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Oh, God, and now she had to pee from thinking about falling.
“Hey,” said Dean, “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He somehow managed to pry her fingers off the armrest and slid his palm against hers, weaving their fingers together. His hand was big and warm, reassuring in its strength and solidity. She met his eyes and he gave her hand a squeeze. Butterflies that had nothing to do with her flying jitters unfurled in her stomach, and she tentatively squeezed back. “You didn’t mention that you were scared of flying when I asked you to come with me,” he said, but there was no accusation in his voice. Only concern.
“I didn’t realize I was until we took off. The last time I was on a plane was when I was seven years old and my family went to Disney World. Apparently, I was braver as a child.”
He traced his thumb absently over her knuckles, and she thought that if he did that for the remainder of the flight, she just might survive. Somewhere in the back of her fear-addled brain, she knew that she shouldn’t be thinking that way—this was Dean, who was only bringing her on this trip because his family wanted him to keep his dick in his pants, who was both her friend and her boss, and therefore off-limits—but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Something about his fingers twined with hers felt . . . good. Right.
“We’ll be there soon, Car. The beach. The ocean. Tacos, and piña coladas, and sunshine. Tequila and parties by the pool. It’ll be awesome.”
She sent him a tiny smile. “I’m excited about all that stuff, too. I just really wish humanity would get its shit together and invent teleporters so we could skip out on this part.”
He gave her hand another squeeze. “Thanks for coming with me. I really appreciate it.”
“I know, you’re a horrible friend, offering me a free trip to Mexico. Jerk.”
He laughed, and that low chuckle coupled with his hand in hers sent heat curling through her. God, why did he have to be so damn good-looking? And nice? And fun?
And completely unavailable, she reminded herself. For the second time since he’d asked her to come with him, she wondered if maybe this was a bad idea. The first time had happened the morning after he’d asked her, her doubt triggered by the smoking-hot sex dream she’d had about Dean.
They’d been alone on a beach at night, lying in the sand and kissing as the surf lapped at their legs. Even in the moonlight, he’d looked at her with such lust that she’d barely been able to breathe. Slowly, he’d peeled her out of her clothes, trailing his mouth over every inch of her skin, taking his time, exploring and savoring her. He’d been hard against her thigh, and she’d reached down between them, stroking him as he kissed her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach. Then, he’d pushed her thighs apart, sweeping his tongue over her clit. Her fingers had woven tightly in his hair, everything inside her coiling tight, when he’d—
The plane jolted again, startling her out of her sex-dream replay. She was semi-aroused just remembering it. And she was still holding Dean’s hand. She was holding his hand and fantasizing about him.
Oh, boy. This was bad. Really, really bad. But hey, at least she wasn’t thinking about how she was about to plunge to her death anymore.
Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so acutely aware of a woman’s hand in his. Had he never held Carly’s hand before? He frowned, trying to remember. Maybe he hadn’t. He tried to think of a reason why. Yeah, she was an employee, and he didn’t get involved with anyone who worked at the bar, but something about this felt . . . different, but he couldn’t figure out exactly how, or why. All he knew was that it was a good different.
She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, squeezing his hand tightly. He studied her, and in a way, it felt as though he was really seeing her for the first time. He wasn’t looking at her as his buddy Carly, or his employee, but as a woman, who in this moment was vulnerable and real.
Her light brown hair fell in waves around her slim shoulders, and her fair skin was even paler than usual. Her features were sharp—pointy little chin, long, slender, upturned nose, high cheekbones, thin lips that hid a wide smile, ears that stuck out a little. But together, they all worked, and suited her funny, outspoken personality. Objectively, he’d known she was attractive (he had working eyes, after all), but he’d never stopped to really think about it until right now. Never allowed himself to not just look at her, but see her.
Well, shit. Carly Jensen was beautiful.
He already knew that she was beautiful on the inside—kind, loyal, funny, hardworking—but it was as though someone had pulled back a curtain, and now he could see all of her.
The instinct to pull his hand away gripped him, but he fought it down. Her fear was more important than his. It wasn’t her fault he was suddenly looking at her with fresh eyes.
She opened her eyes, and he couldn’t help but notice what a pretty shade of blue-gray they were. For a brief moment, her eyes held his, and she felt like the best kind of stranger—someone both new and familiar.
She flashed him a smile and pulled her hand out of his. Immediately, he missed the contact, but he didn’t reach for her.
“Thanks,” she said, and the smile dropped off her face. She arched a slender eyebrow as she reached up and touched her cheek. “Do I have something on my face?”
Dean gave his head a small shake. “Uh, no. Why do you think that?”
“Because you’re looking at me really weird.”
He forced himself to smile. “I am?”
“Yeah. Like you’re holding in a fart or something.”
He laughed and shook his head and the moment was over.
“Can I watch the movie with you?” she asked, pointing at one of his earbuds. “I could use the distraction.”
“Sure.” He offered it to her, and she popped it in, having to lean a bit closer to him to accommodate the short length of the chord. A warm, citrusy smell hit him, and his stomach tightened. Carly’s perfume. He’d smelled it dozens and dozens of times before, and he’d never thought twice about it. But now, with the bare skin of her arm brushing his, he found himself wanting to dip his head and inhale.
He’d known Carly for years, but he’d never seen her quite like this. Never . . . felt things when she was near him. He couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with his lingering guilt and embarrassment over how his family saw him. Maybe he was projecting his desire to be different onto her, somehow. And that wasn’t fair to Carly, who’d never, ever done anything to indicate she might be into him.
