Managed (VIP 2)
“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.
Gabriel Scott might not know how to manage me, but I sure as shit am clueless when it comes to him too.
With that in mind, I concentrate on my breathing and the gentle hum of the plane around me, and soon drift off.
Chapter Three
Sophie
* * *
I think it’s the “fasten seat belts” chime that wakes me up. I’m too disoriented at first to even figure out where I am, other than it’s loud and vibrating. And too dark. Then I remember my sleep mask. I pull it off and blink a few times to wake up.
The plane is shaking like an irate fist in the air, which isn’t doing my stomach any favors. The fact that I’m lying down makes it feel even stranger, almost as if I might soon achieve weightlessness.
But I heard a chime, didn’t I? Only, where are the seat belts on this bed? I grope around and come in contact with something hard. A thigh. I remember Gabriel, aka extremely bad flyer. One glance his way, and I know it’s bad. He’s lying rigid as a plank, fists at his side, his expression so blank, you’d think he was dead. Except he’s panting, and a fine sweat covers his skin.