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“I told you never to touch without consent,” Mr. Grumpy Pants snaps, snatching the glass back from me.
A flurry of goosebumps flash down my spine. My words turn to ash on my tongue as his orbs filled with lightning and brimstone pins me in place. Goddamnit. I should’ve focused on his scar, now I’m trapped in violent pools of liquid honey with no hope of escaping.
“Two more,” he tells Patty without releasing me from his beguiling gaze.
The flight attendant grumbles about something or another, but I don’t pay attention. There’s a predator in front of me and if I’m not careful, he’ll devour me whole.
Thick silence envelopes us as if we’re the only two people left in the plane. The buzzing from the engines fade away until every bit of me is consumed by the connection sparking between us.
Finding my voice, I say, “I touched your glass, not you. There’s a difference.”
He hums and taps his long tattooed fingers on the pillow between us. A glint of something sinful flashes in his eyes, stealing my soul. “I’m not sure you’ve learned your lesson if you’re still touching something that’s mine without asking, but I’ll make sure you do before we land.”
My throat works, bobbing up and down in quick succession. My brows furrow at the conflicting messages warring for attention inside me. My brain hears a threat and warns of danger, but my body? That traitorous bitch comes alive with the promise of what’s to come.
When Patty approaches a short while later, I’m flipping through recent photos on my phone. I need to narrow down the shots I’ll be using for my next exhibition. She sets two glasses as far away from me as she can manage. I’d laugh if I didn’t think she’d throw me out the exit with no parachute. A shrewd expression twists her round features into something sharp, and I shudder. I’m starting to think she doesn’t like me.
“Please take this, she won’t be needing it,” Mr. Grumpy Pants says, handing her my tequila sour.
I open my mouth to protest but Patty’s gone in a flash, leaving me to stare after her dumbfounded. What the fuck just happened?
“This is all you’ll drink for the rest of the flight.”
Excuse me, crazy man say what?
A cool glass is placed in my hands and I glance between it and the psycho next to me. I want to be offended. Outraged that this asshole thinks he can control what I drink, but … I’m not. I really, really should be, and yet, I find myself swirling the amber liquid in the glass before taking a sip and letting the tequila sit on my tongue. My eyes fall closed and I let the flavors dance in my mouth. Rich toffee and bold vanilla shine through, but this time I get to savor them.
A string of colorful Spanish curse words pour from a voice dripping in sin and honey. It’s then I realize I’m moaning over the decadent taste in my mouth. The hunger that greets me in Mr. Grumpy Pants’ stare is unyielding. He searches my features like he’s determined to find what makes me tick. Like I’m a map that leads to treasures untold. Like I’m the first woman who’s made him question … everything.
He drags his gaze down my body, and a searing heat follows in its wake. I shift in my seat, pinching the side of my thigh with my free hand to get my breathing under control. Ouch. This isn’t a dream, I know that much, but with the number of filthy fantasies playing out in my gutter-laden mind right now, I kind of wish it was.
Bathroom.
I need a moment alone. Somewhere I can compose myself without prying eyes or lust-filled pressurized air clogging my brain. Everything about this flight, from the moment I stepped onto the plane, has been crazy. Whether that’s good or bad, I don’t know yet, but I’m along for the journey.
Setting my tumbler of tequila in the cup holder to my left, I untangle myself from the cocoon I’m nestled in and slip away. I swear the grumpy asshole clucks his tongue at me again, but when I peer over my shoulder, he’s staring at his hand, rubbing a thumb over one of his tattoos. Weird.
I follow the sign to the bathrooms. They’re in a secluded area at the front of the business class, opposite the cabin crew’s little alcove. “Whoa,” I whisper, shutting the bathroom door behind me. The space is twice the size of any airplane bathroom I’ve ever used before.
Closing my eyes, I pull in a few deep breaths to find my center. The tension coiling inside of me pours out into the open space, dissipating with an audible pop. Sadly, the needy bitch inside me doesn’t relent. I’m attacked by a single image, glowing brightly in my mind’s eye. Hair as dark as night, features as sharp as knives, and eyes that burn with unrelenting danger stare back at me.
“Fuck,” I hiss, leaning against the wall behind me, and lightly tapping the back of my head on it. Why can’t I get the tattooed asshole out of my head? He’s gotta be some kind of sex demon. That’s the only answer. An incubus—or is it a succubus? Doesn’t matter, either way, that’s how he’s able to easily infiltrate my mind, dominating my thoughts and my pussy.
I run my fingers along the cool granite countertop, admiring the intricate gold and black swirling through it. It’s mesmerizing. Pulling in my bottom lip to nibble on it. Is he a member of the mile high club? Because right now, I sure as hell would like to be.
“Seriously, Rumor, get yourself together, babe. He’s a hardass that thrives on control. Boring, predictable, and Not. Your. Type.” I bitch out my reflection, glaring daggers at the spot where my vagina sits nestled beneath my dress. It’s her fault I’m this wound up.
Shaking out my arms, I push all thoughts of sexy tattooed giants out of my head and splash my face with water. The icy coolness instantly resets my overworked nervous system. “Holy cow,” I mutter, patting my face dry with a paper towel. Jeez, even their paper products are higher quality than the ones in economy.
As I step out of the bathroom I run straight into a hard chest, the impact stealing my breath away. What the fuck? I scrunch my face up and rub my nose, leaning back to curse this dickwad out. Who stands so close to an occupied bathroom?
Amber eyes filled to the brim with visceral desire stare back at me, and I swallow my tongue. Wait, is that even possible? I don’t know, but I swear it’s happening to me right now. The stupidly gorgeous giant who looks larger than life now that we’re standing toe to toe is looming over me with a wicked smile that promises filthy things to come. He takes a step forward, eliminating the minimal space between us, and I stumble backwards into the bathroom. The crisp clean air permeates with the velvety patchouli scent of his cologne and my mouth waters.
Danger alert.
“What are you doing?” I hiss when the door clicks closed behind him.
“Say yes.” His voice is tight, the muscles in his jaw tick with each unanswered second that passes by. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was on the verge of snapping. Ooh la la.
