Page 27 of Fly Boy
My breath hitches as his cheek brushes me, his lips grazing my ear as he says, “Don’t fucking test me.”
He draws back, all hints of flirtation gone like it was never really there, and I feel myself sag forward.
His back-and-forth is worse than the turbulence we just experienced, and my hand falls to my side, releasing my hold. My lower body clenches with unmistakable need, the threat of his words both terrifying and enticing at the same time. Maybe he’ll throw me over his shoulder and carry me upstairs if I keep going.
“If you’re going to act like a brat, I’ll treat you like one. You’re sleeping upstairs, where I know you’re safe.”
He pushes past me, my bag on his shoulder, and disappears back up the staircase. His footsteps echo in the hallway overhead, followed by the click of a door opening.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and mutter, “Son of a bitch.”
Chapter Ten
“Miss Cartwright? I havethe items you asked for at reception.”
I almost forgot about the request I’d made with Stacey, thanks to Wyatt’s show ofalpha-ismas soon as we got inside the cabin. Never mind, though, because I’m going to make the most out of our one night here. Nothing can stop me from enjoying this. The sun is lazy in the afternoon sky, all signs of the torrential weather are gone, and I have a massage booked in less than half an hour.
Beaming, I fling open the door and let the concierge inside, three bags dangling from his hand. I point toward the sofa, darting over to the small kitchenette to grab my purse, pulling out a tip as he sets the bags down.
“Thank you,” I say, putting the money in his hand.
“Any time, ma’am,” he replies, swiftly putting the cash into his pants pocket. “If you require anything else, don’t hesitate to call the main hotel.”
He closes the door behind him as he leaves, and I immediately grab the bags, turning them upside down, the contents scattering across the top of the bed Wyatt claimed. He left not long after dumping my things in the room upstairs, citing he wanted to “explore the grounds” or whatever, grunting when I reminded him of our spa appointments.
My lips twitch as I lift the bright blue swimming trunks the concierge picked out, my fingers trailing along the tiny white planes zooming around the legs. Stifling a laugh, I grab the bikini next. It’s the same color as the trunks and way skimpier than I’d anticipated.
Oh, how Wyatt is going to hate our matching suits.
Checking the time, I swipe the remaining items into one bag and carry them to my room. For all of my whining about wanting to sleep downstairs, the upstairs bedroomisbeautiful. It has a large floor-to-ceiling window that takes up one entire wall and looks out onto the same space as outside the front doors.
Shedding my clothes, I quickly put on the bikini before wrapping the hotel-provided robe around me. Pocketing the shorts for Wyatt, I slide my feet into a pair of fluffy slippers, wiggling my toes against the plush softness. My last name might be a burden in the figure skating world, but it opens doors when you can afford to pay for the most expensive experience in luxury hotels.
It’s like I’m walking on clouds as I make my way back to the main hotel. Alone. The disappointment at Wyatt not coming back to join me is thick, doubt joining it in my stomach as I get the distinct feeling he isn’t going to show up for his appointment. I shouldn’t mind. He can do what he wants. Technically, he isn’t even working, but after what he did for meas soon as we landed—even if I want to cringe at the thought of my vulnerability blinking like a neon light—I’d like to pay him back somehow.
I try to remind myself he doesn’t owe me anything. We aren’t friends. We aren’t even acquaintances. Yet it doesn’t stop this niggling, deep and hidden away, that there’s something there, something between us, a spark, a pull, a magnetic tug that I swear gets stronger the more time we spend together. Maybe that’s why I want him to enjoy being here with me, to see if what IthinkI feel is real or in my head. To see if he feels it too, only he won’t admit it.
Hell, he still calls meMiss Cartwright,regardless of how many times I’ve told him otherwise.
Perhaps it’s because he works for my father or thinks he’s too old for me. But I’m notthatyoung. And I’m certainly not naive. I’ve seen how he’s looked at me, the fleeting glances, the way it’s like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve, and god help me, I want him to. I want to get to know him, too. Want to know what makes him tick. Push past the roles of passenger and pilot.Employer and employee.
After all, he’s been working for my family for the last six months—specifically me, the last four—and I barely know anything about him. Other than that, Evan’s nickname for him is one hundred percent right. Wyatt Grant is a sexy pilot, more so now that I know what it’s like to be cared for by him.
“Miss Cartwright?”
I'm so lost in the thoughts of Wyatt that I barely realize I've arrived at the spa, interrupted only by the receptionist as he smiles and rounds the desk. “Yeah, erm, yes, that’s me.”
“Welcome,” he says, his voice soft and soothing, and I can already feel my stress evaporating from my body. He gestures to a large sectional by the far wall, his hand hovering above my back, not quite touching, as he guides me toward it. I sitas he lifts a clipboard from a side table, holding it out. “Please complete our medical questionnaire. If there is anywhere on your body that you’ve experienced tightness or any issues, please highlight it so we can spend more time there. Once you’re done, leave the form on the desk, and we’ll be ready for you in room three.”
He points down a hallway before bowing his head and leaving me to complete the questionnaire, which is simple enough that I finish in minutes. I leave it where I was told and disappear into the assigned room.
The lights are a dim blue when I walk inside, the smell of lavender, flickering candles, and soft music flooding my senses. This is exactly what I needed.
I’m about to shrug off my robe when the door on the other side opens.
“Uh…” My hands tug at the belt, pulling it back around my waist. “Oh, I’m not ready yet.”
I freeze as Wyatt lifts his head and mutters, “Shit.”
