The seatbelt sign goes off with a softding,and I unbuckle. I need to use the restroom anyway. I slip down the aisle, passing the quiet hum of the engine, and disappear into the tiny but pristine restroom at the back of the cabin. Rinse my hands. Breathe.
When I return, the plane jerks slightly. Just enough to throw me off balance. I take a step. Another. The floor shifts under me again. I trip—stumble—and fall forward.
Straight into his lap.
Shit.
My palms are pressed to his hard chest. His hands catch my waist. His laptop hits the floor with a soft thud, and suddenly all I can see is his eyes—dark green and unreadable—and the sharp line of his jaw.
His breath is warm. Slow. My legs are tangled with his. I’m such an idiot.
Neither of us moves. Too close.
His gaze drops to my mouth. Lingers.
I feel it: the gravity pulling tight between us, dragging me in like some magnetic silent scream.
I should move. But I don’t.
His voice is a whisper, low and dangerous. “Get up, nixie.”
But he doesn’t let go. His hands are still on my waist. Firm. Unmoving.
I don’t move either. Ishould, but there’s something about the way he’s breathing—slow, deep, as if he’s wrestling something monstrous under the surface. I tilt my head, watching him.
“Cat got your tongue?” I murmur, voice just above a whisper. “Or are you imagining what I’d taste like if you kissed me?”
His eyes flash. I canfeelthe heat from him radiating through his suit jacket, seeping through the thin fabric of my romper. One hand shifts slightly on my hip, fingers flexing. Not pulling me closer. Not pushing me away. Justholding. Like he can’t decide whether to throw me off or throw me down.
“I bet you think about it,” I go on, breathlessly bold now. “When I walk past you. When I talk back. When I call you out on being a grumpy old?—”
“Nixie.” His voice is low. Rough. Final.
But I’m too far gone. The air between us is molten.
I shift a little in his lap—just enough. His jaw tightens. His grip hardens.
“You keep acting like a girl who doesn’t know what she’s playing with,” he says, voice like gravel. “But I think youdo.”
I smile. Just a little. “Then stop playing.”
His eyes drop to my mouth. He leans in—just barely.
I don’t breathe. We’re a hair’s breadth away from burning.
Then his phone rings. Sharp. Jarring. Ice water.
He doesn’t move at first. Then—without a word—he lifts me up, strong hands on my hips, and drops me unceremoniously onto the seat across from him. I barely land before he’s already standing.
Nicolo grabs his phone, jaw locked so tight I can hear his teeth grinding. He turns his back to me and disappears toward the cockpit without sparing me a glance.
The cabin goes quiet. I stare at the empty chair where he just sat. My skin tingles where his hands touched. My heart’s somewhere in my throat.
He didn’t kiss me. But he almost did.
And the almost is worse.
7
