Chapter 20 JADE
JADE
I hit pause on the movie, my finger trembling as the screen freezes on Uma Thurman's vengeful face. The cabin plunges into deeper dimness, illuminated only by the soft ambient lighting of the first-class suite.
The sudden silence amplifies everything: the distant hum of engines, the whisper of air conditioning, the thundering pulse in my ears. But most of all, Mateo's presence beside me, a magnetic force I can no longer resist.
"Everything okay?" His voice comes low and rough, as if he's fighting to keep it steady.
I turn to face him. The cashmere blanket shifts across our legs, and I'm acutely aware of every point where our bodies connect. Thigh against thigh, arm against arm, his warmth seeping through the thin barrier of our clothes.
"No," I whisper honestly. "Nothing is okay."
His golden eyes darken, pupils dilating as they fix on mine. I watch his chest rise with a deep inhale, his jaw tightening as he swallows.
"I should go," he says, but his body betrays him. He doesn't move an inch away. If anything, he gravitates closer, the space between us charged with electricity.
"Don't." The single word escapes me, soft but firm.
"Jade..." His voice holds warning, desire, and restraint all at once. My name in his mouth sounds like both a prayer and a curse.
I don't overthink. For once in my carefully controlled life, I simply act.
I lean in before doubt can stop me. Before the rules we've both pretended to obey can rebuild themselves around us.
Or maybe he does. The moment blurs, intention melting into instinct.
His lips meet mine, and the world disappears.
The kiss starts gentle, asking permission, but transforms almost instantly into something else entirely.
His hand cradles the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, gripping with a controlled strength that sends shivers racing down my spine.
My lips part on a gasp, and he takes the invitation, deepening the kiss with a hunger that matches the coiled tension I've sensed in him since Bali.
My hands find his chest, feeling the rapid thunder of his heartbeat beneath firm muscle.
He tastes like cinnamon and something darker, headier.
The kiss is nothing like the practiced, passionless ones from photoshoots, nothing like the calculated seductions of men who wanted me as a trophy.
This is raw. Real. A connection that burns away pretense.
His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me closer until I'm almost in his lap. The blanket tangles between us, an unwelcome barrier I want to shove aside. A sound escapes me, half sigh, half moan, and I feel rather than hear his responding growl, vibrating from his chest to mine.
Time suspends. The kiss deepens, intensifies. My fingers grip his shoulders, feeling the coiled strength beneath. His hand at my waist slides lower, squeezing gently, then stops. A last vestige of restraint.
And then, with what seems like physical pain, he pulls back.
The loss of contact leaves me dizzy, breathless. Confused.
Mateo's breathing is ragged, his pupils so dilated his eyes look almost black in the dim light. His hand still cradles my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone in a tender contrast to the fire of moments before.
"We need to stop," he says, his voice rough-edged and strained.
Rejection washes cold through my veins, dousing the heat. I start to pull away, but his grip tightens, keeping me close.
"No, mi reina. Don't misunderstand." His forehead presses against mine, our breaths mingling in the scant space between us. "I'm stopping because I have to, not because I want to."
I search his face, looking for truth, for reassurance.
"You have a shoot in less than twelve hours," he continues, his thumb now tracing the outline of my bottom lip, sending renewed sparks through my body. "You need rest."
"I don't care about the shoot," I whisper, though we both know it's not entirely true. My professional commitments have defined my life for too long to dismiss them so easily.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I know. But I do." His eyes hold mine, serious now. "Besides, these walls are thin, and the things I want to do to you right now..."
He doesn't finish the sentence, but heat blooms in my cheeks at his implication.
"Exactly," he says, reading my expression. "Unless you want every flight attendant and first-class passenger talking about how Jade Sinclair and her bodyguard shook this plane harder than turbulence, we should behave ourselves."
A startled laugh escapes me, breaking the tension. "You're terrible."
"I'm right," he counters, dimples appearing with his smile. "And you know it."
I do know it. The reality of who we are, model and bodyguard, employer and employee, public figure and private citizen, reasserts itself between us. Yet something has irrevocably shifted.
We settle back against the pillows, the charged atmosphere softening into something more intimate, if no less intense. His arm wraps around my shoulders, drawing me against his side. My head fits perfectly in the space between his shoulder and chest, as if designed to rest there.
"I've been meaning to ask," I say after a comfortable silence. "At the waterfall, how did you know what to do? With the panic attack, I mean. The breathing technique..."
I feel him tense slightly beneath me, then deliberately relax.
"Afghanistan," he says simply. "Second tour."
I wait, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my cheek.
"It's not what people think. More fear than glory. After we lost three men in an ambush, I started having episodes. Panic. Shakes. Couldn't hold my weapon."
He pauses, the memory pulling at his voice.
"Ethan found a therapist. Ex-military. Taught us how to stay present when your mind tries to escape."
I lift my head to look at him, surprised. "Ethan did therapy too?"
A small smile touches Mateo's lips. "The mighty Ethan Cross himself. Don't tell him I told you, but yeah. He needed it. We all did."
"And you followed him out of the military," I observe quietly.
He nods, his hand absently stroking my shoulder. "I was going to re-up. Maybe try for special operations. But when Ethan left, it didn't feel right staying. He wasn't just my captain. He was... is family."
The way he says "family" resonates with me. The chosen bonds that can be stronger than blood. I've never had that. Never trusted anyone enough to build those connections. I have that somewhat with Gloria, but I always keep myself guarded, never trusting completely.
"And Declan?"
"Declan had already been out for a while by then.
Different circumstances." His tone indicates a story not his to tell.
"But when Ethan talked about starting the security firm, bringing the three of us back together.
.. it made sense. Like we were meant to keep watching each other's backs, just on a different battlefield. "
The loyalty in his voice touches something in me, a longing for that kind of unconditional bond.
"That must be nice," I say softly. "Having people you know will always be there."
His arm tightens around me. "Everyone deserves that, Jade."
I don't respond. I just nestle closer, letting my body relax fully against his. His heartbeat is strong and steady beneath my ear, a rhythm more soothing than any lullaby.
His hand strokes my hair, gentle fingers combing through the strands. "You should sleep," he murmurs.
I should protest. I should tell him to leave before someone notices. I should maintain the boundaries that have kept me safe for so long.
Instead, I let my eyes close.
"Jade?" he says softly.
"Hmm?"
"I meant what I said at the waterfall. I'll always be close. Whenever you need me, just look for me."
Something warm and unfamiliar blooms in my chest. Trust. Such a small word for such a monumental feeling.
"I believe you," I whisper, my hand coming to rest over his heart.
And for the first time in years, I sleep without watching for shadows.