I know he’s trying to help me, but something in his touch feels…dangerous. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m an unwelcome hitchhiker.
Or maybe it’s the power that rolls off him in waves. I’ve met a lot of powerful men. But none has ever exuded energy like this.
I push back under the bed, my eyes locked with his.
I’m not the sort of women who starts speaking nonsense when I get uncomfortable. In fact, I’m exactly the opposite.
I stare at him with the same intensity he’s looking at me.
“Are you going to come out from under the bed?” He asks, his brows notching up a millimeter.
“No. I’m quite…” I pause just to slow this whole thing down, “cozy under here.”
A muscle in his cheek twitches before he reaches out his hand to me. I stare at it, not sure I want to touch him again. His eyes narrow as he pushes his hand a bit closer. “Take it.”
It’s not a request. And I’ve never been one to avoid a task, no matter how unpleasant.
So, I slide my hand into his, feeling that same pit in my stomach I did before, as he pulls me toward him.
The room is hardly large enough for me to climb out, and he fills most of the empty space between the wall and the door.
But he hooks his arm around my waist, and starts to stand, pulling me with him. My chest crushes to his large frame and my arms automatically come to his broad shoulders, perfectly defined by his fitted dress shirt.
I feel small and grubby in my leggings and tank top. And don’t even get me started on the height difference.
I’m a hair over five feet, eight inches, but he towers over me, a full head taller than I am. I stare up at him, handsome beyond sin, and I can’t shake the feeling…I know him.
Which is ridiculous. I’d remember a man this gorgeous if I’d met him before.
Besides, I don’t know many Brits.
My fiancé, well, ex-fiancé aside. My eyes narrow, even as he eases back to look down at me. “You may as well join me in the main cabin.”
My lips part as I try to decide how to react. Because his ease is completely throwing me. Why isn’t he saying things like, ‘Who are you? Why are you on my flight?’
My tongue darts out to lick my lips as I try to formulate a question to learn…anything.
His eyes lock on my tongue, narrowing, as he continues to hold me against his chest.
It’s not helping me to reason out why he’s not angry or upset or, at the very least, perplexed. “It’s quite comfortable in here,”I say weakly, barely recognizing my own voice. Or my actions. I don’t do meek.
“I insist you join me,” he returns, turning away, pulling me along with him.
I have this urge to grab the door frame, to try to stop my movement, but I ignore it. Life, or maybe just my father, taught me a long time ago, a girl can’t out-muscle a man when he’s decided on a course of action.
We enter the main cabin, where he gestures for me to sit on the built-in bench seat. He takes his place in a captain’s chair, a narrow table separating us, his folded laptop and phone on the surface. “Andrew can help you with your buckles in case there is more turbulence.”
I glare at Andrew. Did he tell on me? Either way, Andrew, the suspected traitor, is not touching me. “I’ll be fine buckling my own seatbelt, thank you.”
I look at the steward who immediately looks down at the floor. My eyes narrow as I assess the slight flush of his cheeks.
It would be easy to think that the turbulence was to blame for my hiding spot being discovered, but my…host, doesn’t seem at all surprised to have found me on the plane.
I slide onto the leather fabric, grabbing the buckles. “My name is Katarina, by the way.”
My host dips his chin in acknowledgment before he sits in the captain’s chair that has a fold-out desk. Sliding out a laptop, he opens it and begins typing.
I stare across the way at him, my lips falling open. That’s it.
