Page 7 of Accidental Mile High Daddy
Another breath from her, and I leaned a little closer, just enough for her to hear the gravel in my voice. “Because your ex is somewhere getting fucked by God knows who, and you took this pre-booked trip to remind yourself that you’re not broken.”
Her breath hitched.
“And because,” I continued, “you’re looking at me like you’re desperate to know what I’d feel like inside of you.”
Chapter 3
Sienna
He wasn’t joking.
That was the part that made my skin prickle, my chest squeeze tight, like I’d suddenly been pressurizedmoreat 35,000 feet than the hunk of metal shooting through the sky had already done. I swallowed and turned slightly back toward the bar, staring hard at the smear of condensation trailing down my glass. If I just laughed, if I just told him tofuck off, this whole moment would dissolve into an anecdote that Jules and I could cackle about over too many margaritas.Remember that stupidly rich, hot stranger who looked old enough to be my dad, who tried to talk me into joining the mile-high club on that flight to Italy?
But he wasn’t justhot. And I wasn’t just annoyed.
I was starving.
Starving for something, for someone, for a clean and numbing break between who I was with Ryan and whoever I’d be after this trip ended. Maybe that was supposed to start here.
“You’re very full of yourself,” I said, but the words came out wrong—too breathy, too insecure. Too rattled.
He smiled regardless, like helikedthat I was pushing back. “Not full of myself. Just observant.”
“You’re a stranger,” I shot back.
“So are you.”
“This is a red-eye. Peoplesleepon red-eyes.”
“Not all of them.” My stomach plummeted 35,000 feet the second I felt the lightest brush of his knuckle against my knee. He was shameless now, leaning in further, close enough that his stubble brushed my cheek and his cologne filled my nostrils—deep, masculine, clean. “You don’t have to take me up on my offer, Sienna.”
Hekeptsaying my name, and every goddamn time, my mouth went dry.
“But if you let me,” he continued, that single knuckle turning into a warm hand, palm down, wrapped gently around my lower thigh, “I’ll make you forget that man’s name. I’ll make you forget what he did.Just for tonight.”
My throat closed. My cheeks heated.
He didn’t say it with a hint of sleaze. Just quiet, anchored certainty. Like he knew he could.
I took a deep breath, barely, the air almost croaking through the thin space in my throat. “I shouldn’t,” I whispered, but I wasn’t sure if I was telling myself or telling him.
He squeezed once, just barely, before pushing off the stool without another word. The warmth of his invasion dissipated, his scent vanishing a half-second later, and all that lingered was the brutal hum of the airplane and the chill of the too-cold cabin as he turned his back to me and walked toward our suites.
Like he was betting I’d follow.
Like heknewI would.
And God help me, I did.
My pulse thudded in my throat as I slipped off the barstool and headed back for the suites.
Matt was waiting as I stepped back around the corner and into the galleyway. Not inside his suite, but leaning against theouter wall beside his open door like he knew I’d come. The low blue light of the cabin caught the sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
I didn’t stop at my suite’s closed door.
I didn’t make eye contact, either.
I walked past him, my shoulder brushing against his chest—Christ, it had zero give—and turned, crossing the threshold into his suite.
