Page 3 of Revere
I scan the rows for my seat and find it near the middle of the section. But just as I reach it, someone yells behind me, and that’s all the warning I get before a kid runs past, knocking into me as he bolts down the aisle with his mother chasing him.
His little elbow catches me perfectly on the back of my knee, and my legs buckle, sending me sideways into a seat.
A veryoccupiedseat.
Thankfully, the person catches me before I fall completely backward. And when I try to immediately stand, he holds me on his lap to avoid me running into the mother, who is running down the aisle after her child with a train of flight attendants on her heels.
“Thanks.” I sigh, still catching my breath as I finally turn to the man whose lap I’m currently occupying.
My eyes meet his, and my thoughts vaporize.
He steals every last atom of air in the plane. He’s at least fifteen years older than me, but he wears his age well. Every line of his chiseled jaw is sharp and defined. His rich chestnut hair is cropped close on the sides but longer on top and perfectly swept off his forehead. His stubble is at least a few days old, adding the perfect edge to his otherwise gorgeous face. And those eyes.
They’re as green as an emerald with the faintest ring of gold at the edge.
“Don’t worry about it.” His voice is smooth as honey.
It sticks to my senses like his apple spice cologne clings to my lungs.
His hand shifts on my thigh, and I realize just how close his fingers twitch between my legs.
How his warmth lights my skin on fire.
I really should stand. Or, at the very least, stop staring. But the mom, kid, and flight attendants are walking by again, forcing me to stay put in the man’s lap.
I swear he’s solid muscle beneath his suit. Nothing like the college boys back at home.
“I think you’re in my seat.” I say something—anything—to stop thinking about how hot my blood is running.
His expression lights, and the tilt of his mouth is as dangerous as it is beautiful. There’s no recovering from that kind of smirk. It sketches itself in my mind.
“I think you’re the one in my seat.” He glances down at where I’m sitting on his lap.
“Oh, right.” I try to push myself to standing, but I’m uncoordinated and my feet don’t touch the ground, so I’m wiggling on him.
Thankfully, the man plants his large palm on my lower back and helps me up.
My head spins as I find my feet, and I roll my shoulders back and smooth my shirt to gather my composure.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much.” I spin to face him. “But you’re still in my seat. I think you’re supposed to be at the window.”
He hums, looking at the empty seat beside him. “I’d prefer the aisle if you don’t mind.”
“It’s not that.”
“You don’t like the window?”
“I—” I bite my lip, glancing at it. “I do. I like being able to see where I am. What’s up. What’s down.”
My stomach drops as I think of the plane taking a dive. The endless free fall. The complete loss of control.
“Then what’s the problem?” His question snaps me out of that thought.
“They’re assigned seats.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I think we’re supposed to stick to the ones we booked.”
His smile grows as he stands, and I’m pretty sure he was crafted by the devil to tempt me because as he rises, my neckcranes to continue meeting his gaze. He towers over me with a gleam in his eyes that has my whole body prickling.
