“It’s a long flight,” he said to ease the tension.
She gave him a strained smile. “I know. Almost five and a half hours.”
Liam cleared his throat. “How about some wine? Or some coffee? I can ask the flight attendant to—”
“No, I’m fine.”
She wasn’t. The shadows under her eyes looked like bruises and he fought back the desire to press his mouth to that tender skin, to draw her close.
“Well,” he said briskly, “I think I’m going to read for a while.” He let go of her hand and fumbled in the pocket of the seat in front of him. “Sometimes these airline magazines are pretty interesting.”
Airline magazines were interesting? He was running away with his best friend’s fiancée, he ached with the need to make love to her, and now he was going to bury his nose in a magazine?
Damn right, he was. Otherwise, he was going to take her in his arms and say things he didn’t believe in, things he’d never imagined ever saying to any woman, much less one who belonged to Bill.
“Let me know if you need anything,” he said, as brightly as a waiter hoping for a big tip. Then he whipped open the magazine and pretended that the print wasn’t one enormous gray blur.
* * *
JESSIE STARED OUT HER WINDOW.
Liam was reading. Reading, she thought, and clamped her lips together so hard her jaw hurt. He’d turned her life inside out, made her run away from her wedding, followed her through half of Seattle and onto a plane headed for the other side of the continent, and now he was sitting next to her, engrossed in a stupid magazine.
It was hard to know who she d
espised more, herself for letting him ruin her life or him for doing it.
“Excuse me,” she said coldly, and shot to her feet. Liam looked up, his brows lifted as if he’d never seen her before. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said, even more coldly, and he rose so she could march past him. It seemed like a good move, but it turned out that her timing was rotten. She was halfway up the aisle when a man in the first row stood up and went into the lavatory.
Jessie blew out a breath, folded her arms and leaned back against the bulkhead. Perfect. He was the only other passenger in first class, and he’d made it to the bathroom ahead of her. Well, why not? The entire morning had been perfect, starting with the moment she’d been stupid enough to think she didn’t want to go through with the wedding, stupid enough to think the rush of lust Liam Malone had stirred in her blood was anywhere near as important as the love she felt for William. As for what she’d felt when she saw Liam board the plane—what she’d thought she’d felt—that had been nothing but surprise.
She glanced at her watch, frowned and looked balefully at the Occupied sign on the lavatory door. What was taking so long? Airplane bathrooms were little more than high-tech closets, first class or not. She wanted to splash some cold water in her eyes, think about the best way to tell Liam that she’d changed her mind, thank you very much, but she wasn’t going to Hibiscus Key with him.
Did he really think she’d let him take William’s place in their honeymoon bed?
The door to the lavatory opened. The man who’d been inside stepped out. He smiled. Jessie glared and moved into the narrow space. The guy’s cologne engulfed her. William wore cologne, too. She’d thought she’d liked the smell—it seemed masculine and fresh—until Liam had taken her in his arms. He didn’t seem to wear any cologne at all. He smelled of things she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Soap, maybe, and fresh air and leather. And of himself. Pure male, intriguing, sexy…
“Oh, stop it,” she said through her teeth.
Scowling, she locked the door, then met her reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t a happy moment. The lime-green jacket had been cheap, but it was ugly as sin. The rest of her wasn’t much better. Brushing the gel from her hair had left it an unruly mess. Her face was as shiny as a polished apple. Her nose was pink, her eyelids swollen. How Liam could still want her was…
Not that it mattered.
Her scowl deepened as she turned on the water, scooped it onto her face, then dried off with a towel. Who cared what she looked like, or whether or not Liam wanted her? She’d been crazy to run, crazy to think she wanted him, crazy to—
There was a tap at the lavatory door. What was with people, anyway? Occupied meant exactly that.
The tap came again.
“Just a minute,” she said irritably. She balled up the towel, dumped it, took a deep breath and undid the bolt.
Liam stepped inside the narrow little room. Jessie stumbled back as he shut and locked the door.
“Are you crazy? Liam, dammit, what are you doing? You can’t—”
“Just shut up,” he snapped, “just shut the hell—” His arms went around her and his mouth came down, hard, on hers.
He was crazy. And so was she, because the instant she felt his lips on hers, she moaned, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back. He groaned, spread his hands over her hips, pulled her against him and slid his tongue into her mouth. Jessie whimpered, arched against him and he whispered her name, slid his hands inside her jacket, under her T-shirt, and cupped her breasts. She fell back against the sink as he ran his thumbs over her nipples.