Get it together Emily.
“Working,” I say.“I applied for a job and got it.I couldn’t believe it.It was on a whim, so this is all completely unexpected.”Great, now I sound like I don’t have a life plan and also can’t stop talking and over-explaining.“But I have a Bachelor of Arts degree from London Met—”
His brows lift.
“University, I mean.London Metropolitan University.A college, I guess you call them.”
“We do.”His masculine voice ripples through my body, and my nipples harden.
Jesus, how does he do that?
“Did you go to college?”
God.Of course he did.What an idiot.
Bastian lifts his drink, which was just topped off, and nods.“Harvard.”
I swallow.
See.Not just any college, but one of the most famous in the world.
“Fancy.”
He smiles, placing his glass down, and glances around the cabin, taking his time before turning back to me.The control and confidence this man has seem to suck all the oxygen from my body, and I wait for him to speak so I can breathe.
Being upgraded felt like winning the lottery, but my heart rate won’t calm down.There’s no way I’m going to sleep.
My armpits overheat and the stickiness of the spilled champagne begins to irritate me, so I undo my seatbelt and take off my sweater.Relaxing back into the seat, I’m suddenly conscious of my less than slim figure and tug at my blouse.
Bastian’s eyes graze over my cleavage and then lift to mine.There’s a fire in his eyes that every female understands.
Heisattracted to me.
“Drinks?”the flight attendant asks, glancing between us, and I swear she knows.
“Champagne,” Bastian says firmly.“We’re celebrating Emily’s new job.”
We are?
“And keep them coming.”
“Oh, ah, yes.”
I mean, if I can’t sleep and this gorgeous man wants to drink champagne with me, then I’m not bloody saying no.
TWO HOURS LATER, I’mgiggling and curled up in my seat, twisted so Bastian is my only focus.I’m on my third glass.The big annoying barrier between us feels like a brick wall, but I lean my elbow on it as I share how I made my mom run after me through Borough Market when I was six after stealing a cheese scone.
“That’s like a biscuit, right?”Bastian takes a sip.
“Don’t you call them cookies?”I frown.
“Like a chocolate scone?”
“Gross.”
“I’m confused.”He laughs.
God, he’s gorgeous.
