Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(34)

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“SKYE.”

I blink from slumber, the low hum of airplane engines bringing me into the present. The realization that Jason’s body is cradling mine tells me that I’ve fallen asleep on top of him, and while I should bolt upright, I resist, relishing the way he is warm and hard where I am soft.

“Skye, baby, we’re going to land soon and I don’t want it to scare you.”

Baby. He keeps calling me that, and probably calls all women that. But it does funny things to my belly, as does the certainty that I instinctively trust this man as I usually do no other, and in rather scary circumstances. Slowly, I ease up to look at him, suddenly intensely aware of my hand on his thigh. One part of me wants to yank it away, but another wants to sink my fingers in deeper and hold on tight. But I don’t.

My teeth scrape my dry bottom lip and I inch back into my seat, releasing his leg and regretting it as soon as I do. “I slept through the flight?”

His eyes light with mischief. “You did. And we didn’t crash, even though you weren’t monitoring every bump of the plane.”

I glower. “Don’t tease me about my fear.”

“I can’t help myself,” he says, hitting the buttons to raise our seats.

“Yes, you can. Did you sleep?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“But you said you always sleep before a game. Please tell me it wasn’t because of me, and that I’ve screwed up your game.”

“You didn’t screw up my game. I’m not superstitious, remember?”

“But it was because of me. I’m sorry; I can’t believe I fell asleep on top of you like that. I must have been a lead weight on your chest.”

“You were a warm, sweet-smelling blanket I didn’t want to let go of.”

The words are sexy. He is sexy, but I respond to the pinch between his brows and the trouble in his eyes. “You’re worried.”

“Preoccupied.” The engines roar and he leans over to look out of the window. “We’re about to touch down. Safe and sound.”

I find my high heels on the floor beneath my seat and slip them on, holding onto the armrest as we sway, my hand hitting the cup of coffee I didn’t do justice. Jason’s palm settles on my leg, scorching me with his touch, and I swear tingling sensations travel straight up my thigh to my sex. “This is normal,” he assures me again.

There is nothing normal about how this man affects me, though he’s referring to the flight. “And what exactly would be abnormal?”

“I’ve flown all over the world and still I don’t know that answer, because nothing has ever gone wrong.”

We hit the ground and bounce before stabilizing. “That wasn’t a good landing,” I say, gripping his arm.

He covers my hand. “A pilot once told me any landing is a good landing, because—”

“It’s not a crash.”

“Exactly.” His cell phone starts ringing, and he releases my hand and digs it from his pocket.

“Weren’t you supposed to turn that off?”

“Unnecessary,” he assures me. “Did you turn yours off?”

Oh crap, I didn’t. He’d distracted me too much. I reach for my purse under the seat while he answers his call.

“I told you no,” he says gruffly, listening a minute, then grumbles, “Holy hell,” and unhooks his seat belt. “No,” he snaps, moving past me into the aisle, heading to the back of the plane.

I resist the urge to twist around and watch, quite certain he’s talking to his manager—a man who I don’t trust, and yet Jason does. It’s a reality check for me. That man is the chink in Jason’s Prince Charming armor, the one thing that makes me question him. How can Jason feel so right and that man feel so wrong?





CHAPTER NINE


TRYING NOT TO THINK about what Jason’s manager suggested that had him so upset, I unzip my purse and remove my cell phone, glancing down to see a voice mail message and I’m unsurprised that it’s from Ella. I hit the Play button and hear “Hey you. I haven’t seen you at the storage unit and I’m worried. Do you need help? Call me.”

Dang it. What if she thinks I blew off the unit and she really needs her money back? I dial her number and she answers on the first ring. “Hey you,” she says again. “Did you give up on the unit?”

“No, I was excited to find a prize inside.” I hesitate on a lie I despise and try to walk around it. “I got an offer on the unit. The whole thing.”

“You’re kidding. From who?”

The man Stephanie is blackmailing, I want to say, but settle for, “Someone who knows the woman who owned it. And since there doesn’t seem to be much in it, I’ll probably take the offer. I’ll get your money to you next week.”

“I told you, I’m not worried about the money. How did you meet this person who made the offer?”

“He approached me at the unit. He’s . . . a professional poker player, and I’m actually on a plane. I just landed in Vegas.”

“Get out of here. You’re in Vegas with a pro poker player you just met?”

“I know. It sounds crazy.” The plane jolts to a stop. “But yes. I never do anything spontaneous and—”