God.
I should get up. Immediately. Gracefully, if possible. Instead, I stay there one beat too long, because some reckless part of me wants to feel exactly how affected I am.
Which is probably why I say, “Don’t sound so pleased. I haven’t done anything yet.”
He chuckles. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Is that right?”
I straighten slowly, using the seat in front of me for leverage, making him wait for it. If he wants to trap me in this moment, fine. I can play too.
“I tripped,” I say, voice composed now, almost sweet. “Try not to build a fantasy around it.”
His mouth curves. “Too late.”
I lean back against him slightly, aware of every warm, solid inch of him behind me, close enough that only he can hear me when I say, “That sounds like a you problem.”
Then I step over him properly and into the aisle.
For one glorious second, I think I’ve won.
Then, when I look back, his gaze drags slowly from my face to my leggings and back up again, tempting and unhurried, and he says, “Take your time, Adelaide. I’d hate for you to rush after making such an impression.”
My whole body burns up.
I put one hand on the seat back and stare down at him. “You’re unbearable.”
“That’s not what your body said.”
I glare at him.
He smiles. Lazy. Ruined. Completely sure I’m going to be thinking about that line all the way to the bathroom.
The worst part is that he’s right.
So I give him my brightest smile, the one that means I’m about to be a problem, and lean in just enough to let my hair brush his shoulder as I pass. “Keep holding my glass,” I murmur. “I’d hate for you to feel used.”
Then I stroll away before he can answer, heart pounding, skin hot, and the deeply humiliating truth settling in behind my ribs.
I was trying to get back at him. Instead, I’m pretty sure I just made it worse.
I head to the front bathroom, which is unoccupied because this flight isn’t full and the first class bathroom is slightly tucked away for privacy. I push open the door and step inside the larger space, reaching for the latch.
Before I can lock it, the door shifts back open.
I spin around, and Ace fills the doorway, one hand braced on the frame, those green-gold eyes fixed on me with an expression that sends a hot, dangerous thrill through me before I can talk myself out of it. God, he’s huge.
He doesn’t step in right away. He just studies me, waiting.
Giving me the choice.
My pulse kicks hard. I should tell him to go, but I don’t move to shut the door. I don’t step back in alarm. If anything, I stay exactly where I am, staring right back at him, tempted to just drag him into this larger bathroom with me.
“That was intentional,” he says.
I lean lightly against the sink, pretending I’m steadier than I feel. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The falling onto me.”
A laugh threatens at the edge of my mouth. “I was standing up. That’s generally how you get off someone’s lap.”
