Page 5 of Delicate Storm

I smile at the flight attendant as she walks away, shoving my bag into the overhead locker before sitting down.

“Thank you for that.” I turn to look at the guy beside me. “I really appreciate your help.” Armed with a smile that’s clearly fake, he glances my way and holy shit… His forearms are merely an appetizer for the delicious meal that this man is. If looks could kill then I would happily take my last breath for the panty-melting blue gaze that's staring back at me.

And his beard. My God. I’ve always focused my energy on clean-cut suit guys, and I fear I’ve been missing out.

“What?” he grunts, snapping me out of my ogling as I straighten uncomfortably in my seat.

“I was thanking you.” I smile again, but it does nothing to melt his icy stare.

“Don’t mention it.” He looks away and I pout at the loss of my view, but when I’m offered a white wine, all is good in the world again.

Until the plane taxis on the runway and my body tenses.

No matter how many times I fly, I will never be comfortable with it. I wouldn’t say it’s a fear, but my nervous system does not like it. At all.

Curling my fingers over the end of the armrests, I grip tightly but try to remain calm. Taking a deep breath, I lock my legs so they don’t bounce, but the second we speed up, I lose control, gritting my teeth in annoyance.

“Are you okay?” I hear from beside me and freeze, assuming I imagined it. Though sure enough, when I chance a sidewards glance, window-seat hottie is staring back at me.

“Oh. Yep,” I lie. “I’m good, thanks.”But you’re going to regret asking me that because you just became my distraction.“How about you?”

“I’m fine.” He frowns but before he has the chance to turn away again, I rush out another question.

“Are you on your way somewhere or on your way home?”

He pauses as though my question confuses him, or perhaps he’s deciding whether or not to engage in my chitchat. Either way, after the longest beat, he sighs. “Home.”

“Nice. Me too. Sort of.”It’s about to become my home.“Business or pleasure?” I ask next and he sighs even louder.

“You don’t have to do that.” He stares at me blankly with a slight shake of his head. “In fact, I’d prefer that you didn’t.”

“Do what?”

“Make small talk because I helped you. You don’t owe me anything.”

I frown until a small laugh escapes me. “That’s not what this is.”

“Ohh-kay.”

“It’s not. I promise.” I laugh again and grimace. “I talka lotwhen I’m nervous, and flying always makes me nervous. Add to that I’m moving away from New York for the first time and I’m a ball of stress. A stress ball. But not the useful kind that you can squeeze to make yourself feel better. Nooo. This stress ball will only make you feel worse when I slap you in the face for inappropriate touching.”

“Thefuck.”

“Sorry.” I shrug, not really sorry at all. “It’s—”

“The nerves. I get it. Do you know what helps with my nerves?”

I smile and a giddy feeling wells up inside me. He wants to help. “No. What?”

“Talking to myself. In my head. In silence.”

“Really? That—” I cut myself off, briefly closing my eyes as I snort. He’s joking. Actually, he’s not joking. He’s telling me to shut the hell up. “Noted. I’ll give it a try.”

I bite back a smile and turn to face the front of the plane, grabbing the airline magazine from the pocket, mindlessly flicking through the pages.

I try hard to stay still, but before long, my legs are bouncing while I tap my fingers on my knees, and barely a minute passes before my window-seat hottie groans.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll bite.”

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