“I know,” I shake my head in amazement, my voice breathless. “This is unbelievable.”
I try to convince myself that the view is the sole reason I’m feeling all giddy and fluttery inside, not because Owen’s shoulder and forearm keep finding mine since we boarded the flight.
We’ve been friends for years, yet we’ve never touched as much as we have today. I remind myself not to overthink it because they’re the kind of accidental touches that happen when two people travel together. It means nothing.
“We made it, Meadow.” Owen blows out a breath, the corner of his mouth curving up as he slings an arm around my neck, pulling me in like we’re a couple of old pals. “We escaped Chicago’s frozen hellscape.”
“Barely,” I joke, nudging his hip with mine. “I think my toes are still trying to defrost.”
Heat rolls down my spine at how the sides of our bodies are plastered together. Owen’s been so touchy-feely with me today. If he gets any friendlier, I might burst into flames before we get checked in.
All of my senses feel heightened, like I was bitten by a vampire straight out ofTwilight. I’m hyper aware of the little things—my ponytail tugging at my scalp, the hidden ring brushing against my belly, a bead of sweat rolling down myback, and the delicious blend of cinnamon and leather clinging to Owen’s skin. It’s all-consuming and thrilling at the same time.
Like me, Owen’s still in his travel clothes—a t-shirt and joggers that he somehow makes look hotter than a suit and tie. The dri-fit fabric clings to his chest and shoulders, showing off every corded muscle with the slightest movement.
And his pants… Don’t even get me started. I have to force my eyes to stay above his waistline due to the way they hang mouth-wateringly low on his hips. I hate him for making travel clothes look this good.
I tear my gaze away when a bellhop appears out of nowhere, his smile stretching from ear to ear.
“Mr. and Mrs. Brooks? I’m Benji. May I take your luggage?”
Mrs. Brooks.
Both of us go still, completely caught off guard. My brain short-circuits at the wordsMrs. Brooks, and I swear my knees almost give out beneath me. I glance at Owen, who’s looking at me through furrowed brows.
The air between us tightens, charged with something that’s far from humor.
The emotion etched across Owen’s face is a quiet apology, as if he knows how awkward this misunderstanding must be for me.
Even though the thought of us being married is unfathomable, I stupidly let myself imagine it.
I picture his last name attached to mine and his ring forever on my finger. I see us tangled in sheets at the end of a long day, drifting to sleep with his arms locked around me. I imagine waking up next to him and pressing lazy kisses along his naked chest.
God, I have to stop this.
Every time I let myself slip into this fantasy, I chip away another piece of my sanity.
Before I can choke out a correction, Owen clears his throat and responds to Benji.
“Yeah,” he says easily, pulling me against him with his arm still around my shoulders. “That’s us.”
Holy. Shit.
Us?
His words knock the breath from my lungs.
“Wonderful,” the bellhop beams. “We’ll be sure to take great care of your things.”
Benji’s voice cuts through my thoughts, snapping me back to reality. He’s already stacking our luggage onto the cart as I try to force away the delusional thoughts eating away at my brain.
As Benji loads the last of our luggage, Owen leans in close enough that I feel his breath graze my temple. His voice dips low, meant only for me, sending a sensual chill down my spine.
“You good?” he breathes. “Didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that,Mrs. Brooks.”
Fuck.
The way he says it—deep and gravelly—has my nipples tightening against my bra, my throat going dry as I picture him murmuringMrs. Brookswith me beneath his hard body. I squeeze my thighs together, hoping to God that I didn’t accidentally moan out loud at the thought.
