When her lips touch the rim of her wine glass, I’m transfixed. Those full, pink lips press against the glass, leaving a faint imprint, and suddenly I’m imagining them pressed against me instead. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with how quickly my thoughts have turned. She closes her eyes, clearly lost in whatever music is playing through her headphones, and I take the opportunity to really look at her. She’s breathtaking—not in the manufactured way of the women who typically orbit my social circle, hunting for titles and bank accounts, but in a way that feels genuine. When she unconsciously mouths the lyrics to whatever song she’s listening to, a small smile playing on her lips, something tightens in my chest. It’s adorable in a way I hadn’t expected to find appealing.
I force myself to settle back and close my eyes. It’ll be a very long flight to London, but maybe sleep will make the hours pass more quickly. And keep my mind off the distracting blonde.
A sudden flash of light jolts me from the beginnings of sleep—not the panicked awakening I sometimes experience when dreams of past missions intrude, but startling nonetheless. My reaction clearly frightens the woman beside me; her hand flies to her chest as if to physically calm her racing heart.
“I’m sorry if the light bothers you. I’ll turn it off,” she says, her voice carrying a hint of something I can’t quite place.
“Don’t worry. It was just a bad dream,” I lie, not willing to explain my hair-trigger reflexes. Our eyes lock, and I find myself unable to look away. Her eyes are a deep ocean blue—intelligent, expressive, somehow both challenging and vulnerable. Her voice is sweet but with an underlying strength that catches me off guard.
It’s like being hypnotized. Damn, she’s gorgeous in a way that goes beyond simple physical attraction. A warning voice cuts through my appreciation: She’s not for you. The internal reminder is harsh but necessary. Women like her—educated, refined, probably from a good family—they don’t end up with men carrying the kind of baggage I’ve accumulated.
I close my eyes again, trying to focus on the mission at hand: get to London, deal with whatever family emergency Dad’s cooked up, get back to my life. After a while, a delicate perfume envelops me—floral but not overwhelming, with something underneath that’s distinctly feminine. I open my eyes to find her standing directly in front of me, caught between my legs as she tries to edge past to the aisle. Her eyes widen when she realizes I’m watching her, and I can’t help but grin as her cheeks flush a delicate pink. Christ, that blush only makes her more appealing. I could easily pull her onto my lap right now, taste those lips that have been teasing me since I sat down.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” she stammers, voice suddenly smaller. “I didn’t want to disturb you but I needed to get up for a walk.”
I smile, oddly charmed by her discomfort. “No need to apologize.”
“Okay…” she replies, her voice carrying that adorable timidity that makes something protective stir in me.
As she walks away toward the lavatory, I shamelessly watch her go. Her jeans cling to curves that could launch a thousand fantasies, her ass perfectly shaped for a man’s hands. I catch myself thinking things I haven’t allowed myself to consider in years—not since relationships became just another form of collateral damage in my life.
I notice she’s left her laptop open, and I can’t resist peeking at her playlist. It’s an eclectic mix—plenty of current pop songs I wouldn’t recognize if my life depended on it, and several classics like “All of Me” that I’ve always loved. You’re full of surprises, little one, I think, immediately questioning where that possessive nickname came from.
I close my eyes and try to relax again, pushing away thoughts of the blonde and her perfect ass. Suddenly something—no, someone—falls against me, and her perfume intensifies as warm weight presses against my chest.
“The fuck?” I snap my eyes open to find her sprawled across me, her face inches from mine.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice carrying a hint of annoyance despite the apology. Interestingly, she doesn’t immediately scramble away, and I find I don’t mind the situation one bit. Her breath tickles my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. That perfume is intoxicating up close, clouding my judgment.
I have to physically restrain myself from wrapping my arms around her waist and keeping her pressed against me. I clear my throat, trying to clear my mind along with it. “Hmmm, do you have to tell me something?”
“No,” she breathes, still making no move to extricate herself.
“Then why are you still on me?” I can’t resist teasing her, even knowing how uncomfortable it will make her. Something about her flustered state feels rewarding in a way I don’t fully understand.
“I’m not…” She finally pushes away, eyes wide, cheeks flaming crimson. “I’m not on you. The man reclined his chair, and I fell forward.”
“Hmm-hmm…” I raise an eyebrow skeptically. I know I’m being a bastard, but something about her brings out a playfulness I thought I’d lost years ago.
“You know what? Let’s swap places so these accidents won’t happen again. The flight is long, and I’ll need to get up often.” Her words tumble out rapidly, betraying her nervousness, and it only makes her more appealing. There’s something endearing about a woman who can be so obviously affected yet still maintain her dignity.
I narrow my eyes, studying her. “Are you sure?”
She nods firmly. “More than sure.”
I shrug and stand to let her pass. “As you like, but if the plane crashes, they’ll mistake you for me.”
“Ahhh,” she rolls her eyes with unexpected confidence. “Your pretty face won’t get lost in the ocean, don’t worry.” Then she winks at me, leaving me momentarily speechless. “Plus, the plane won’t crash, at least not this one and not today.” She shakes her head at what she clearly considers my foolishness.
“My pretty face, huh?” I ask, rubbing my chin thoughtfully, enjoying this unexpected turn. Well, well… the petite blonde just became significantly more interesting. Beneath the initial shyness lies a spark, a quick wit that catches me off guard in the best possible way.
She bursts out laughing, the sound genuine and warm in the artificially cool cabin air. “You heard just that, didn’t you?”
“Actually, I’ve heard everything, but I’d like to explore the ‘pretty face’ part,” I reply with a shameless grin, enjoying how easily I can make her blush. Something about teasing this woman feels like finding a part of myself I’d forgotten existed.
She scoffs and huffs dramatically, but I catch the slight curve of her lips. “A pretty face isn’t everything in a man.”
I lean closer, genuinely curious about her answer. My interest surprises me—typically I avoid these kinds of conversations, especially with attractive strangers. “I agree, but it’s a bonus. What are the qualities he should have?”
