“What?” I stop imagining sitting on his face and meet his gaze.
There’s humor dancing in his eyes, but he doesn’t let the smile form on his lips. “My question is personal.” He sweeps my hair away from my face. The unwarranted contact might be a ploy to disarm me. Unwarranted but wanted.
“Then I reserve the right to not answer if I don’t like the question, then.” I sip my champagne and make a mental note to ask for sparkling water when the attendant comes around since I’m starting to feel tipsy again.
“The contents of your carry-on.”
I wait for more. For something else to come out of his mouth, but nothing does.
“What about them?” The bad girl in me wants him to bring it on. Ask me about my butt plugs. All three of them.
His jaw flexes and his fingers tap restlessly on the center console, making my drink shake. “How did Armstrong feel about them?” His voice is low and hard like diamonds. I wish I knew what their problem is with each other.
For some reason I want to tell him the truth. I’m blaming it on the champagne and altitude. And how captivating his eyes are. I feel like I’m being hypnotized into telling him things I shouldn’t. “Armstrong didn’t know about them.”
His eyes flare, as if this information, this bare truth, shocks him. “At all?”
I shrug, as if it’s nothing. Not a big deal. But it is. It’s a huge deal. A huge massive deal made up of orgasm-providing implements. I had to hide my arsenal of fuck toys—as Ruby and I called them—from Armstrong, considering his reaction to my vibrator. Armstrong does not like what he considers unfair competition.
Lex shifts in his seat, his knee knocking mine. He no longer looks amused or angry. He’s flabbergasted. “Like at all?”
“He’s aware I own a vibrator. Was aware. I guess he still is aware.” I shake my head and turn away from his slack jaw, gulping my champagne. I better not cry. Again. That man does not deserve my tears. What he does deserve is a swift kick in the groin, with cactus shoes on. I hope this emotional crap where I feel horrible in unsuspecting waves ceases quickly. I’m not a fan of spontaneous tears.
“He’s a fucking idiot. He doesn’t deserve you, or your traveling sex shop.”
I laugh halfheartedly, then drop my head. “I think I might be the idiot. I don’t know how I didn’t see it.” Or I chose not to acknowledge it until it was too late to turn back. These past few days have given me time to think, and I came to the conclusion that I shouldn’t have married Armstrong. Not just because he disapproved of my vibrator, or because he cheated on me at our wedding, but because he was never right for me, even if I’d tried to force myself into believing he was. My reasons for marrying him were all the wrong ones. The anger I’ve been holding on to turns to sadness over my terrible choices and my throat tightens.
“Don’t do that.” Lex leans in closer, tucking a finger under my chin. I feel that single point of connection through my entire body. Every cell is suddenly alert and aware and every nerve ending between my thighs screams for attention. “Hey. Look at me.”
It takes me a second to meet his gaze. He’s just so intense. Flirty and sarcastic one second, demanding the next.
His thumb traces my bottom lip. It’s the gentlest, barely there touch. I almost think I imagine it. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I try to compartmentalize the emotions I don’t seem to have control over.
“Let him make you feel like you’re anything less than perfect. He has no idea what he’s given up. That he had you at all is a travesty. He doesn’t deserve any part of you, least of all your heart.” He searches my face, eyes warm and honest.
I brush his forearm with shaking fingertips and find myself leaning in. Which is the exact moment the goddamn flight attendant stops by with her cart of beverages and her too-sweet smile. Wasn’t she just here?
Lex clears his throat and points to my empty bottle. “Would you like another?”
I place a hand on his forearm. “That would be lovely.” It’s a possessive, unnecessary action. I need to stop flirting with him and save it for someone else. Some single hottie in Bora Bora looking for a good time who I’ll never have to see again once I leave.
I quickly move my hand to my own lap, smoothing down my skirt. “And sparkling water, please,” I add. Too much more in the booze department and there’s no way I’ll be able to keep Anarchy Amie on a leash.
Lexington passes me the champagne first and then the glass of sparkling water. I sip it daintily, and when the attendant moves on I chug the rest.
“You all right there?” he asks, as if that moment never happened. As if I hadn’t almost considered kissing him again.
“Fine. Just thirsty.” I struggle with the champagne. The flight attendant didn’t even offer to open it for me.
“Need some help with that?”
“I’ve got it.” I put the bottle between my legs and attempt to twist out the cork.
Lexington’s hand covers mine and his fingers curl under to stop me. “You’re going to take your eye out, or soak yourself, or both.”
“I can cork a bottle,” I snap defiantly.
“I’m sure you can, but I’m trying to be a gentleman, Amalie.”
I realize I’m being unnecessarily difficult, so I let him take the bottle and remove the cork with a soft hiss. He leans over enough that his arm grazes my breast as he pours me a glass, and I might lean into him to help maintain the contact.
His eyes dart to mine.
“Thank you.” Dammit. Why do I have to sound so breathless?
“Anytime you need to be corked, you just find me and I’ll help you out.”
I roll my eyes and sip my fresh champagne.
“And if you’re bored while you’re working on your tan, or you need any assistance with that treasure chest in your carry-on, I’m more than happy to lend a hand with that, too. Both, actually.”
And we’re back to the flirting. “Is that right?”
“I could be your beta tester.”
“Beta tester?”
“That’s a thing, you know. I’m sure the wrist strain must be difficult to manage. You’re on holiday, you should be relaxing. I could help out. Take the pressure off.” He winks.
I scoff even though I suddenly feel hot everywhere. And there’s an ache between my legs again that I’d like to take care of. Actually, I’d like Lex to take care of it for me. Which is just . . . so messed up.
“Thanks for the offer, but I can manage myself just fine.” I cross my legs. Uncross them, smooth my skirt out, and cross them again. I need to stop fidgeting.
“I’m sure you can. I’m sure you’re orgasmically good at it.” He puts away his lap tray and grabs his armrests.
“What’re you doing?”
He pauses, his forearms flexing and points to the overhead storage. “Just getting something. You need me to grab anything from your carry-on while I’m up?”
“Wouldn’t you just love it if I said yes.” I flip open my magazine, dismissing him.