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With a nod, I let him usher me through the tide of bodies to the ticket booth, where I lose the battle of trying to pay for myself. He insists, and we shuffle into the short line. As we wait for the next gondola, his presence behind me sends a palpable wave of heat over my backside.
I convince myself the warmth flushing my skin is from the sun, but as we board, I know I’m fooling myself. Not even the summer heat could light me up like this. A flutter of excitement goes off deep in my belly as I slide onto the bench. He scoots in beside me, and though we have the gondola to ourselves, he chooses to remain at my side.
Maybe he’s worried I’ll have a panic attack. Or maybe he can’t fight this uphill battle any more than I can. The need to be near him is inescapable.
Fuck. The only thing scary about this ride is the fact that we’re confined in a private setting, utterly alone.
“You should see the view at nighttime,” he says.
“I bet it’s spectacular.”
As the gondola moves a few feet forward, he rests an arm along the back of the bench, and his hand lingers next to mine where I’m holding onto the seat. We aren’t even touching, but no one’s nearness has ever affected me like his does. As the ride sends us higher, I’m taken back to our brief time on the plane, and suddenly, I wish he had kissed me. At least then I could have tasted him under the umbrella of anonymity. But that ship has sailed, and it hurts something fierce to know we’ll never get that chance again.
“Wow,” I say, leaning toward the glass doors. I peek at the ground and watch the movement of people shrinking in size as we climb skyward. To my left, I spy the Space Needle, but the rest of the Seattle skyline stands like a panoramic picture in front of us.
Cash looks over my shoulder, his chest brushing against my back. “So, you’re afraid to fly but not afraid of heights?”
The scent of his aftershave fills my senses, and I catch myself swaying into him. My pinky twitches toward his hand, and not even the sight of his wedding band has the power to shatter this moment between us. Will he touch me the way he did on the plane if I tell him I am scared? But I’m not a liar by nature, and there’s no way I’m going to lie to him.
“Probably lacks logic, but no. I love heights.”
He inches his hand closer to mine. “What is it about planes that scare you so much?”
“The unknown, maybe?”
“I think it’s perfectly logical, Jules. Planes are pretty much at the mercy of chance, the skill of the pilots, and even Mother Nature. You never know when a flock of birds will take out an engine.”
“I’m so glad we didn’t have this conversation up there,” I say, nodding heavenward.
He laughs. “I figured I’d spare you the terror.”
“You made me feel safe.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I hear him inhale a quick breath. Slowly, his hand slides over mine.
“You made me feel the opposite.” He dips his head, and his breath teases the space behind my ear. “You still do, Jules.”
We’re stalled at the top of the wheel. I’m afraid to move, and it has nothing to do with the distance to the ground below, or the way the gondola is gently rocking in the wind. I feel as if I could sit here forever with him, frozen in time. Barely breathing.
Just soaking up the heat of his breath on my neck and the sound of his voice in my ear.
He breaks the spell by removing his hand from mine. As the Ferris wheel begins moving again, he puts several inches of space between us.
“I promised I wouldn’t put you in a precarious position when I hired you.” A heavy beat passes. “I’m going to do my damnedest to keep that promise, Jules.”
There’s a note of reluctant determination in his tone. The selfish girl in me curses his resolve, and for a moment, I’m weak enough to wish he’d break his promise. Weak enough to break the promise I made to myself.
I want his hands on me—and more than just a brush of his fingers on the back of my hand or drifting over the small of my back. Fuck no. I want him naked and on top of me, taking me with the passionate fervor I somehow know is burning inside him. I’ve never craved dominance before, but something about the quiet authority in everything he says and does calls to me.
We’ve gone a full rotation on the wheel, and we spend another whirl in silence until I can take it no more. The silence or the worry plaguing me.
“Is this going to work? Because I just signed a lease on an apartment. I need this job, and if you think it’s a bad idea, I can—”
“Jules, stop.”
I fall quiet, not even questioning the gentle command in his tone.
“If you’re uncomfortable working directly for me, I’ll transfer you to another job with equal pay. It’s not your fault we met before you walked in for that interview.”
“It’s not your fault, either,” I point out.
