Page 75 of For the Plot
I chew the inside of my cheek. “Like I need three Advil and an ice pack for the flight home.”
His mouth quirks, but it’s not a full smile. He tears off a piece of croissant and doesn’t look at me when he says, “I meant emotionally.”
“Oh.” I pause. “Um, fine,” I blurt out, taken aback by his question. I have no idea how I feel emotionally. I didn’t even consider that I should allow myself to even have emotions about last night.
He clears his throat, changing the subject. “Flight’s at eleven. I had the front desk send someone for your bags.”
Of course he did. Efficient and thoughtful. Already slipping back into the role of boss, protector, man in control.
“Thanks,” I say quietly. “That’s… thoughtful.”
His eyes lift to mine then, and for a split second, the control cracks. Just enough for me to see it. The tension in his jaw. The hesitation in his fingers as he sets down his fork. The way his gaze lingers a second too long on the curve of my neck before darting away.
And it hits me… It’s not indifference. It’s restraint. And suddenly I’m warm all over.
I try to break the tension with something light. “You always make post-coital breakfast plans for your employees?”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I don’t have a rulebook for this, Skye.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
He leans back, watching me. “You regret it?”
“Do you?” That silences him.
I stand and walk toward the mirror by the minibar, pulling my lipstick from my bag. I swipe it on, my eyes meeting his in the reflection.
“Afraid to get close, Mr. Blackwood?” I tease.
He doesn’t move. But his stare darkens. “If I touch you again, I’m not letting you leave this suite for at least twenty-four hours and we have a plane waiting.”
I cap the lipstick slowly. “That’s a lot of threat for a man who seems to want to pretend like last night never happened.”
His jaw tightens. “Don’t mistake distance for disinterest.”
“Then what is it?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he stands, walks over, and picks up my coat from the chair. He holds it out for me to slip into.
We’re close now. Too close. I feel the heat of him at my back as he slides the coat up my arms, as his fingers ghost over my shoulders, pausing, like they want to pull me back into him, like he wants to whisper something dirty against my neck and bend me over the breakfast table.
But instead, he steps back. “Let’s get to the airport.”
And just like that, he becomes Reece Blackwood again. Untouchable.
The door closes behind us with a soft click.
Once on the plane, I settle into my same seat, legs crossed tightly, while Reece mutters something into his phone, already back in the same position as the flight here. His AirPods in, posture straight, voice clipped and low.
He hasn’t looked at me since we got in the car. Hasn’t touched me since he helped me into my coat. And yet I can still feel him. Everywhere.
I trace a finger along the edge of the armrest, pretending I’m not watching him from under my lashes. Pretending I’m not waiting, hoping, for some sign that he’s still with me in this. That last night wasn’t just a lapse in judgment or a physical indulgence he already regrets.
I try to remember that pep talk I gave myself before he knocked on my door, but the second I saw him, all thoughts of pretending nothing happened between us went out the window.
His fingers drum once against his thigh, like something he’s hearing on the call irritates him. He doesn’t show it on his face. Of course he doesn’t. He’s back in control now. And I’m backto being the girl who makes everything a joke to keep from screaming.
My phone’s still in my lap, screen dark. I unlock it and scroll for a beat, not really looking at anything. Then I glance at him again.
