Doll? Who actually gets away with saying that?
Apparently Henry Alexander.
Retrieving a magazine from the seatback, he pondered, “I saw a stainless-steel wallet in here once. I wonder if they still have it.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, completely confused by his abrupt mood swing.
Cool as a fucking cucumber, he tossed me a puzzled expression. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
“Um, because you almost had a nervous breakdown and, now, you’re flipping through SkyShop in search of a stainless-steel wallet.”
With a bright-white, captivating smile, he grazed his shoulder against mine and whispered, “Oh, please. That was nothing.”
It was then that I knew exactly why millions of men and women were so hypnotized by Henry Alexander.
I just couldn’t figure out why suddenly I was too.
I WAS WELL aware that I’d looked like a fool. My heart was still racing as I pretended to absently flip through a magazine. My eyes were glued to the pages, but I didn’t see a single word. I couldn’t think of anything except for Evan’s deep, baritone voice in my ear as he’d counted down to takeoff as if we had been on a space shuttle headed to Mars. That thought was only slightly more terrifying than the shiver that ran down my spine when his warm breath breezed over my skin.
Knowing that every jerk wasn’t the worst-case scenario I’d created in my head did more for me than I could explain. Evan hadn’t just told me I was “fine” or “okay” like Carter and Susan did. He’d explained why I was okay. And, while I’d still been terrified the entire time, I hadn’t felt out of control.
And, recently, that was all I’d felt.
Agents, managers, lawyers, and publicists all made my decisions for me. Even Carter got to decide how I traveled and what restaurants were safe for me to visit. I didn’t mind—usually. Or maybe I didn’t realize how much it bothered me until then.
I adored my job. I had incredible friends. I fucking loved my life.
What was there left to want for?
Oh, right.
A partner.
And not just a man to lose myself inside. Although I was willing to make an exception for the obviously straight-as-an-arrow Captain Roth.
My cock had gotten me in a lot of trouble over of the years. Its timing was shit. And its taste in men wasn’t much better. But it liked what it liked. And, even in the midst of a panic attack, it had decided it liked Evan Roth. It wasn’t alone in that. Evan seemed like a good guy. I didn’t have much to go on except that he was a pilot, didn’t seem overly fond of wealthy people, and could go from gladiator to nursemaid in mere seconds. And, after glancing over at his barrel chest straining against the buttons on his grey button-down, I decided I was completely okay with a little role-play action with him in either one of those scenarios.
In my bedroom.
Or his. I wasn’t picky.
“Care for a drink?” I asked with a devilish smirk. My voice was still thick from the panic, but I prayed that it came off as a masculine rasp.
I also prayed that the flight attendant didn’t delay in dumping some vodka and tomato juice together.
If history was any indication, I was moments away from the adrenaline shakes. I’d get over those just in time to start the process all over again when we prepared for landing. The flying part of flying wasn’t what sent me over the edge. The takeoff and the landing were what damn near crippled me. Those fears were exactly what had driven me to purchase my own private jet, despite the fact that I only flew three to four times a year—less if I could get away with it. I needed the peace of mind that only came with knowing what pilot was behind the controls. I paid Jackson an exorbitant amount of money to keep Craig available to me at all times. He came with the highest of recommendations from the only pilot I trusted with my life.
Because…well, he’d literally saved my life.
Now was definitely not the time to revisit that day.
Shaking off the memory, I tipped my head at Evan. “Drink? Yes?”
His confusion showed in the tiny creases between his brows. “No. I mean, yes. I could use a drink. But are you sure you’re okay?”
“Positive.”
His eyes searched my face.
But he wasn’t going to find anything. I’d made sure of that.
I held his brilliant, blue stare with every ounce of false confidence I could muster. At any other time, it wouldn’t have been false. At a lower altitude, without a death-defying landing in my not-so-distant future, I would have launched full-on defilement mode on him.
Patience. It might have been the only virtue I possessed.
I cleared my throat and jutted my chin toward the flight attendant waiting for his order.
“Right. Yeah. Beer. Domestic,” he requested, unfortunately snapping out of my trance.
We sat in silence until she returned with our drinks.