Chapter Two #2
The air between us thickens, pulsing with the same dangerous electricity that nearly swallowed us whole last night in my dreams—the kind I’d promised myself I’d never let rule me again.
By the time the airport gates loom, I’m clinging to composure like a lifeline. Theo eases the SUV into the private hangar, kills the engine and turns to me with deliberate slowness.
I seize the chance to throw up walls. ‘Rule number one, Theo. No personal remarks. You broke it before we even got to the airport.’
He leans closer, voice a seductive rumble. ‘Then consider this a counter-rule. If you don’t want personal comments, stop looking at me like you’re already imagining the ways I’ll devour you again.’
His words smart and haunt me as we finish the airport procedures and emerge into the humid light.
The helicopter squats on the tarmac like some predatory insect, its blades whining impatiently as we approach. Heat ripples off the asphalt, carrying the smell of oil and dust. My pulse ticks faster with every step.
Theo walks ahead, broad shoulders unbothered by the roar, his stride confident and assured. He throws a look over his shoulder, command disguised as invitation because apparently he can’t help his domineering bent.
I force my legs to move, making sure not to catalogue every imagined frailty of the carbon-fibre aircraft with the huge whirring rotors.
Yesterday I told myself that a forty-minute journey in close proximity with Theo Biney was way better than being stuck for five hours in the confined space of a vehicle on a road journey with him.
I reiterate that to myself as I ignore his proffered hand and his sardonic amusement, grab the handrail and hoist myself into the chopper.
Inside, the cabin is all leather and gleaming chrome, roomy by usual standards. But for the purposes of my sanity and my rebelling emotions, it’s far too small for the two of us plus pilot.
I strap myself in, careful not to brush against him, but the space shrinks with every click of the buckle.
Unfortunately the luxury soundproofing isn’t enough to dull the sound of the blades thundering overhead, the noise pressing in on my chest, making my breath shallow.
Oxygen flies from my lungs as the tarmac falls away and we surge into the air. Turning my face away so Theo doesn’t see my distress would mean watching the ground so I elect to stare straight ahead.
It doesn’t work.
A minute in, my palms are damp. Two minutes and my heartbeat is racing ahead of the rotors. By the third minute I’m clutching the armrest so hard my knuckles ache.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks in a demanding tone.
‘Nothing,’ I bite out, then grimace. It’s the type of far too typical non-answer response I normally despise making.
‘It’s not nothing,’ he responded. Then, ‘Breathe, Tessa,’ Theo says, leaning closer so his deep voice can cut through the din. When I don’t react immediately, his firm hand grips my chin, urges me to face him.
Whatever he sees on my face makes his eyes narrow, shrewd and assessing. And yes, one more thing I despise as enlightenment dawns on his far too handsome face. ‘You’re terrified of flying.’
‘I am fine.’ The words scrape out tight, unconvincing.
‘Don’t be stupid.’ His tone is blunt. No softness or taunting. Just a stark observation that clearly displeases him. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘And give you the satisfaction?’ I snap back.
His brow lowers. ‘You’re seconds from hyperventilating. Is it worth whatever one-upmanship you think is going here?’
I open my mouth to bite back, to tell him exactly where to put his diagnosis—when the chopper banks hard, tilting us towards the blur of sea and sky. Panic surges like fire in my lungs. Without thinking, I grab the nearest solid thing—his arm, warm and unyielding under my grip.
Theo huffs something under his breath. Right before his muscles ripple under my hand. And then his arm snakes around me, pulling me against him, anchoring me with a strength I can feel in every line of his body.
‘I’ve got you,’ he murmurs, steady, grounding. A maddeningly solid presence against the roar of the storm.
‘No…’ I try to resist feebly.
‘I’ve got you,’ he insists implacably. ‘Bite my head off later, if you insist. Now, close your eyes and breathe.’
A sound I don’t want to decipher escapes my throat.
I bury my face against his shoulder, every muscle rigid, every nerve alive.
The thrum of the blades vibrates through us, turning his heartbeat into mine, the heat of him into a tether I can’t let go of.
He holds me until the worst of it eases, his hand firm at my waist, his thumb brushing small, soothing arcs.
By the time we land, my breathing has evened out, but the intimacy of it lingers like heat after flame. I pull back first and snap my spine straight, expression locked in place.
‘Thank you,’ I say, frost in my voice.
He studies me for a beat, dark eyes far too knowing, then lets a slow smile curl his mouth. ‘Be nice and I might hold you just as tight on the way back.’
Another minute passes, the chopper shuddering against crosswinds, my pulse still tangled in his.
‘I might not need you to,’ I mutter, lifting my chin, though my voice isn’t as steady as I want it to be.
Theo tilts his head, expression serious now, stripped of his usual suave and silk.
‘You will. Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face, Tessa.
I might—’ his mouth curves faintly ‘—enjoy sparring with you in this little game you’ve started.
But I wouldn’t stoop to tormenting you when you’re clearly at a disadvantage. I prefer playing on an even field.’
I search his face, trying to find the trick, the smirk, the telltale gleam of mockery. Instead, I find steady eyes and a sincerity I don’t trust because it unnerves me far too much.