“Okay, let’s go back.A biscuit is a round thing with chocolate.”I explain.
“No, a biscuit goes with chicken and gravy.”
“Okay, that is gross.”I make a gagging sound.
Bastian pulls out his phone and we lean together as he does a search online.Then we laugh when the images clarify the differences.
“Wow, we are speaking two different languages.”I chuckle.
Bastian drops his phone, and lifts his face, slightly turning until our eyes lock.His smirk fades and shiver-worthy green eyes drop to my breasts.
“Your fragrance is—”
“It’s just shampoo.”I curse inwardly.
Stop talking.
Let him...do what?Is he going to kiss me on the plane?I’m not opposed to it, but surely he wouldn’t.
Would he?
I’ve heard of people shagging on a flight but...
Man, I’ve had way too much champagne.
The cabin is dark, the only light from his dimmed phone screen.
“Can I top off your drinks?”
Go away lady.We’re having a moment.
Bastian takes my glass and holds them up, not looking away from me as she pours.
Me.
Emily Harper.
And look-alike Henry Cavill.
I swallow loudly.
His eyes dart away briefly to acknowledge the flight attendant.“Thank you.”
Then he hands it back to me.
When she walks away, I take a sip and the liquid confidence has me asking, “What is happening right now?”
“You know,” he rasps.
Earlier, Bastian rolled up his sleeves and revealed roped forearms, a very expensive-looking Piguet wristwatch, and a tattoo.His own cologne is subtle but hints at being outside my budget.
I know I’m pretty, but I’m not gorgeous.I have curves that I accepted a few years ago because I love food too much.Not fat, just not slim.Let’s put it this way: no one is going to accuse me of being a runner.
I don’t have makeup on and my hair is untamed—the curse of curly hair—and I’m dressed for comfort on a red-eye.Leggings, a blouse, sweater—which I’ve ditched—and long thick socks.
There is nothing sexy about me tonight.
I can admit that.
