Page 65 of Tempted To Be Mine

22

JEREMY

The bush plane was just as terrifying the second time around. Lucy gripped the armrests as we lifted off, her knuckles going white as she held on for dear life. I didn’t think it was a good idea to point out that if the damn plane went down, her white-knuckle grip wouldn’t make a big difference. I kept that to myself.

Part of me wanted to reach over and take her hand, tell her it would be okay. But that felt like crossing one of those invisible lines we’d just agreed to respect, so I kept my hands to myself and stared out the window at the frozen landscape shrinking beneath us.

The pilot was the same guy from before, cheerful and chatty despite the early hour. He pointed out landmarks and told stories about close calls with weather and wildlife. Lucy nodded politely at all the right moments, but I could tell she wasn’t really listening. She was too focused on not panicking.

When we finally touched down at the larger airport, she practically leaped out of the plane. I followed at a more reasonable pace, grabbing our bags.

“Thanks,” she said when I handed her bag over.

“No problem.”

We found the rest of the crew in the terminal. There had been a series of flights of those little planes ferrying the crew back to civilization. Everyone looked tired and hungover after the big sendoff party.

Sebastian pulled me aside to discuss some preliminary thoughts about the campaign rollout while Bernadette organized the group for boarding. Lucy busied herself with her phone. More like she pretended to be busy to avoid talking to me.

Things weren’t fully back to normal. She addressed me by name instead of the casual nicknames she used to throw around. She didn’t quite meet my eyes when we talked.

But I was playing it cool. I had to.

The problem was that I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Every time I looked at her, my brain helpfully supplied images from the cabin. I kept seeing the way she’d looked in the firelight. And God, those sounds she’d made when I touched her. Her body had felt so damn right pressed against mine.

The memories were driving me insane.

I’d slept with plenty of women. Beautiful women. Women who knew exactly what they were doing and did it very, very well. But none of them had stuck in my head like this. None of them had made me feel like I was going to crawl out of my skin if I didn’t touch them again.

I needed to get a grip.

First class was a welcome upgrade from the cramped bush plane. I settled into my seat, stretched my legs out, and accepted the champagne the flight attendant offered. Lucy took the seat beside me, immediately pulling out her laptop.

“Working already?”

“Always.” She didn’t look up. “I’ve got a lot to get through.”

“You could take a break. Watch a movie. Sleep.”

“Sleep is for people who don’t have to sort out complicated schedules.”

I smiled despite myself. This was the Lucy I knew. The workaholic who never stopped or slowed down. It was one of the things I admired most about her. It was also one of the things that made her so damn attractive.

Stop it.

I put in my earbuds and pulled up a playlist, trying to distract myself. The plane took off, climbing above the clouds until Alaska was nothing but a memory below us. I closed my eyes and let the music wash over me.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, there was a weight on my shoulder. Lucy had fallen asleep. Her laptop was closed on her tray table, her head tilted to the side, resting against me.

Dammit. How was I supposed to stop thinking about her when she did things like this?

It was completely innocent. She was tired and I was convenient, end of story. It didn’t mean anything. But my body didn’t seem to care about what it meant. That vanilla shampoo I’d come to associate exclusively with her was doing things to me. Things I had no business feeling on a commercial flight surrounded by other passengers.

I felt like a damn teenager. Excited and nervous and slightly out of control, all because a woman was sleeping on my shoulder. When was the last time simple physical contact had affected me like this? High school? Earlier?

I didn’t even think I could feel this way anymore. I’d been with so many women, had so many experiences, that I’d assumed this kind of giddy, heart-racing reaction was something I’d aged out of. It was something reserved for kids who didn’t know any better.

Except it wasn’t.