The plane gives a gentle shudder as we hit a pocket of turbulence—nothing dramatic, just the kind of bump that makes you remember you’re flying thirty thousand feet above the ocean. My champagne glass slides slightly on my tray table, and I reach to steady it at the same moment the plane gives another small bounce.
The movement sends me tilting toward Alec’s seat, and his hand shoots out instinctively to steady me. His palm lands onmy arm, warm and solid, his fingers wrapping around my wrist as he keeps me from spilling into his lap.
“Easy,” he says quietly, his deep voice lower than before.
For a moment, we’re frozen like that—his hand on my arm, my face closer to his than it’s been since I squeezed past him to get to my seat. I can see those gold flecks in his green eyes again, can catch his scent—clean and warm and entirely too appealing.
“Thanks,” I whisper, but I don’t pull away. Neither does he.
The plane levels out, but his hand remains on my wrist, his thumb now resting against my pulse point where my heart is beating far too fast. His gaze drops to my mouth for just a second before snapping back to my eyes, and there’s something different in his expression now. Something heated and aware that makes my breath catch.
“You okay?” he asks, and his voice has gone rough around the edges.
“Yeah.” The word comes out breathier than I intended. “Just wasn’t expecting that.”
His grip is still lingering, and the contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. “Turbulence,” he says, like he’s trying to remind himself why we’re touching.
“Right. Turbulence.” But I still don’t move away, and his hand is still warm on my skin.
Then he seems to come back to himself, clearing his throat and releasing my wrist like I’ve burned him. “Sorry. I just—” He clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to grab you like that.”
“It’s okay,” I say settling back into my seat with my heart still racing. “Good reflexes.”
He nods curtly and develops a sudden, focused interest in the flight progress displayed on the seatback screen in front of him, but I catch the way his jaw tightens, like he’s fighting some internal battle.
The rest of the flight passes in a different kind of tension—not the hostile silence from before, but something charged and aware. We don’t talk, but I register every small movement he makes, every time he shifts in his seat or reaches for his water glass. And I swear I catch him looking at me a few times when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
The captain’s voice crackles over the intercom, apologizing for the brief turbulence and assuring us of smooth air until we land at Grantley Adams International. “Weather conditions are clear and calm, with a perfect forecast for those of you traveling to Barbados for Crop Over and Grand Kadooment.”
A raucous cheer travels forward from the back seats of the plane at the mention of the festival currently taking place on the island.At least some people on this flight are excited to be here.
I feel a pang of regret that I opted for the last available seat in first class instead of flying in coach, where it sounds like everyone is having a lot more fun than I am, stuck beside an uptight grump who probably wishes I’d booked a cheaper seat too.
I steal another look at him as he stares down at his hands again, that same brooding expression on his perfect face. There’s something almost vulnerable about him when he thinks no one is watching, like all that controlled perfection is just armor protecting something softer underneath.
Well, too bad for both of us, I guess. I’ve got a fabulous solo week in paradise ahead of me, and he’s probably got some uptight, equally grumpy rich friends or colleagues waiting for him somewhere on the island.
Or a girlfriend. I’m not sure why the thought of a beautiful woman waiting for him when we land should make my chest squeeze a little.
Sure, there was that moment during the turbulence when his hand was on my wrist and I thought I felt something—a spark,a connection, some kind of awareness that made my toes curl in my sandals.
But that was probably just the altitude and the champagne and the fact that Broody Alec really is ridiculously good-looking when he’s not actively trying to freeze me with his stare.
Either way, in a couple more hours, we’ll go our separate ways. He’ll disappear into whatever five-star resort someone like him stays at, and I’ll never have to see him again.
Which is exactly what I want.
Even if every simple glance and accidental touch during this entire flight has been sending little electric shocks straight through me.
Even if I keep catching myself wanting to make him smile, just once.
Even if there’s a tiny, traitorous part of me that’s curious about what put all those walls around him in the first place.
Nope. Not my problem. All I need to think about is what kind of tropical cocktail to order once I arrive in paradise. My dream vacation is so close I can taste it, and it’s going to be amazing.
As for Alec?
In two more hours, he’ll be nothing more than a grumpy, gorgeous footnote in my otherwise perfect adventure.
