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Okay.
That’s an answer, I suppose.
My stomach sinks as he lifts me off his lap as if I weigh no more than a feather. He doesn’t say anything as we buckle up. Or as the plane speeds down the runway and lifts effortlessly into the sky.
His gaze stays locked on mine as we gain altitude. I swallow as my ears adjust. My heart pounds in my chest, desperate for an answer. But I can’t ask again. Uneasiness chokes me because I’m pretty sure I’ve handed over a sizable chunk of my heart to this man, and I’m equally certain that he has a hangup about love.
It’d make sense, right?
Someone who’s suffered the sort of tragic loss he has would hold himself apart, build walls around himself and a moat around his heart.
It finally makes sense. The way he doesn’t date. The way he seems to exist on the periphery of society, attending events but never truly participating.
But there’s hope. Gabe made it across the moat and scaled the walls.
The ache in my heart intensifies and spreads until it fills every corner of my body and soul. This is a man who loves his family and who deserves all the love life has to offer. A partner. Friendship. Passion. Affection and devotion.
Maybe—
The phone rings again, and he answers it. One second becomes two. I’m ready to come out of my skin.
“Thank you.”
Just like before, he puts the phone back in the cradle, staring at me until my nerves are vibrating. Then, the tension snaps as he jerks his seatbelt loose and reaches for me. Undoing my belt, he pulls me back into his lap, lips crashing against mine as if I’m oxygen and he’s drowning.
“Alex—” I mumble against his lips. He shoves his hand in my hair, holding me where he wants me.
Oh my goodness. He’s so big, so in control, and I’m so happy to hand it over to him. When his tongue slides against mine, everything erratic settles inside me. The tension drains away and I grip his suit jacket, holding on for dear life.
He pulls back a fraction, and I blink at him.
“To answer your questions,” he whispers, his deep voice rough but husky. “Yes, yes, and I already have.”
Why are we talking?
Wait.
My kiss-addled brain focuses on his words. He’s answering my questions.
Yes?
Yes, to being comfortable. Yes, to being happy.
“You already have?”
Does that mean?—
“You’re impossible to resist.”
“What?” My voice is sharp with confusion.
His lips twitch, and my heart soars.
“You can’t be surprised, Beauty. Your laugh bewitched me years ago.”
“Yeah, but—” I have no other words as my brain tries to process everything he’s said. I need full sentences. Nouns, verbs, maybe an adjective.
He trails his hand down the column of my throat, and then a fingertip traces over my collarbone.