Page 37 of His To Unravel (His & Hers Duet #1)

TWENTY-THREE

nathaniel

The wind cuts sharp across the runway, tugging at Olivia’s coat as we step from the car. Her steps falter as we approach the waiting jet. Her eyes flick between me and the plane as though waiting for me to reveal the joke. I just smile.

“You’re not serious,” she says, her voice laced with disbelief.

I place a hand at the small of her back, guiding her forward. “I told you I’d take care of everything.”

She bites her lip, her gaze trailing along the polished exterior of the plane. She isn’t accustomed to this—that much is clear in the way she shifts uncomfortably. I find it charming. It reminds me why I’m doing this. I want to rewrite the script she’s been living by.

Inside, the cabin is bathed in soft amber light that illuminates the cream leather seats and dark wood paneling. She pauses just past the entrance, her eyes wide as she takes in the space. Her fingers brush the edge of one of the seats, trailing over the stitching as if confirming it’s real.

I allow myself a moment to indulge in watching her. She doesn’t realize how intoxicating she is when she lets her guard down .

“Sit,” I instruct, gesturing to a seat near the window. “I want you comfortable.”

Her eyes dart to me, but I only meet her gaze with calm intent. She settles into the seat, still a little stiff, and I signal to the attendant and request for a blanket and tea to be prepared for Olivia.

This is more than a flight. It’s the next step.

I told her to leave everything to me when I invited her to New York, and I meant every word. I want to shield her from stress, to wrap her so completely in my world that she won’t be able to imagine anything else. She won’t want to.

She looks out the window as the attendants move around us, her curiosity flickering like a candle in the dim cabin. “So, what’s Manhattan like?” she asks, her voice quieter now.

I lean back in my seat, steepling my fingers. “Manhattan is a machine,” I say, my tone even. “It never slows, never stops. It demands . My family fits into it well.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, sensing the weight behind the words. “Is that a good thing?”

A shadow passes over me, but I mask it with a placid smile. “It depends. My family’s always held high expectations. Strength is expected, and anything less is always noted.”

She turns to face me more fully, leaning in slightly. “That must feel heavy to carry all the time.”

I let out a breath. “Family dynamics can be…complicated.” I shift my gaze away from hers, knowing she will read more into the statement than I intend.

There are things I can’t tell her yet. The past needs to stay buried until the time is right. Until she’s too deeply entwined to run.

The soft rustling of fabric draws my eyes back to her as she pulls the blanket around her shoulders, settling deeper into the seat. The vulnerability in that simple movement pulls at something feral inside me. I want to cocoon her so nothing can ever touch her again.

“It’s still hard to believe,” she admits softly, her eyes fixed on her hands. “That we’re here. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and find out this has all been a dream.”

My brows draw together. “Why would you think that?”

Her smile is small, almost bashful. “Because everything happened so fast. I… I wasn’t sure if you’d want to keep seeing me.

I guess part of me held back for so long because I had already fallen for you…

but I was scared. I thought you’d change your mind, and by then, it would hurt too much to be without you. ”

The thought is absurd. The idea that I could ever grow tired of her, that the fire she lights in me could extinguish, is beyond comprehension.

“Olivia,” I say, leaning in closer, my voice dropping lower. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. You couldn’t chase me away if you tried.”

Her gaze flicks up to meet mine, and for a moment, I feel an overwhelming urge to confess everything. I could tell her how those months of watching her, wanting her from a distance, had only made my obsession grow sharper with each passing day.

Now that I’ve had a taste of her, it burns hotter—more consuming than I imagined possible. I have spent too long orchestrating every detail, ensuring she would fall into my orbit, and now that she has, I’m certain that I will never let her go. But she isn’t ready for that truth. Not yet.

“I invited you because I couldn’t bear the thought of spending weeks apart from you,” I admit instead, letting my hand find hers, brushing my thumb over her knuckles.

“It wasn’t just for you, baby. It was for me too.

I was afraid that if you didn’t see me, you might start to question everything—or worse, that I’d fade from your thoughts, and you’d realize you could live without me.

” I bring her hand to my lips. “I just don’t want you to forget me, Olivia. ”

She laughs, shaking her head incredulously.

“Forget you? You’re…unforgettable. Even if things didn’t work out, you’d always be there in my mind.

You’ve permanently altered my brain chemistry, I know that much.

Some people just leave marks that don’t fade.

” Her voice trembles slightly, as if she isn’t sure whether to feel comforted or frightened by the thought.

I capture her hand more firmly, holding her gaze with an intensity that leaves no room for misinterpretation. The notion of her even considering us “not working out” is like a splinter burrowing deeper beneath my skin.

The thought of losing her—of her choosing to walk away—is intolerable. It makes my stomach churn with something dark and desperate.

“Don’t say that,” I murmur, voice tight. “Promise me you won’t talk like there’s a version of this where we don’t work out.”

Her smile softens, and she nods. “I promise.”

But that isn’t enough. It never will be. In my mind, that promise needs to be carved into stone, etched so deeply that neither time nor doubt can erode it.

I can’t live with any other outcome.

Whatever it takes, she will be mine.

I lean in and kiss her, sealing the vow—slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. She responds with a quiet gasp, her fingers curling in the fabric of my sweater.

I shift closer, my hand sliding beneath the blanket and up her thigh.

“Nathaniel,” she whispers, breath hitching as I nudge the hem of her dress higher. “What if someone?—”

“No one will interrupt us.” My voice is low, firm. “And I need to touch you. Right now.”

I tug her panties to the side, finding her already slick for me. A low groan rumbles in my chest.

I slide two fingers into her with ease, my thumb circling slowly over her clit. She arches into the seat and I clamp my hand over her mouth to stifle her moans.

“Good girl,” I rasp in the shell of her ear, watching her fall apart. “Always so ready for me. Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit next to you and not do this?”

Her eyes flutter shut. Her hips shift, chasing the rhythm. I feel her pussy tighten around my fingers. She’s so close already, so responsive.

“I’m going to make you come like this,” I whisper. “Will you be good for me?”

She nods, barely, and I keep my hand firm over her mouth as I fuck her with my fingers—deeper, faster, her body trembling with every curl of my wrist.

She shudders once, twice, then breaks—silently, beautifully, her orgasm washing through her in waves. I hold her there, fingers still buried deep, as her body quakes beneath my touch.

When she finally exhales, her eyes heavy-lidded and glassy, I press a kiss to the corner of her jaw and pull the blanket more snugly around her.

She melts into my side, flushed and speechless, her breath still unsteady.

I settle back in my seat, satisfaction humming in my veins.

Mine.

The hum of the jet fades the moment Olivia steps into the cold night air, her boots quiet against the slick tarmac. A black Rolls-Royce waits just beyond the stairway, gleaming beneath the glow of the terminal lights .

The driver waits with the door open. “Welcome back, Mr. Caldwell.”

I nod, guiding Olivia forward with a gentle hand at the small of her back. The soft brush of her coat beneath my fingertips soothes me, though nothing truly steadies the simmer beneath my skin when she’s this close.

As she slides into the car, her eyes widen at the bouquet resting on the seat beside her—peonies in shades of blush, pink, and red. She looks at me, a trace of wonder crossing her face.

“You remembered,” she says softly, fingertips brushing the petals.

Of course I did. Olivia had mentioned her love for peonies once, months ago. A fleeting comment. But nothing about her is ever fleeting to me.

She turns, her smile genuine and warm, cutting through the cold armor I wear as easily as a blade. There are moments when I doubt my control—moments like this , when I realize that I would give her everything I own, every last piece of myself, if it means she’ll keep smiling at me like that.

“Thank you, Nate.”

I hold her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. “You don’t have to thank me. I like seeing you happy.” And I truly do. I want to make her this happy every day. I want to weave her joy into the very fabric of our lives until she can’t imagine a world without me in it.

I settle into the seat beside her and nod at the driver. “Take the long way.”

The car pulls smoothly from the runway, the city spreading out before us in glittering gold and silver streaks. Olivia leans into the window, her reflection soft against the glass. The lights of Fifth Avenue burn in the distance, each flicker catching the edge of her eyes.

“It’s beautiful at night,” she says.

I watch her, not the skyline. “Yes.”

She’s not just seeing the city. She’s tasting possibility. I want her to view New York the way I do—alive, endless, a place where anything is possible. I want her to feel the pulse of it, to believe that her dreams could unfurl beneath the glow of these lights.

As for me, somewhere along the way, a life with her in Manhattan has become my only dream.