Page 6

I lean in and my lips meet his, barely at first, a brush that could still be taken back, explained away as proximity, as panic…

But I don’t pull away.

And neither does he.

Instead, one hand slips from mine and slides to my waist, pulling me closer, and everything narrows to this point. Heat, breath, the disorienting awareness of what I’ve just done.

I pull back first from the kiss but don’t move.

My pulse is racing. My lips feel… not normal.

I look at him, trying to regain some kind of footing.

“That,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel, “was a bad decision.”

Understatement of the year.

His hand comes up, his thumb slowly brushing along my jaw. Measured. Like he’s giving me an out. I don’t take it, and my breath catches.

I hate that he notices. Hate it more when his expression becomes more certain.

His gaze drops to my mouth again, and I feel a fierce heat coil inside me, like my body decided on this long before my brain caught up.

“Do you kiss strangers often during turbulence?” he asks lightly.

“No.”

He nods, a disconcerting glimmer of satisfaction in his sharp blue eyes. Like of all the people on the plane, I chose him. “Good.”

Move, I tell myself, burningly aware of every point of contact between us.

But I stay exactly where I am, breathing in the comforting smell of him.

My eyes drift over his high cheekbones, the dark stubble covering his strong, sharp jawline, the dimples bracketing his mouth. Then down, to the scar near his wrist, to the swirling ink disappearing beneath his sleeve.

There’s something about the calm way he’s looking at me, like he isn’t embarrassed by this at all, that seeps into me. I manage a weak smile.

“This is just a temporary nervous breakdown.”

He chuckles, a deep rich sound that vibrates through me. “Right.”

Another pocket of turbulence rattles the plane, lighter this time. My pulse spikes anyway.

His fingers tighten once around mine. “Yet you haven’t moved back to your seat,” he adds.

Neither have you.

I don’t say it. Saying it would make this real, and I’m not sure I want to examine what this actually is.

I swallow, fingers tightening against his. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

“I’m paying attention.”

“To what?”

His thumb traces my jaw again, enough that my pulse stumbles. His voice is soft. “That you’re not stopping me.”

A pause stretches between us. Long enough to fix this. Long enough to pull away, step back, reestablish something resembling control.