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When did I change to champagne?
Before I can lift it, his hand is on my wrist, closing around it.“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” he cautions.
But I slip out of his grasp, trailing my hand up his arm, tracing the sinewy veins and the intricate tattoos covering his muscular forearm.I hear his sharp intake of breath when I let my fingers wander further up to his biceps.Leaning closer, I continue my exploration, surprised he hasn’t stopped me yet.I continue tracing a path up his arm until I reach the edge of his shirt sleeve.There’s a boldness in me that I haven’t felt in a long while, and I want to keep exploring.With an impish grin, I decide to be a bit more daring.
Without breaking eye contact, I hoist myself up from my seat, delicately climbing onto the table separating us.The look of surprise in Kingsley’s eyes is priceless, but he doesn’t make a move to stop me.Instead, his gaze follows me, a peculiar blend of curiosity and alarm in his eyes.It’s clear that he didn’t expect this, but then again, neither did I.
Once comfortably situated on the table, I continue my earlier expedition.My fingers glide across the broad expanse of his shoulders, my movements unhurried.With each passing second, the tension in the air between us thickens.I feel fearless and in control for the first time in a long while.And I can tell by the way Kingsley watches me he isn’t quite sure what to make of this bold, daring side of me.But for now, that doesn’t matter.Right now, at this moment, I am thoroughly enjoying this exhilarating game of poker.
It’s too late to change what happens next.I widen my legs, my skirt raises high on my thighs, and I lower myself onto him.He quickly sets his hands roughly on my hips in the exposed part, and I shiver at the connection.
He grabs me and pulls me close so our lips are almost touching, then lets out a low growl that hits me somewhere low.“Stop,” he says.
“Or what?”I challenge, tipsy, thinking riding this bodyguard will be the perfect distraction I need right now.I feel him swell underneath me.Holy fuck, he’sbig.
As I reach to caress his face, a fleeting desire of vulnerability sweeping over me, he’s swift to intercept.My fingers are halted, mere millimeters from the well-defined curve of his lips and the strong line of his jaw.That jaw clenches as he holds my hand firmly.“You’re drunk.You don’t want this,” he declares, the hint of a warning in his voice.
“How would you know what I want?”I snap back.The sharpness in my voice, a result of the sting of his rejection, surprises even me.
In a display of his sheer strength, he scoops me up effortlessly, my feet dangling off the floor.The closeness provides a clearer view of his rugged features.God, he’s even more stunning up close.
“I know what I want,” he counters, setting me down gently yet with finality.There’s a gravity to his words, a deeper meaning I can’t quite decipher.“And it’s not my boss.”
Ouch.
He turns around and strides to a seat far from me.My ego, volatile and brimming, refuses to let him off that easy.I’m well aware that the fiery, defiant side he’s witnessing isn’t my usual demeanor.But how dare he?He’s evoked something raw in me, a side I wasn’t even aware existed.
I follow him, intent on continuing our charged exchange, but he whirls around, cornering me against the cabin’s wall.My heart hammers in my chest, the world spinning momentarily from the abruptness of the move.
“Sleep it off, Miss Slater.”His tone is gruff, yet I detect a hint of concern.
His eyes, intense, burn into mine.I hold his gaze then as it flits down to my lips, my breath catches, the air between us thick with tension.Overwhelmed, I close the distance, my lips brushing against his cold ones, just a ghost of a touch.But it’s enough.The world starts to blur at the edges.
I can hear him call out, but his voice sounds distant like he’s miles away.Slowly, my legs give way, and the last thing I remember is the feel of strong arms catching me before everything fades away.
The deep, commanding voice calls out my name, the same voice I recall from my dream.While I struggle to hold on to the remnants of that dream, the voice becomes more insistent, and the sensation of a warm hand grasping mine pulls me further to consciousness.
“Miss Slater.”
My eyes flutter open and slam into Kingsley’s concerned gaze.The harsh cabin light assaults my senses, and a throbbing headache ensues.“Oh God,” I groan out, pressing a hand to my temple.
He stands upright, looking refreshingly unaffected by the previous nine hours.The memories of our poker game, me on the table, lowering myself on his lap… oh fuck.
Before I can dwell on it, his stance draws my attention.Arms crossed, muscles evident beneath his fitted black T-shirt, he exudes an air of amused superiority.
Wincing, I snap, “Wipe that smug look off your face and get me some Advil.It’s in the side pocket of my bag.”
He quirks a thick eyebrow, then rummages through my bag, and when he resurfaces, he’s holding two familiar bottles.My eyes widen in realization.Shit.
“This explains a lot,” he says, ignoring the aspirin and eyeing the bottle of Valium.“You’re petite, but even then, it must’ve taken more than alcohol to knock you out cold for the remainder of the flight.”
“Thank you, Dr.Kingsley.I’d like my Advil now,” I reply, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
Not registering that, he continues, “How many did you take?”He grips the Valium bottle a bit tighter, clearly intent on getting an answer.
I sigh exasperatedly.“Two, okay?I hate flying.Can you please hand over the bottle now before I keel over?”
He offers me the Advil with a tight expression and a glass of water, which I gratefully accept.When I down the pills, I recall my little lie.Ever since my traumatic abduction, Valium has been a crutch for my rampant anxiety.It’s not just about flying.It’s about existing without panic.Without the little helpers, I feel I can’t get through the day sometimes.But Kingsley doesn’t need to know any of this.Why would he?
