He chuckles and stands. I sneakily check out his package. At least I think I’m being sneaky.
He drops back down beside me, arm touching mine as he whispers, “Wondering whether what I have is better than what you’ve got in your treasure chest?”
I choke back a snort, flip the magazine shut, and decide a pretend nap is a smart idea. How did I get into this situation? Why does he have to be so flirty and hot? I always assumed that Lex’s reputation with women was a given truth. But I’m really not so sure. In all the time I’ve known him he’s never had a girlfriend—not one that I’ve seen. And then there was that one rumor about how well he took care of his bachelor auction date last year—she paid over one hundred grand, so I suppose it’s possible he gave her full service, but it’s all just gossip.
The part of me that I’ve kept buried for the past year, the part that says fuck all the consequences, would very much like to find out if the rumors are true. That’s asking for trouble, though.
So much trouble.
But I kind of want to get into a little of that while I’m in Bora Bora. Or maybe a lot.
Eight: Don’t Touch That
Lexington
Amalie fell asleep an hour ago, which is a good thing. I can’t flirt with her when she’s unconscious. I can, however, be considerate and thoughtful.
I tipped her seat back and pulled out the footrest—all without disturbing her. I’m that smooth. I secured a pillow for her and even tucked it under her head, twice, but she seems to prefer my shoulder. She’s currently curled up on her side, hugging my bicep. I’ve used my jacket to cover her from the waist down, because her skirt keeps riding up, exposing the lacy top of her thigh highs. I’d like to say I’ve covered her up because I’m a decent human being, but the truth is, there’s an old guy to the left of us who keeps looking over every time she moves. It’s okay for me to check out her thigh-highs—him, not so much. Also, it’s giving me a hard-on I can’t do anything about.
Amalie’s not a silent sleeper. She makes these soft little sounds, moans and sighs. She mumbles too, and based on the way she keeps inching closer, she’s a snuggler.
I hate that the image of her curled around my cousin’s arm pops into my head. I hate that he’s had her, been inside her, knows what she sounds like when she comes. I hate that he’s humiliated her in such a public way, made her question her value as a person, her worth. I hate that he asked her out before I could.
I’d been watching her all night, just completely in awe of the way she handled the room, her interactions with people. I’d wanted a chance to find out what was under that sweetly polished exterior. I never should have left her side the night I met her. If I’d been smart I would’ve taken her with me to the bar, and kept her away from Armstrong. But then, even if I’d managed to get her to go out with me, he would’ve found a way to fuck it up for me. He always has. I don’t intend to allow him another opportunity to mess with me. Not after this.
I move stray hairs from her cheek. She really is absolutely gorgeous. The vibe she gives off isn’t quite sex kitten. Her face is too sweet, her features fine, delicate. It’s what makes the fact that she has a trunk of sex toys that much more intriguing. She certainly doesn’t look like the kind of woman who would be toting a collection of butt plugs. And that stainless-steel number. Fucking hell. I’d give my left nut to put that to use. Okay, maybe not a nut, but I’d give up something good to have that opportunity.
It’s gratifying to know that Armstrong hasn’t benefited at all from her collection, pretentious prick that he is. I’ll bet he felt threatened. I’ve seen him strutting around in the locker room. He doesn’t have anything to peacock about.
Amalie makes another little noise and presses her cheek against my arm. I return my attention to spreadsheets and the figures on the screen instead of perverted thoughts, but it’s a losing battle.
The flight attendant pauses when she reaches me and passes over two blankets. “For you and your girlfriend.”
“Thank you.” I don’t correct her.
I don’t remove my jacket from Amie’s legs. I just drape the blanket over her and tuck her in. I give up on working. I’ll have plenty of time when I get to Bora Bora to review the rest of the material. Sleep hasn’t been great the past few days. I have meetings four hours after I arrive with the resort manager, and I’ve reviewed the critical details. I should get some sleep.
I pull up my leg rest and recline, pushing back Amie’s chair until we’re both fully prone. The console makes it impossible for her to get any closer, which is probably a good thing.
I adjust her position and try the pillow again, but it doesn’t seem to dissuade her. In fact, now that we’re both prone, she pushes her forehead against my bicep, and she starts murmuring, my name is in there, a soft, tiny whisper.
As I close my eyes and settle in, I have to wonder what the purpose of all of this is. The series of events that put me beside Amalie on this plane seem like too much of a coincidence to ignore. I have a woman with a shattered heart at my side. A causality of Armstrong’s endless need to screw with me. I missed my chance before, but maybe now I can be part of what helps put her back together.
*
“Excuse me, sir.” Light tapping on my shoulder becomes slightly more vigorous until I open my eyes. I blink against the brightness and look up into the smiling face of our flight attendant. “We’re serving breakfast prior to landing.”
Prior to landing? How long have I been asleep? “Oh. Okay. How much longer until we land?”
“Just under two hours, sir. Would your travel companion be interested in breakfast, as well?”
It’s then that I take stock of Amalie, cuddled up next to me. Her face still pressed against my arm, as if she hasn’t moved in the time we’ve been asleep. I can’t remember the last time I’ve slept for that many hours consecutively. My gaze drops lower, to where she’s thrown her blanket off and her skirt has ridden up obscenely high. Her top has done the same, exposing a strip of toned stomach. I quickly pull her blanket back in place.
“Yes, please. That would be wonderful.”
“I’ll leave the menu with you and give you a few minutes to decide.” She moves on to the old man, who I’m sure has been enjoying the view, based on his upside-down magazine.
I shift Amie so her head is on her pillow before I right my seat and fold down the footrest. Once more, I contemplate the purpose of this—us being thrown together in unconventional circumstances. I don’t buy the divine intervention bullshit. But, knowing I’m going to be near her for the next few weeks—that’s a strange kind of torture.