Page 1

Lara

I’ve never been a fan of flying, a fear I attribute to losing a favorite uncle to a freak flight accident. Of course, the plane had been on the ground then, and so had he, but that connection still lives on in the back of my mind.

I grip my armrest as the engines hum, wishing I could sleep. After all, sleep is typically a magical time machine to breakfast, so maybe it’ll do the same, except as the start of this vacation I so desperately need. Even though I love my brother, sometimes…. I need a break.

I scan the dimly lit cabin as I try to relax the part of my brain that’s hyper-aware of every little sound and sensation. The hairs on my arms stand on end, and I feel like a Halloween cat with hair on end and fright causing a very visceral reaction.

A powerful forearm brushes mine, as if my neighbor wants to use the armrest, but changed course when he realized I’m using the space. “Excuse me,” I say, pulling my arm back. I’m uncomfortable enough, I don’t also need the person sitting beside me to be angry.

“Sure thing,” a deep voice rumbles.

I peek at him out of the corner of my eyes. I’d already noticed him, and the fact that not only is he handsome, he’s not wearing a ring. Not that I’m interested in marriage – I’m not – but he’s goodlooking enough I want to fantasize about what could be but will never come to pass.

His muscular arms are crossed over his chest, his head tipped back on the headrest and displaying his powerful neck and wide shoulders. The guy is built like a professional football player, and it’s making my mouth water. The plane shudders slightly, as if also responding to the sheer strength contained in his limbs.

As I stare at him, he opens his eyes and his gaze slides to me, as if he’s telling me he can feel my stare. I look away, my cheeks stinging. I’m not used to being out of my element.

“Sorry,” I whisper, even though I'm not. Not really.

“Nothing to apologize for.” His words are low, meant just for me as he closes his eyes again.

The overhead light flickers, causing shadows to dance over the rough terrain of his knuckles—scars, callouses, the light dusting of dark hairs on his ropy forearms—then recedes. They're hands that look like they were made for work… or for holding things together while everything else falls apart.

His muscular arms, though, they’re impossible to ignore as he places one on the recently-vacated armrest between us, the movement making the muscles slide as veins subtly rise beneath his skin.

The roughness of his demeanor seems at odds with his softly-spoken words. Sure, his voice is rough, but there’s an almost gentle edge to his words as if there’s more to the man than meets the eye. He looks more like someone who'd be riding a Harley than a business-class seat at thirty thousand feet.

Aware I’m staring again, I tear my gaze away, pressing my back into my own seat, feeling the soft leather yield to my form. My gaze drifts to the window and the scene outside—to the stars that dot the night sky through the oval glass. I try to focus on them, but the image of my seat-mate’s arms lingers behind my eyelids every time I blink.

He shifts, and the leather seat protests beneath him. He’s all hard edges and raw power, and it’s hard to stop thinking about him. I never get this messed up over a guy, much less a stranger, but that only makes me more curious.

“It’s a long flight,” he says, sounding more amused than upset.

“Yep,” I say with a nod, my fingertips digging into the strap of my seatbelt to readjust the material of my clothing underneath. “Very long flight.”

With every dip and shudder of the plane, my pulse quickens. The dull cabin light somehow makes my seat-mate’s presence more imposing, more... magnetic. Our eyes meet and I notice the intensity in his impossibly green eyes, and my heart slams against my ribs. His gaze holds mine, unwavering, intense, as if he’s uncovering all my secrets.

His gaze ticks past me, then back. “Beautiful,” he says, almost inaudibly, and I watch his full lips move while wondering what they’d feel like on mine.

“Thanks,” I say, breathless, though I'm not even sure he's complimenting me. It doesn't matter. My skin tingles where his gaze lingers, desire swirling in my stomach like a riptide, pulling me out to sea.

He nods to the window, and I suddenly realize he was saying the view is beautiful. My face burns and I look away from him.

Why did I agree to this getaway again? To spend a little time away from the pressures of my home life and all the heavy responsibilities that I shoulder every day. But all I can think about is the man beside me—the one who seems to see straight through to my very soul.

I glance sideways and see my best friend, Shana. She’s engrossed in her book, oblivious to my super embarrassing moment with a stranger. I lean closer, bridging the gap between our seats. With a wave of my hand, I catch her attention and mouth two words, He's hot.

Shana’s eyebrows shoot up; she gives me a knowing smirk, then follows my gaze back to the man beside me. He's looking right at me—no, through me—with an intensity that could melt steel. Heat creeps up my neck and my stomach twists into a pretzel.

I can hear Shana giggle and wish I could throw something at her.

I’m caught.

He is watching me, a knowing look in his eyes. I swallow hard, my heart skipping erratically. I’d swear a slight smile tugs back one corner of those kissable lips, but the movement is so slight and fast, I can’t be sure.

“Damn it,” I whisper under my breath.

“Smooth, Lara,” Shana says, but I can only sit here, mortified and oddly thrilled by the attention of the man who suddenly makes this flight feel endless.

He arches an eyebrow, as if expecting an explanation, but I’m trying to figure out why he’s still staring at me. He’s not being very polite. Not that I was being polite- no, I’m thinking about his behavior, not mine.

“Uh, it's not what—” I say, not sure where I’m going with this. Am I about to say it’s not what it looks like? What else could I have meant?

“Relax,” he says in that soft, gravelly tone. This time I can tell it’s a real smile as the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that softens his rugged features.

I nod, swallowing hard.

My heart still dances wildly in my chest as I turn away, pretending to adjust my seatbelt again, but I can feel his gaze on me. That look is so warm but also unsettling, thanks to the familiarity in them, as if we’ve known each other forever rather than the strangers we actually are.

I shift in my seat, stealing another glance at him. His eyes meet mine, and I have the oddest feeling that there’s some kind of connection between us. Connection aside, I want him. My body tingles to life and craves his touch. It’s too much, too intense, too soon.

“Get ahold of yourself,” I whisper internally. I’m here on vacation. An escape, sandy beaches and sun, not green-eyed strangers with intense gazes that tell stories I can’t read.

“You okay?” Shana whispers.

I nod, glancing at my best friend. This whole thing was her idea. And while it seemed like a good idea at the time, this vacation is kicking off to be one that I’ll remember for all the wrong reasons. But I’m not going to let this happen.

I want to tell him to stop staring at me, to look at something – anything – else, but I don’t really want to draw any more attention to the fact that I’m so aware of him. I’m here to have fun, to get away from it all. I’m not going to be embarrassed or feel weird in front of a stranger I’ll never see again. Especially not one who’s so… so… intense.

Shana glances at me again, her book lowered as her attention shifts from me to the man beside me.

“My name is Lark,” he says, as if it’s time to make introductions because we’ve made things awkward. I can feel his gaze like a touch, and a shiver tickles down my spine.

“Nice to meet you,” I say through gritted teeth without offering my name in response. I don’t want him to think this means anything more than it is – he’s the stranger sitting beside me on a long flight.

“The seatbelt sign is on,” the captain says over the intercom. The sound, the ding of the seatbelt light, it’s all a reminder of the reality of the situation. I’d never unbuckled my belt, but I check it all the same as I hear his click into place. Somehow, the belt isn’t keeping me safe from embarrassing myself.

Only when the light clicks off and we’re cleared to remove our belts do I dare breathe again.

“Drink?” The flight attendant’s voice meets my ears, and I look up into her smiling face.

“Water, please,” I say.

“Whiskey,” Lark's deep voice rumbles across my skin like a breeze.

“Of course,” I mumble to myself. Whiskey matches the roughness of the man.

“Here you go,” the flight attendant says, handing me a water and him a little bottle of amber-colored alcohol.

“Thanks,” we both say at the same time.

Looking out the window once more, I sip the cool water as if that’ll calm my stomach and stop bile from backing up my throat. Beside me, the glass he’d poured his drink into tilts back, the sharp-stinging alcohol disappearing past Lark's lips. His Adam’s apple bobs slightly—a small movement, yet I can’t help but watch.

I need to get ahold of myself.

But those arms—the veins weaving up muscular forearms, visible even in the dim cabin light—hold my attention in a way they have no business doing. I’ve never cared about how a guy’s arms look, so why am I obsessing over his? Maybe I should have gotten a drink, too.

His seat somehow looks too delicate for him and when he shifts, my whole body lights up as his arm touches mine. His soft apology leaves me breathless, and I know I need to figure something out, because this is all too damn much.

I’m going to try the magical time machine of sleep, because I don’t know what the heck else to do. Maybe my dreams will be less chaotic and more lighthearted beach-vacation worthy. And I better not dream of him.