He hands me the champagne and puts the blanket around my legs. I never use these blankets. You never know who had them before, but right now, I couldn’t care less.
What’s wrong with me? Thinking I can be a normal person and go to New York and not have the ghosts of my past haunt me is a pipe dream. A mistake. But… it’s not like I’m a prisoner.
I can leave anytime.
Anytime.
I repeat the word like it’s a mantra.
Deciding that I need to relax, I take a deep gulp of the bubbly liquid, then finish off the glass.
Leaning my head back against the rest, I try not to have an anxiety attack.
“I’m right here. You need to trust me, Isabelle.” His gravelly voice is at my ear. “Do you think you can trust me?”
Opening my eyes, I fall straight into his. I know it’s cliché, but the color reminds me of the ocean in Santorini. At least, from what I’ve seen in pictures.
Nothing could possibly be wrong with the world when I’m drowning in his eyes.
“I think I can,” I whisper, voice cracking.
His smile is more tender than usual. I’m getting used to his smirks and his cocky grins, but this one is gentle. Sweet. He reaches over and strokes a finger along the arch of my cheekbone. “You don’t have to worry about a mugger in New York. Or, whatever. I’ll keep you safe. You know that, right?”
A mugger?
Oh. Crap. He’s talking about my bullshit excuse for not wanting to come here.
I swallow and croak out a teasing, “You’re going to be my bodyguard?”
He’s back to being cocky again, and it helps me feel more normal. “You know it. No one’ll get to my girl when I’m around.”
My lips curve. “Your girl?”
He winks. “On my arm, aren’t you?”
I bite my lip as I feel him take the glass from me. Then his warm hand travels up my thigh, making me grateful for the skirt I’m wearing.
At first, I’m sure I’m mistaking his intentions, then there’s no mistaking anything when he reaches my inner thighs and aims ever higher.
“Cade,” I mutter, glancing around and seeing that everyone is preparing for takeoff. Flight attendants are doing a last check, the couple on the other side already have their eyes closed—the man might even be asleep…
Can we do this?
God.
“Shh,” he chides, moving into me, somehow taking up all the room, swallowing up the air, acting like a wall of muscle that separates me from the rest of the cabin.
A part of me wants to argue when his fingers dance over my G-string, but then, I think about slowing down my overactive brain, about wanting to forget, about not wanting to be alone, and this suddenly feels like the most perfect way possible to get me out of my head.
“Open your legs,” he whispers, then he brushes his lips over my mouth. “Come on, beautiful. You know you want to. Let me thank you for taking this trip with me. Keeping me company…”
When he phrases it like that, he totally owes me.
My legs drift apart while he watches my face.
More magic happens—I’m wet. I swear it’s like I’m under his spell.
He strokes his fingers over my slit, which has me arching my hips back in surprise at how good that feels.