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Only then does Tyler’s tray go up. Now the new dilemma. Do I pass him front first or rear first? My bladder doesn’t have much time for me to debate. I’ve been front first with him while asking him to lick certain parts of my body. I don’t need a reminder. I go rear first, and I do it quickly. I hurry to the bathroom and it’s a bumpy walk. The plane is jolting about, and I truly, truly have a moment, sitting on that toilet, when I think I might die like Elvis Presley. Face forward with my pants down.
I manage to get off the toilet and put myself back together. I even make it back to my row where I pause. Tyler glances up at me, expectancy in his eyes mixed with a bit of challenge. He thinks I’m afraid to walk in front of him. Well, screw him. I’m not afraid of him or anyone.
I step into our row, front first, right in front of him, and damn the plane. It jerks about and I tumble forward, right into Tyler. His hands find my waist. My hands press to his shoulders.His legs are holding onto my legs. And our eyes are locked. The punch of heat between us is combustible, the sensations rocking my body, all but orgasmic.
Still, I manage to whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” he says, and all the anger and negative energy that had been there between us vanishes, gone as if it never existed.
The plane continues to bump and jolt, and I hold on for dear life, but he holds onto me as well. A warning announcement sounds over the intercom. “Flight attendants, take your seat. Folks, this is your pilot. It’s going to get a little bumpy going into LA tonight. Please stay seated and keep your seatbelts fastened.”
I grab the arm of my seat and rotate into position, quickly grabbing my seatbelt and struggling with it. Tyler reaches over and helps me, his hands all over my hands. The plane suddenly drops, and I grab him and with no shame, nope, none. I bury my face in his arm. He slides his arm around me and be damned the consequences, I slide right under.
“You’re a control freak,” I say. “How can this not bother you?”
“I’ve logged a lot of air time, some good and some bad. These commercial airlines can handle a lot. I promise.”
I draw in a shaky breath and nod, but I also keep holding on. If I have to dive to my death, at least I won’t be alone. It’s not until we’re almost on the ground that the air evens out. That’s when the embarrassment kicks in. I am clinging to my boss like he’s the monkey bars on the playground and I want to climb him. I jerk out of his arms and flatten in my seat, scraping my teeth over my lip. I can’t look at him. He made the line in the sand clear to me. Sex is sex. And I don’t want to be another girl in his proverbial little black book of women. It just doesn’t feel that way, but aren’t the best manwhores the ones who make you feel like everything when you’re with them?
“Bella,” Tyler says softly.
I draw a breath and look at him. “Yes?”
“Whatever you’re thinking right now, stop. This is one of those times when the ways of man and woman are complicated.”
“Or not complicated at all, remember? Sex is sex. And as for stopping, I can’t stop. I’m clearly not as good at the sex-is-sex thing as you are. I need us to just stop this, whatever this is. I need it to end.Now.” As if I’ve timed it perfectly, the plane hits the runway. I hope the thundering sound drowns out the lies flying out of my mouth. I don’t want things between me and Tyler to stop. I want them to go differently.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Bella
Tyler and I are staring at each other when the cabin doors open and I desperately want him to say something—anything—meaningful. When he finally speaks, I get, “Damn it, Bella, what are you doing to me?”
Triggered, I twist around and poke his arm. “What areyoudoing tome?”
He bites out a small laugh but doesn’t even try to answer my question, not that I really thought he would. “You, woman. Just you.”
“You,” I counter. “Justyou.”
His lips tighten. “You always have something to say.”
“I didn’t earlier when you were a jerk. I just went to sleep. If you’d like me to tell you what you missed because it was in my head, I can.”
An elderly woman eyes us over the seat and Tyler grimaces. “I’ll grab our bags.”
“Young love is volatile,” the woman tells me. “You’ll get past it.”
“Oh no,” I say. “He’s my boss. We’re not…”
“Of course, you aren’t,” she says, with a smile. “Have a good night.” She exits into the middle aisle.
Tyler motions for me to go ahead of him, hopefully, oblivious to the romantic advice I was just given. But we have to talk about it because this is just one more person who has assumed there is something going on between us. Once we’re off the plane, we don’t speak, the tension between us downright palpable. We reach baggage claim and I spot my bag, steppingforward to retrieve it. Tyler shocks me by catching my arm and maneuvering me to face him. “I’ll get it.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He’s still holding my arm. “You’re right,” he adds. “I was a jerk. I’m sorry.”
I blanch. “Wait. Did you—justapologizeto me?”
