He pulls away the stare deeply into my eyes as he brings his hands up to cup my jaw. For a moment I get totally lost in those whiskey brown eyes of his.
And then he says in that low husky voice that I’m pretty sure has lit panties on fire on every continent, “Let’s be clear about three things. Little Miss Put a Ring On it will choke on all of her bless-your-hearts. Sir Reginald Douche Canoe is never going to guess that this is not the real thing. Because when I commit to something, I commit to it. By the end of the next four days, he’s gonna be questioning how he didn’t see your break up coming mile away when you’re clearly in love with me. I’m gonna sell the shit out of it.“
* * *
By the time we board the plane, Delaney and Tripp are seated in the cluster of chairs near the front. Delaney is loudly announcing the flight attendant that she needs her mimosa to be virgin, in case there is anyone left in the northern hemisphere who hasn’t noticed her baby bump.
Also, isn’t a virgin mimosa just orange juice? Why can’t she just order orange juice?
Without asking my opinion, Nick guides me all the way to the back of the plane, where there are bench style seats. He tucks me into the corner seat, then sits beside me.
“I hope you don’t mind being back near the engine.”
“I don’t.” Since I’ve never flown on a private jet before, I have no idea what to expect or how loud the engine might be.
“We can move up if there’s anyone you want to sit with, but I figure if we’re back here, no one will be near us and the engine noise will mask our conversation.”
I snort a laugh. “Oh, because you’re planning on to whisper all the fake dirty things you’re gonna pretend to do to me?”
I’m still laughing at my own joke when I glance up and see that he’s not laughing. Nope. He’s just staring at me, his gaze is intense and serious. Like the idea of him talking dirty to me is not silly at all.
Thankfully, before I can dissolve into a puddle of goo, he adds, “This will give us a chance to strategize.”
“Strategize?”
His lips quirk. “Yeah. We need a game plan.”
“I thought you were a dive specialist, not a tactician.”
His quirk of a smile brightens into a grin. “Butterscotch, all Navy SEALs are tacticians. It’s kind of our thing.”
“Good point.”
He looks at the rest of the people on the plane, surveying them coldly. “Okay. Lay it out for me. Who are the major players here?”
I nod in the direction of the seats closest to the door where a handful of people are just settling in. “That’s Marcy and her husband Jack. Sitting with them are Stew and his partner Jay.”
I fill in a few details about them, but keep it short, after all, they’re not really the ones he’s interested in. When he makes a keep-it-moving gesture, I move on to the front of the plane where Delaney is being served her virgin mimosa. “And that’s Tripp.”
“Obviously. I recognize him from your social media.”
I shot him a look. “You follow me on social media?”
His gaze goes dark. “Please tell me you didn’t just admit that you don’t keep track of the men who follow you.”
“Um … paranoid much?” I tease. But, of course, he does not take that well. “Yes, I know who follows me on Instagram. And I’m careful about who sees what. So, yeah, I knew you followed me on Instagram. I just never see you post there or like or comment any of my posts. So I was surprised. That’s all.”
I assumed he was never on there. Then again, my brothers rarely post on Instagram. I don’t know if that’s a male thing or a SEAL thing.
I nod in Delaney‘s direction. “The woman next to him is Delaney.”
“Miss Put a Ring On It.“
I chuckle at the nickname he’s given her. Presumably it’s based on the drunken DM I sent him one night right after Tripp broke up with me describing how Delaney came into the office that day wearing a three carat rock, announcing loudly every five minutes “I guess he liked it, ‘cause he put a ring on it.” Gag.
I ate enough Tums that day to stave off osteoporosis for life.
“Who’s that with them?” Nick asks.
