What I’m seeing now is anything but what I’d call graceful.
And it’s certainly not safe.
He’s not safe.
Jameson Murphy looks more like a gladiator ready to do battle than a dancer ready to step on stage. His strength is different. Primal. Still stunning but in a beautifully dangerous way.
Why is that so damn attractive?
And that ass . . . Fuck Captain America becausethis man. . . this man has America’s ass.
Chris Evans doesn’t have anything on Jamie Murphy.
“Shit,” he groans as his head drops, and my nerves skyrocket.
We can’t both freak the fuck out.
Not now.
And I call dibs.
“What?” I ask, snapping out of my lust-filled, exhaustion-fueled stupor. Fear trumps lust all day, every day. “Is the airport still shut down? Are we stuck here another day?” I mean, that would mean one more day before I have to deal with my mother and the very different type of storm waiting for me in Kroydon Hills, but it would also mean one more day before I put this all behind me.
My eyes flutter back down over Jamie’s abs stacked like perfect building blocks, stopping at where a thin blanket is draped across his hips, and get stuck on those two perfect muscles creating that delicious V. The one that sends my mind spiraling. Pretty sure I sucked that spot last night before I sucked?—
Oh, fuck me.
Total hussy.
But at least it was fun.
Even if I’ll take that thought to the grave.“Well? What does it say?”
“It says our flight leaves in an hour and ten minutes.”
Total. Chaos.
One hour and five minutes later, I slide into my economy window seat at the back of the plane, thankfully having passed right by Jamie sitting by himself in first class. We were in such a rush getting out of the hotel room, we didn’t even have time to talk. Not that he didn’t try, but it was easy to block him out as I ran in circles looking for my bra. Unfortunately, that new flight time didn’t leave me room for a shower, so as I sit here, I still smell him on my skin and feel him—everywhere.
I drop my head back against the seat and turn my face to the warm sun streaming through the window, watching as we taxi for takeoff, the bright white snow lining the side of the runways nearly blinding as it reflects the even brighter morning light. Not a single ounce of fog in sight.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” the captain’s voice comes over the loudspeaker. “Today’s flight looks like it’s going to be about two hours and forty-three minutes. We’re going to try to fly around the storm that hit us in Chicago yesterday, but I’m expecting a bit of a bumpy ride to Philadelphia. Please stay seated and keep your seat belts on. Your flight attendants will be around shortly for drink service. Thanks for flying with us today.”
With my eyes closed, I lean my head against the window and pray for a quick flight, but like everything else in my life, that doesn’t happen. The woman in the center seat pulls out herlaptop as soon as we’re in the sky, hitting me with her carry-on and computer before she gets her mini office situated.
Even though I try to make myself as small as possible against the far side of my seat, her boney elbow continuously jabs into me. But it’s not until the person in front of me reclines their seat all the way back that claustrophobia begins to set in. I’m in the last row. I have nowhere to go and no way to recline. Between all-elbows next to me and the guy I’m referring to as daddy longlegs in front of me, I’m smooshed into what feels like a tiny hole.
And I don’t even have a charged phone to connect earbuds to so I can tune out the world and fall asleep.
It’s going to be a long two hours.
At least if I could sleep, I could shut down my rapidly running thoughts.
I’ve always been someone with a noisy brain.
That person who is a terrible sleeper because I just can’t quiet the noise.
It’s so easy to hyper fixate on whatever the newest issue is.
