Page 146 of Kentrell

Whatever “somewhere” he had in mind, I was already all in.

A soft chime echoed through the cabin, followed by the hiss of the door sealing shut. The hum of engines deepened underneath us. The flight attendant offered champagne, and Kentrell nodded once—sharp, sure—before turning back to me.

“You drinkin’?” he asked, like I had a choice.

I raised a brow, lips already curving. “If you are.”

He nodded to the attendant again, and a moment later, she returned with two long flutes of golden bubbles and placed them between us.

Kentrell grabbed his, leaned forward, and passed mine across the table, fingers brushing deliberately against mine.

“To what?” I asked, bringing the glass to my lips.

His eyes darkened, sliding over my mouth as I sipped. “To letting go.”

I clinked his glass softly and took another sip—this time slower, deliberately licking the edge of the rim before setting it down.

His gaze didn’t flinch.

The jet began to move, taxiing down the runway. I settled into the seat across from him, knees tucked up just enough to let my skirt fall a little higher. His eyes caught the shift, and I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

I leaned my elbow against the armrest, resting my chin in my palm like I wasn’t trying to melt him on sight.

“So…” I toyed with the stem of my glass, dragging one finger around the rim. “What else does this little getaway come with? Wine. Dinner. You?”

His eyes dropped to my legs, then dragged up slow.

“All of the above,” he said.

The jet began to lift, smooth and powerful. My stomach dipped with the climb, but it wasn’t just the altitude making me dizzy.

Kentrell hadn’t stopped watching me.

And I liked it. The heat in his stare. The quiet tension thick enough to drink.

When we leveled out, theseatbeltsign blinked off with a softding.

He didn’t say a word. Just leaned forward, reached across the narrow space between us, and unlatched the buckle across my waist.

Click.

Then his own.

Click.

The air felt heavier already.

He stood, offered his hand, and when I took it, he pulled me up—slow and steady, like this was his favorite part.

“Kentrell…” I started, but the look in his eyes stopped the words from forming.

He backed away, leading me toward a narrow hall at the rear of the cabin. Past the table. Past the staff. Into the quiet.

A private room waited.

He pushed open the door, stepped aside, and let me walk in first.

It was dimly lit. Soft lighting. A long leather bench across one wall. A bed—an actual bed—made up in white with black accents and folded robes I already knew we weren’t touching.

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