d just met touch me the way he did.
But his energy is unlike anything I’ve been drawn to before, like a charged magnet pulling me in with no way to repel it.
I met this guy minutes ago, but I feel like I’ve known him forever, and it feels as if we’ve sat together on an airplane like this a million times.
“You did so well, Mina.” His fingers dance across the top of my hand as he drops his hand from my face.
A mix of emotions bubbles inside me and I let out a soft laugh because in all the thirty years I have been on the planet, there’s never been a flight I’ve enjoyed—until today.
I suddenly feel shy, my cheeks warming, and say, “Thank you for the distraction.”
“How are you feeling now?”
With no turbulence anymore and takeoff over, my heart isn’t racing, and I can think clearly again. “This is the part of the flight I don’t mind.”
However, landing is another story. It feels as if someone is sitting on my chest, trying to suffocate me as the aircraft touches down and the brakes slam, forcing me back into the seat. Every second of it, I hate.
I try to push those unwanted thoughts away as I bask in this time with Cole. The only thing I know about the man is his name.
He sits back in his seat, and I stay quiet, enjoying his easy nature and his possessive hand over mine. I don’t need him to hold it anymore, but I don’t tell him that.
Instead, we sit in comfortable silence, and minutes, maybe ten or fifteen, pass. The whole time, Cole holds my hand, brushing his thumb back and forth in a hypnotic motion that makes me feel like he’s trying to tell me, I’ve got you, I’m here.
A soft ding echoes through the cabin, informing passengers it’s safe to unfasten their seat belts, but I don’t move, keeping mine firmly locked in place. There’s no chance in hell I’m getting up from my seat at all during the flight, not even to use the bathroom, even though I’m desperate.
“I might need to ask for another distraction for landing.” Nervous laughter breaks free from my throat as my brazen demand shocks me.
It’s not fear-of-flying medication I need; it’s a gag.
“That can be arranged, Mina.” The last letter of my nickname rolls off his tongue, sounding dark with a raspy twist that has my pulse spiking.
A turned-on shiver of arousal zips down my spine.
What is this guy doing to me?
“It’s a pity you’re okay with this part of the flight,” he says, low and deep, removing his hand from mine, and I already miss the warmth of his touch.
Confused, I ask, “Why?”
“Because if you’d had another anxiety attack, my next idea to help keep you calm was to kiss you.”
Kiss me. What?
He continues, “Although I think that would be a much better way to spend the flight than watching Jason Statham kill some bad guys.” He motions to his TV screen with a jut of his strong jaw, before his stormy oceanic eyes hit mine.
It’s rare for me to get shy, yet here I am squirming under his intensity, his touch, everything about him.
I ignore his kiss comment and say, “I really appreciate what you just did.” I flick my hair over my shoulder and reposition myself in my seat to get comfortable. I can’t believe I let him see me at my worst, and yet he didn’t run for the hills; he helped me and talked me through my panic attack.
Clearing my throat, I lean forward to grab my water bottle, unscrew the lid, and finish the remaining water. My throat is drier than the Sahara.
“Would you like to use the bathroom?” Cole asks, watching my every move.
I almost spit out my water, because is he asking what I think he is?
In shock, I quickly swallow my water then snap back, “I’m not that type of girl, and I would never have sex in a bathroom.” Especially one on a plane.
Cole chuckles darkly before informing me, “That’s not why I asked. I thought you might need a chaperone to help you get there and back without panicking. Nothing more.” He throws me a devilish grin.
“Oh.” Silly me. I roll my eyes at my foolishness, feeling even more stupid.
Cole raises a finger to his lips, brushing it over his bottom lip before dropping his hand and casually tapping his fingers on the armrest. His forearm muscles flex, and the intricate black tattoos move across his skin as if alive.
Closing the distance between us, he leans in, lowering his voice so just the two of us can hear. “Just so you know, I don’t fuck in bathrooms.” He shudders, lifting his shoulders to his ears in disgust. “It’s unsanitary.”
I agree.
“That’s…” I clear my throat. “That’s good to know,” I stutter. Why is he telling me, and why do I like that he doesn’t do that?
At this point, I think I’ve truly lost my marbles.
“Unless,” he adds, surprising me, “you want to—that is, join the Mile High Club.” He winks, biting his bottom lip as he looks at mine suggestively.
Is he flirting with me?
Hell, I might like that.
In fact, scratch that. I love that he is.
I open my mouth, expecting a clever comeback, but my mind stalls as I imagine being pressed skin to skin in the small bathroom, his lips on mine, his strong hands between my legs, making heat pool at the apex of my thighs.
“I’m kidding.” He throws me a cheeky wink.
“Right.” My head has turned to soup. I’ve never been this uncool. I’m actually squirming as I imagine how he would sound as he begs me to come and call me his good girl, much like he did earlier…
Cole wafts a napkin in front of my face, bringing me back to earth, then holds it out for me. “You can get rid of that number for me. I’m just going to freshen up, and I’ll be right back. Will you be okay if I leave you?”
“Yes. I’ll be fine.” I flatten my palm, and Cole presses the napkin into it, loving how he’s finding every excuse in the book to touch me, even if it is the tiniest of grazes. “Are you sure you don’t want this?” I hold the paper napkin out in front of me, the one with Karen’s number on it.
“Her number isn’t the one I want,” he says confidently, sliding out of his seat.
“Then whose number are you after?” I ask just as he’s about to leave.
“Yours.”