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Carrie had been a nervous flyer all her life. She’d put it down to childish stupidity, but now, a grown woman, and she still panicked at the slightest hint of weather.
Gael saw the way her hands gripped the arms of her seat. Curious, he placed his work aside and leaned back a little, to watch her closely. Carrie squeezed her eyes shut and began to repeat something over and over again. He leaned closer, as if pulled by magnetic force. Just a cloud, just a cloud, just a cloud, just a cloud, she was repeating, her lips moving swiftly over the incantation which, he guessed, was designed to calm her.
The plane rolled again, and Carrie’s eyes flew open. He knew he would never forget the terror in her expression. “Gael,” she cried, her hands in her lap.
“The pilot will go above it,” he promised, in what he hoped was a soothing voice. Having never suffered from any kind of flying anxiety, he wasn’t sure exactly what he could say that would usefully ease her abject fear.
“Gael,” she whispered again, her face white as a sheet.
Instinct took over as he unbuckled his seat belt and came to sit in the chair beside her. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. The plane dipped again and she squealed, short and sharp, and lifted her hands to cover her face.
It was such a surprising reaction from a woman who seemed almost always completely in control of her emotions that Gael felt a pull in his chest. “Carrie,” he said quietly. “You need to relax. I don’t like the idea of you having a heart attack in my jet.”
She nodded, and made a visible effort to pull herself together. “I’m okay,” she promised, but as soon as another bump hit them, she squealed again.
Gael had no choice, then, but to hold her tight. He kept an arm around her shoulders, and the other hand he surrendered to her grip. She squeezed it every time the plane so much as shuddered, so that, by the time they landed in Barcelona, he was certain his forearm would show bruising. The wheels of the plane scraped along the tarmac, and only when it came to a complete stop, did Carrie let out a long, slow breath.
“I’m never flying again,” she whispered, her eyes wide. And then, as if realising where she was, and who with, she blinked to clear the fear from her eyes. She carefully donned her mask of casual haughtiness and leaned away from Gael’s touch. “I’m sorry for my behaviour. I’ve always had a silly fear of flying.”
“That, Carrie, was not a fear of flying. You are terrified. You need professional counselling to overcome this.”
“Nonsense,” she said stiffly, angry at herself for the weakness she’d displayed. “I just wasn’t prepared for such turbulence. I’m surprised your pilot didn’t warn us that the weather would be bumpy.”
Gael’s expression flashed with guilt. The pilot had told him. Gael had simply not thought it relevant to mention to his passenger.
“It’s not unusual, turbulence such as that. It’s a stormy crossing.”
“Anyway,” she said with a small shiver, willing a change in topic. “We’re here now.” Her eyes held a warning. A note of caution. “Let’s get down to work.”
He nodded. “Fine. My driver will—,”
She shook her head and when she spoke, her tone was business like, with no evidence of her travel trauma in sight. “I’ve organised my own car. I’ll check into my hotel and meet you in your offices within an hour.”
Gael was obviously surprised by this turn of events, which, if she was honest, had been her plan. “You will be staying with me, Carrie.”
She laughed then, with true amusement. “You must be kidding. That would be a recipe for complete disaster.”
“My apartment is three stories. It’s central. You would, of course, have your own room.”
She nodded. “I appreciate your… thoughtfulness, Gael. But we both know it would distract us from … work.”
“I don’t let anything distract me from my work. Not even you, Carrie. If you think you have that power over me, then you’ve seriously misunderstood who I am.”
Carrie looked away from him, on the pretence of unbuckling her seatbelt. She wished she could share his confidence. In truth, she wasn’t sure she understood anything about what was going on between them. Her smile, when she looked at him, was curt and pained.
“It will simplify things if we keep matters separate.”
He stared at her long and hard, before shrugging his broad shoulders. “Suit yourself.” He reached into his pocket and lifted out a cream coloured card. He handed it to her, and when their fingers met, she felt the now familiar burst of electricity tingle inside of her. She looked at it and thought that if she had Juanita’s swatch she could have identified the exact shade of cream used to give it such a stunning design.
“I’ll meet you in your office once I’m settled,” she murmured.
“No,” he frowned, and a little crease formed between his eyes. She ached to reach up and smooth it. “Where are you staying?”
“Downtown.” Her response was purposefully vague.
He noticed and shook his head. “There is a restaurant called El Gallo. Google it and you will see the address. Meet me there at two.”
“Two?” She looked at her watch with the hint of a frown. It was only eleven o’clock.
