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“I’m serious. You’re far and away more intelligent than I am.”
“This isn’t true, but it’s the physicality that worries me more.”
Once again, I found myself biting my tongue against the first thing that came to mind. Which was, of course, that I’d seen her naked and memorized her every curve. I’d felt her strength in the most intimate ways possible. I predicted she’d outperform me in that arena as well.
She turned her head and looked out the plane’s window. A few minutes later, she’d fallen back to sleep, leaving so much unsaid between us.
Whoever Penelope was texting with once we were off the plane was none of my business. Truly, none of my fucking business. But the longer it went on, the more she smiled and even giggled after her mobile vibrated and she read what was on the screen, the more I wanted to rip the bloody thing from her hands and tell whoever she was flirting with that she was spoken for.
But she wasn’t, was she? I was in the friend zone, and after the incendiary sex we’d had, I was stupidly arrogant enough to think it meant as much to her as it did to me.
She trailed behind me when we made our way outside to where the driver I’d arranged to bring us into the city was scheduled to be waiting. I fumed as I held the door open for her while she took her sweet time walking the few steps from the terminal to the vehicle.
“Sorry,” she said, looking up at me at the same time she thrust her mobile in her bag. Did I dare hope she’d be courteous enough not to continue her online dalliance on our way?
Once inside, I shifted closer to the door and thought about pulling out a book I’d brought along and reading. Instead, I peered out the window and, in a word, pouted.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked.
“Not at all,” I lied, made easier since I refused to look over at her. “In fact, I think it will be best if I find a hotel for this evening. Tomorrow?—”
“You can’t!” she gasped.
Flummoxed, I simply looked at her, unsure what to say. If anything.
“You just can’t. Okay? We can sort everything out tomorrow, but tonight, I’d really like it if you’d go with our original plan. Besides, we’re celebrating your birthday, Brand.”
“To be honest, I am not big on celebrating. We’re both exhausted. Let’s regroup in the?—”
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“You heard me. No.” She folded her arms in a very un-Penelope way.
“If it means that much to you?—”
“It does.”
I couldn’t help but wonder why it mattered, given the text exchange she’d had over the course of the last twenty minutes. Perhaps she had a pet I was unaware of and intended for me to watch it while she went out with whoever made her giggle. It was cruel, really, that she’d expect me to remain at home with whatever creature I had to care for while she gallivanted on my birthday.
“Brand?”
“What?” I snapped.
“Will you look at me?”
I slowly turned my head, peering down at our hands when she covered mine with hers.
“The town house has plenty of room. If you need time on your own today, I completely understand. As for being tired, what better day than your birthday to spend it in bed, err, um, sleeping?”
“And what will you be doing while I’m napping?”
“I told you. Making dinner.”
“Completely unnecessary?—”
“Would you stop? Gawd, when did you turn into Mister Grumpy Pants?” She had the audacity to huff a little.