Page 62 of Sin

“Yes,” I lie.

His thumb stills. I know he hears the lie.

Instead, he says, “Good.”

I pull my hand back before I start doing something embarrassing, like memorizing the shape of his palm.

“Thank you,” I say, looking out the window.

“You’re welcome.”

The flight attendant returns to check on us, and I have never been so happy to see another person in my life. She sets coffee in front of me, along with a little plate of pastries, then disappears behind the partition. I take a sip of coffee and immediately burn my tongue.

I set my coffee down and reach for my laptop. “We should go over the presentation.”

“We have eight hours.”

“Great. Plenty of time for me to overprepare.”

“You’re already overprepared.”

“Compliment number two. Are you feeling ill?”

“No.”

“Did someone hit you on the head?”

“No.”

“Is this the softer side of Mason Sinclair?”

His eyes hold mine.

“Maybe.”

My pulse trips. I hate when jokes walk into traffic and become something else.

I open my laptop too quickly. “Let’s start with the retailer demo.”

“Fine.”

For the next hour, we work and I try not to notice that he’s still next to me. His shoulder is close enough to brush mine whenever either of us moves. His scent keeps distracting me. Clean soap. Warm skin. Something dark and expensive that probably costs more than my electric bill. I try to focus on bullet points. My body focuses on Mason. Naturally.

“This slide should come earlier,” he says, reaching across me to tap the screen.

His forearm passes in front of me and the soft sleeve of his sweater brushes the side of my breast. The air between us thickens until I can feel every inch of him without a single real touch.

He withdraws slowly.

“Sorry,” he says. His voice is rougher than before.

I look at the screen like my life depends on it. “It’s fine.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“I know.”

“I would have asked first.”