Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(32)

“I’d offer to do it, but I’m not getting up if I don’t have to. And Lord help us both if I have to pee.”

He chuckles. “I’ll walk you to the door if you want.”

He’ll walk me to the door? “Going all out on the seduction, huh?”

“Pizza, coffee, and a walk to the bathroom. You betcha, baby.”

Now I’m laughing, watching as he grabs our coffees from our earlier seats and heads to the front of the plane. He’s charming, funny, a self-made millionaire, apparently likes charity work, and is protective of his family. And while I have no doubt he enjoys his share of women, I’ve known my share of womanizers, my father included, and I don’t think Jason lies his way into women’s pants, or makes promises he doesn’t intend to keep. He hasn’t done so to me, despite wanting something from me. I think he’s a good guy.

He reappears and sets my coffee on the table. “It’s a little too hot. Be careful.” I nod, and he moves to sit down when the plane shimmies beneath us.

I grab the seat and he grabs the panel above him, his gaze meeting mine. “It’s perfectly normal, I promise.”

“That doesn’t mean I like it.”

“No one likes turbulence, but it beats spending hours or days in a car. Let’s go back to our seats and buckle in so you can try to relax. Let me have your coffee again.” I offer it to him and he says, “Hold tight,” and without waiting for my answer, moves to our prior seats and sets our coffees in the drink holders on the arms.

He returns to more shakes of the plane, snatching the bottled waters and sticking them in a seat pocket before grabbing the overhead again and offering me his hand. “It’s August and we’re heading into Nevada, where the heat is suffocating. It’s going to be bumpy. Come on.”

I scoot around the U of the booth and mentally steel myself for the impact of his touch. With a discreet inhaled breath, I press my palm to his, the touch electric, tingling up my arm and over my breasts and tightening my nipples. Hiding my reaction, I don’t look at him, but he’s not having it.

“Skye,” he says softly, his voice a command.

My gaze lifts and collides with his, and the connection is like a punch in the chest, stealing my breath. He pulls me to my feet and against him, hips and legs aligned, his hand caressing the hair away from my forehead and tilting my lips to his.

“I keep kissing you,” he says, repeating my earlier words, his lips brushing mine. “I keep telling myself to wait until after this is over, but I keep failing. And I don’t let myself fail often.” His mouth slants over mine, his tongue sweeping past my lips, a caress that is long, slow, and drugging, until a jerk of the plane ends it.

I gasp as we jump and jolt while he holds the overhead and me, my fingers wrapped tightly around his T-shirt. “I hate this so much.”

“I know, but we are safe.” The shudders of metal ease around us again and he takes my hand, leading me to my seat where I sit and he claims the one next to me, both of us buckling up for another round of turbulence.

“How do you sleep through this?” I ask, white-knuckled, as I hold onto the arms.

“You get used to it.”

“Never.”

“You’d be surprised.” He glances at me. “You’re a control freak, and sometimes control is about having been there, done that, and experienced it already.”

I don’t even try to deny being a control freak. I am. “Since I won’t be flying enough to do either of those things, that won’t happen.”

“The world is a big, wonderful place you will miss if you don’t get past this.”

“Well, most of the time my little world feels pretty all-consuming.”

“That’s how dreams work, when you really want them,” he says. “They consume you, and the process to get there isn’t easy, nor is the fear of failure during the climb.” He reaches over and lowers our seatbacks.

“I don’t want to lie down,” I object, but it’s too late. The seat flattens with ridiculous speed and I’m flat on my back, and so is he, the armrest no longer dividing us. I try to find the button to lift it but he grabs my hand.

“Turn over and face me,” he orders.

I inhale and have the sudden realization that our ride has smoothed out again. Doing as he asked, I roll and am shocked at just how close we are. “I, ah . . . can’t nap.”

“Then talk to me. Where do you plan to go to law school?”

“I want to stay in California, preferably Hastings in San Francisco.” His words replay in my mind. “You were afraid of failure?”

“All the damn time. My family didn’t have money. I had no backup plan.”

“That was brave,” I say, gaining more respect for him every second I’m with him.

“I get the feeling you’re pretty brave yourself. What’s the story on your family?”

“My mom’s on husband four, and off traveling the world with him. My father isn’t worth mentioning.”

“Ouch. That’s harsh.”

“Just truthful,” I say, not about to open a can of worms that might prove the two of them a little too alike in terms of seeking the spotlight and the womanizing. I’d rather not think about that right now, or ever, actually.