“I’ll admit nothing,” he bites out, but then his shoulders lower and he steps into the compartment, turning to slide the doors shut with a definitive click. “And to think that woman was flirting with me.”
He sounds so disgusted, I have to laugh again. “I’m not following.”
He sits on his side of the bed and toes off his shoes, scowl still fully in place. “The flight attendant clearly assumes we’re together now, and yet just a moment ago she…” He trails off with a faint flush, which is kind of cute, almost as if he’s embarrassed. And yet.
“She hit on you in the hall?” My ire rises swift and hot—not jealousy. It’s the principle of the thing.
He grunts, glances at the bed, wrinkles his nose in distaste, and turns his back to it once more.
“That little hussy,” I say, glaring at the door.
At that he looks over his broad shoulder at me. A glint enters his eyes. “Jealous, Ms. Darling?”
“Hey, you pointed out how messed up it was!”
“Insulting it was,” he corrects. “She assumes I’m the sort to double-dip my wick. And obviously so shady, I’d do it in full sight of my current paramour.”
“Are you sure you’re not a duke?”
I can almost see him roll his eyes, though he’s facing the other way. “I’m going to ring her.”
“No, you’re not.” I get up on my knees.
He half turns, bringing one thick thigh up onto the bed. His expression is perplexed. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because this bed is the coolest thing yet about this flight, and I don’t want it taken down.”
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “They’ll set up a single bed for you.”
Yeah, and that sneaky flight attendant will smirk the whole time. “If you ask her to take it down, you’re opening the door for more advances.”
His eyes narrow.
“Unless, of course, you want that,” I say lightly. Nope. Not even a little jealous.
“She’s not my type,” he says with a sniff.
“You actually have a type?” It comes out before I can stop it.
“Yes,” he drawls. “Quiet, dignified, and discreet.”
“Lie.”
He turns all the way to face me. “I beg your pardon?”
I burrow under the covers. They’re just the right weight and softness. Nice. “Pardon yourself. You said that to put me in my place. But I’m not biting.”
“You’re imagining things,” he grumbles as he sits back and, with clear reluctance, brings his legs onto the bed. “And annoying.”
“You just can’t manage me. That’s what annoys you.”
I pull out the cute little sleep mask provided in my kit and slip it on with a happy sigh. I’ll just ignore him for the rest of the trip. No problem. Silence rings out, and the drone of the engines comes back full force.
His gruff voice breaks our stalemate. “Are you going to drink any of this champagne?”
“No. I’ve been nagged into refraining from drinking too much, remember?”
A soft huff sounds. Then the bed dips as he leans close and picks up the tray. A clink and another bed dip and everything settles.
“I’ve never met a person I couldn’t manage,” comes his tight reply a few seconds later.
Not bothering to take the mask off, I extend a hand his way. “Sophie Elizabeth Darling.”
A set of teeth catch the edge of my hand and nip me. I’m so shocked I yelp, snatching my hand back. Lurching up, I whip off my mask to find him staring back at me with a bland look.
“Did you just bite me?” It comes out in an indignant squeak. Not that it hurt. He only nipped me, and playfully at that. Still. Really?
“That sounds like a rather juvenile thing to do,” he says, resting his head on his pillow.
“It was a rhetorical question,” I snap. “You bit me!”
His lips quirk as if he’s trying very hard not to laugh. “Best not to stick your hand in my face then.”
I gape at him for a full beat. “And you call me insane.”
His blue gaze meets mine. “Do you mind? I’m trying to get some rest.”
“I don’t like you,” I mutter, sliding my mask on.
“Lie,” he points out, mimicking my earlier tone. “You’ve told me repeatedly now that you find me blindingly attractive.”
“That doesn’t mean I like you. Besides, your brand of pretty is like a weapon. You reel victims in with it, just like a vampire does. I wouldn’t be surprised if you sparkle in the sun.”
“I cannot believe I’m arguing with a woman who references Twilight.”
“The fact that you know I’m referencing Twilight betrays you as a secret Edward-loving fanboy.”
His snort is loud and scathing. “Team Jacob all the way.”
I can’t help it, my eyes fly open, and I lift a corner of my mask to glare at him. “That’s it. We can never be friends.”
He gives me wounded look that’s entirely manufactured. “Words hurt, chatty girl.”
Muttering about asshat Brits, I turn my back to him and ignore his badly concealed snicker. And I’m a traitor to myself because I want to laugh with him. Only I fear the moment I do, he’ll slam up those walls again and make me feel ridiculous.