The soap dispenser is empty, so I have to scoot over to the next sink to fill my palm with the foam.
First class.
Lathering up my hands, I think about Dominic’s Vegas idea. He might be onto something since my luck seems to be miraculously good today. First, crashing into a hot guy who is way too nice to me. Then, going up to the desk and being told they overbooked the flight and I’ve been bumped up to first class.
Okay, so it’s only two things if I don’t count the material gifts, but I can’t help but hope that maybe Dom flies first class, too.
With his fancy suit and nothing but whatever was in his pockets, he looks like an experienced traveler.
But when I turned around after being given my new seat assignment, I couldn’t find him.
I move over to the air dryer.
Maybe he lied about being on the same flight?
No, that would be dumb. He’s the one who asked if I was flying to Minneapolis, and he walked us right to the correct gate. He probably just had to go to the bathroom, same as me.
The line to the ladies’ room was long, so by the time I hurry back to my gate, they’re already boarding. And the digital sign shows that I missed the special boarding for the priority passengers. Whatever, I’ll still enjoy the experience. Time to lean in to an evening of luxury.
I shuffle forward with the line as it moves.
Maybe it’s unhealthy to adopt a phrase so quickly from a stranger. But it’s a good sentiment. And it’s along the lines of my this moment mantra. So, I don’t really see the harm. And it’s not like I’m going to scratch Dominic’s name into my bedroom wall when I get home.
Dominic. Even his name is hot.
I scan my ticket, and the woman at the gate tells me to have a good flight.
Then, for the eighteenth time, I confirm where I’m sitting. Row three, by the window.
I find the window preferable because I like to prop my head against the wall and nap. But I bet the aisle person is already sitting down, so I’ll have to ask them to get up. Which I don’t want to do. But it’s not like it’s the end of the world.
I make my way down the Jetway, closer to the plane, wondering if I’ll see Dominic. Wondering if I should say hi if and when I do. Wondering if I’ll ever just be normal and figure out how to play it cool.
“Good evening.” One of the airline attendants greets me as I step over the little gap and onto the plane.
“Hello.” I smile back.
There’s a large man ahead of me, so I can’t see beyond the row I’m next to.
I try to make my glances look casual as I check the passengers, but none of them are him.
None of them have those broad shoulders. None of them have that short dark hair I want to run my hands over so I can feel the ends tickle against my palms. None of them have those blue eyes that sparkle with secrets.
Dominic said he’s forty-one. But he feels older. Not older in an old man way, but in an experience way. In a he’s lived a full life kind of way.
But maybe that’s just the tattoos.
And damn, those tattoos.
I resist fanning myself but just barely.
The man ahead of me moves forward, and I look at row three.
At my row.
And at Dominic.
The edge of his mouth lifts. “Tell me you’re sitting next to me.”
I do my best to keep a neutral expression on my face. “I’m sitting next to you.”
Dom slowly stands, keeping his eyes on me.
He has to duck to avoid the overhead storage, then he sidles into the aisle and straightens.
We stay like that for a beat. Chest to chest. And I watch his nostrils flare, as if he’s holding something back and it’s costing him. Then he swallows and moves out of the way, allowing me to scoot into our row.
My skirt catches on the armrest, flashing a bit of thigh, and I reach down to free myself.
When I make it to the window seat, I slip my backpack off and shift it so it’s on my lap when I sit down.
“Want that up here?” Dom asks.
I look up and see he’s still standing in the aisle. But now his hands are up, resting on the overhead bin.
The position flares his unbuttoned suit jacket out and stretches his white shirt across his torso. And sweet baby Jesus, those are definitely tattoos covering his body.
Lord, help me. This is going to be the best and worst flight ever.
It’ll be like sitting in front of a giant cheesecake but knowing you aren’t allowed to take a bite.
“Angel.”
My eyes snap up to meet his, and the blush that had finally faded from my cheeks comes roaring back to life. Because he just caught me ogling him.
I bite my lip, but it doesn’t stop the guilty look on my face.
Dom lifts an eyebrow, and I lift a shoulder.
It’s not like he doesn’t know he’s attractive.
In retaliation, he slowly lowers his eyes from my face, down my neck, over my ample cleavage, and down my body to where my skirt is riding up above my knees.
When his eyes move back up to meet mine, it’s my turn to lift a brow. Copying me copying him, Dom lifts a shoulder before dropping his arms back to his sides.
Finally, I remember the question he asked me about putting my bag up.
“You can sit down. I’ll put it under the seat. Wouldn’t want someone to try and steal my new fancy bag.” To punctuate my statement, I shove it to the floor and use my toes to push it forward.
But I’m not used to these spacious first-class seats. And my legs don’t reach far enough to push the bag all the way under the seat in front of me.
Dom lowers himself into his seat with a chuckle, then leans into my space, reaching down between my still-extended feet and pushing my backpack the rest of the way forward.
“Shorty,” he murmurs as he leans back. But he doesn’t lean straight back. Doesn’t take the shortest path. He stays leaned my way, the back of his hand brushing against my bare knee.
I still haven’t acknowledged this particular nickname, but I’m too busy trying to breathe to think of a comeback.
And even breathing is hard, because he’s so close my lungs are filling with his warm cologne scent, and it’s reviving every hormone I’ve ever had.
Finally, Dom settles back against his seat and reaches down to buckle his seat belt.
With his attention elsewhere, I quickly reach for my belt and pull it to the longest length, hoping he doesn’t notice.
Sometimes the seat belts on a plane are a struggle. Sometimes there is more than enough length, and I have to tighten it several inches, and sometimes they seem to be made for only slender bodies—or even men with beer guts who somehow have tiny waists—but not made for wide-hipped, thicker women.
The panic of impending shame edges into my mind, but then the belt clicks, and I realize first class is built differently because the belt is sagging across my lap.
I let out a breath of relief, though I’m not sure why. It’s not like Dom can’t see my body with his own eyes. But the thought of having to ask for a seat belt extender in front of him makes me want to peel off my skin.
Even if you had to, it wouldn’t matter. It’s just a body.
I take another breath. It’s amazing how quickly shit you thought you dealt with can come flying back at you when you’re confronted with a new situation. Such as the attention of an overly attractive man who happens to be your type in every way possible.
A hand I’m becoming familiar with appears in my line of sight, and Dom grips the little tab at the end of the seat belt and pulls it, tightening the belt until it’s secure across my lap.
“Thank you, sir.” A female voice sounds from the aisle, and I see one of the attendants smiling down at us. “Gotta keep your wife safe.”
My mouth pops open to correct her, but before I can think of the right thing to say, Dom sets his hand on my thigh. “Someone has to.”
All I can do is gape.
“Would you like a headset?” the attendant keeps smiling as she asks us.
“We’ll share one,” Dom answers.
The woman hands him a small package, and through the clear plastic, I can see the white coil of cord with two earbuds attached.
Dominic slides those bright blue eyes my way.
“Is this you leaning in?” I whisper.
He smirks. “You’re getting it now, Mama.”
Mama.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
The fingers on my leg flex, causing the fabric of my wrap dress to shift so the edge of the top layer slides down between my thighs. I’m still covered, but now the fabric is outlining the shape of my thighs and riding just a little higher.
Dom clears his throat and lifts his hand away.
I think he presses his palm to his lap.
I think he might be adjusting… himself.
But I’m too much of a coward to look.
I busy myself, checking out the tiny water bottle in my seat pocket. I use my fingertip to see if there’s anything behind the safety pamphlet also in the pocket. Basically, I do anything but look at Dom as the last people take their seats. And since I didn’t take anything out of my backpack, I don’t have anything to hold my attention. So I fiddle.
Dom doesn’t fiddle. He doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t even take out his phone. He just sits there, fingers laced together, hands in his lap.
If I look at him, I’d know where his eyes are focused, if they’re on me or on something else. But I don’t look. I just imagine them half-lowered, as close to rest as a man like him might get in public.
I have no idea what type of man he really is, but he seems like the type that doesn’t easily trust others. The type that doesn’t cut loose, no matter how much he leans in to a situation.
The speakers crackle, and the pilot tells the crew to prepare the cabin for takeoff.
I fiddle more.
Smoothing my skirt. Crossing my ankles one way, then the other. Lifting the little flap in the armrest that hides the lap tray, then lowering it.
When I adjust the little napkin sitting on the flat space of the armrest between us, an inked hand settles over mine, and my fingers still.
“Nervous?” Dom’s voice is low, making sure I’m the only one who hears him.
“No,” I answer too quickly. Then I let out a breath and try to relax my shoulders. “A little.”
“Why?” He doesn’t sound judgmental. He sounds like he really wants to know.
There’s another announcement, and the plane starts to roll away from the gate.
“No good reason,” I tell him truthfully. “But the sky kinda seems like the ocean to me.”
“How so?”
I think I can hear a smile in his voice, so I glance up at his face. But the smile isn’t on his mouth, it’s in his eyes.
I hold his gaze. “Humans aren’t made for either.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I appreciate that he’s thinking about my answer. Or at least he’s acting like he is.
Then he nods once as he says, “Self-preservation is a good trait to have.”
“It’s gotten me this far.” I try to joke, but the pain in the truth of it scratches against my throat.
I’ve lived too many days so focused on self-preservation that it’s bored into my marrow. That I don’t know any other way to live.
I look away from Dom.
For so long, it’s been just me looking out for me.
Most days, it still feels like that.
Sure, King has a security guy drive me around. But I think that’s just to make him feel better. So he can sleep next to Savannah at night and confidently tell her he’s keeping me safe.
Savannah, my half brother’s wife, is the only Vass I don’t share blood with, but I think she might be the only one who really loves me. The only family I have that feels true affection toward me, not just obligation.
But her first loyalty will always be to King. And that’s why I still feel so alone.
Fingers that I forgot were wrapped around mine shift. I think he’s letting go when his palm leaves the back of my hand, but instead, Dom slides his hand under mine so we’re palm to palm.
I have to swallow.
Savannah’s casual hugs are the only real human touch I get anymore.
And oh my fucking god, I need to stop feeling so damn sorry for myself.
“Sorry,” I whisper, hoping like crazy he thinks I’m just upset over flying and not picking up on the fact that we went from harmless flirting to me flaying my insides open.
“Never apologize.” His stern tone has me looking back up.
I take in his face, take in his seriousness. “Never?”
“Never,” he repeats.
“You don’t ever apologize?”
“Not ever.”
I roll my lips together, considering this. “Why not?”
“Because I mean everything I do.”
“Everything?” I don’t know why I ask. There’s nothing about Dominic that doesn’t scream confidence.
“Yeah, Valentine. And when you do things with purpose, you have nothing to apologize for.”
The plane straightens out on the runway, then picks up speed.
I let the velocity press my head against the back of the seat, my neck still turned to look at Dom. “Then I’m not sorry.”
I don’t even remember what I was apologizing for anymore, but I know it’s the right response when Dom nods his head once before mirroring my position. “Good.”
The plane tips up, and we leave the ground.
My fingers tighten around Dom’s.
“Sor—” I start when I notice that I’m squeezing his hand, but I stop myself.
And Dom’s expression is pure approval.
I loosen my grip but don’t let go as I tell him, “I usually fly alone.”
“Usually?” he asks.
I let out a little laugh when I think about it. “I always fly alone. I’m not used to having someone to…”—comfort—“distract me.”
“I’m happy to be your distraction.”
His tone is back to teasing, and I vow to myself that I’ll stay there with him.
“How very generous of you.”
He huffs out a little laugh. “So, why do you always fly alone? Work?”
“Yeah. I design websites. And you’d be surprised how many people want you to come to them in person to show them how stuff works.” I shake my head. “Ninety percent of the time, I could do this by sharing my screen from my living room. But everyone learns differently, I guess.”
“Living room,” he repeats. “Do you work for a company or yourself?”
“A company. It’s actually based in Chicago.” Dom makes an interested hum at the mention of his city, and I don’t act weird over the fact that we’re still holding hands. Not at all. “I did freelance for myself for a while, but I didn’t love it. I mean, I enjoy my work, but I do it for the paycheck, ya know? It’s not like my life’s passion. And running your own business is a lot of freaking work.”
Dom nods like he understands, and I should’ve expected his next question, but it still catches me off guard. “What is your passion?”
I open my mouth, but the space inside me that should be filled with passion is just… empty. A blank space filled with dead childhood dreams that faded to dust long before I hit adulthood.
Stay positive. Stay flirty. You can’t tell him that you have nothing in your life to be excited about. Nothing to hope for.
“Family,” I kinda choke out.
“I’m close with my family, too.” Dom takes my answer the wrong way, but I decide to run with it.
I meant that I would love to have a family of my own, but this is a much better, much less depressing path.
“Does your family live in Chicago?” I ask, happy to turn the conversation toward him.
Dom snorts. “The whole fucking lot of them.”
That makes me smile. “Big family, then?”
He nods. “Too many to even keep straight.”
“That sounds nice.”
“You haven’t met them,” he jokes.
I tip my smile up toward him. “If they’re anything like you, I’m sure they’re lovely.”
Dom’s face contorts into a look of disgust. “Lovely? Clearly I’m giving you the wrong impression if you think I’m lovely.”
“Oh?” I lift my brows. “And what impression should I have?”
He lowers his voice an octave. “That I’m manly.”
The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it.
Dom feigns a hurt expression, but I know he said it that way to be funny, so I stop myself from saying sorry.
“Anything else?” I grin.
He lifts his free hand, ticking off fingers. “Hilarious. Handsome. Great head of hair.”
I make a show of looking up at his close-cropped hair.
Dom taps his temple. “This is by choice, not necessity.”
I flex my fingers in his. “Can I touch it?”
Dom drops his eyes to his lap, and I squeak. “The hair!” Then I make another sound and add, “The hair on your head. Obviously. Oh my god.”
The deep laugh Dom lets out loosens his grip on my fingers, so I take the opportunity to slip free and slap my hands over my face.
“Angel.” He’s still chuckling.
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m not here anymore. Go talk to someone else.”
He laughs some more, even as he gently grips my wrist.
I resist him pulling my hand away from my face until I feel the puff of breath across my bare forearm.
Peeking between my fingers, I find him with his head dipped down, leaning into the space between us.
“Give me a feel, Shorty.”
“I’m not that short,” I grumble.
“Sure you aren’t.” He tips his head closer. “Go on.”
Give me a feel.
I exhale and gently place my fingertips at the base of his skull, right where his hairline starts on the back of his neck.
Dominic stills beneath my touch—turns to stone. But I don’t stop. I lean in.
As I slide my fingers up, the short bristles tickle the sensitive underside of my fingers.
His hair is surprisingly soft. And I don’t stop. I don’t stop when his hair brushes against my palm. I don’t stop at the back of his head. I let my hand slide up toward the top.
Once there, I let my hand settle a little more, flattening the short hairs between my hand and his scalp as I slide my hand back down, then back up. And I definitely don’t stop when he tips his head farther toward me.
“Jesus,” he groans. “That feels good.”
I catch myself before I agree, even though it does. It does feel good.
And then, because I like the way it feels when I do it to myself, I curl my fingers until the nails are just touching his scalp and drag my hand back down to the base of his skull, giving him a light scratch the whole way.
When I reach his neck, his shoulders hunch before he lowers them with a shudder.
And because I’m feeling bold, I drag my nails down the length of his neck, letting my fingers pass over the swirling design there until they reach his shirt collar.
Wanting to do more but not sure if I should, my boldness fades, and I drop my hand back into my lap.
Still bent over, Dom turns his head to face me. “I’m gonna need you to do that a hundred more times.”
“I can agree to that,” I whisper.
Why am I whispering?
Those eyes that look like they see too much roam across my face. From one eye to the other, down the slope of my nose, settling on my lips. The tip of his tongue wets his lips.
My chest rises and falls.
By the way one look from him affects me, I don’t know if I want to experience more. Because more might kill me.
Without warning, Dominic leans down, putting his face nearly in my lap, and reaches under the seat in front of me to drag my backpack out.
My mouth opens to ask what he’s doing, but he’s already pulling open the front zipper and taking my phone out, proving he was paying attention when I switched everything over earlier.
Sitting back up, Dom turns the phone toward me. Not handing it to me, just letting the facial recognition unlock it.
I fight against the embarrassment of him seeing the generic background I have on my screen.
I thought the beach scene was pretty, and I didn’t have a photo of my own that was better, so I stuck with it.
Dominic doesn’t pause, though, unbothered by my choice of background.
I crane my neck to see what he’s doing, but he turns the phone away from me, tapping away at the screen.
It doesn’t take an expert to guess what he’s doing, and he confirms it when he sets my phone in his lap and removes his own from his pocket. He just glances at it, checking to make sure the message went through, then he puts it back in his pocket and hands me my own back.
I open my texts, and sure enough, at the top of the thread is an outgoing one from me to Big Guy.
I raise my brows, but Dom just plucks the phone from my hand and once again invades my space to return it to my backpack and push the bag back where it was.
“Well,” he says, settling back into his seat. “If you’d’ve given me a nickname to work with, I would’ve used it. But it appears that only one of us is feeling the endearments. And, wife”—he cuts me a look—“if you’re Shorty, then I’m Big Guy.”
Wife? Gah.
I’m saved from responding when the flight attendant rolls a cart to a stop at Dominic’s elbow, asking what we’d like to drink before dinner.
Being new to this whole first-class thing, I do my best to act unsurprised at the free Jack and Coke that Dom orders for both of us.
Keeping up the act of being together, Dom waits until the attendant moves on before asking me if I’m driving myself home from the airport.
Not going into detail—because explaining I have a family member who is into some bad stuff and therefore feels the need to have me escorted by an armed guard isn’t really something I can share—I just shake my head.
“Good. Me neither.” Dom lifts his glass, and I clink mine to his.
I take a sip. Then a second, letting the cold beverage warm me from the inside out.
I normally wouldn’t enjoy someone ordering for me, but I’m new to this free-drink thing, and I’m happy for the little bit of liquid courage.
“Okay.” Dom reaches up and turns on the screen on the back of the seat in front of him. “What movie should we watch?”
A wave of relief settles on my chest as I appreciate what he’s doing.
It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him, but several hours of talking to someone you just met, who happens to turn you on with everything they do, is kind of a lot.
I reach for my screen, but his big paw shoves my hand away.
“What?” I laugh.
“My screen, Valentine.”
I bite my lip before I mutter, “Bossy.”
“Better than lovely.” He says the word like it’s an insult as he selects the list of movie genres. “Action, thriller, war reenactment.”
I scrunch my nose. “Those are the options?”
“Uh-huh,” he says with a straight face.
“How about Disney?” I suggest it to be a pest.
“Absolutely not.”
I scoff. “What’s wrong with Disney?”
“Nothing. But my little asshole nieces and nephews make me watch animated movies every time I see them. And this is adult time, so I want an adult movie.”
“You probably shouldn’t call them assholes.” I try to keep a straight expression.
Dom tips his face down to mine. “Like I said, you haven’t met them.”
“Fine.” I sigh dramatically. “If those are my choices, then I choose thriller.”
“Interesting…” He drags the word out and starts to scroll through the list of options.
Dom pauses to look from his screen to mine, then to me, and back to his screen again.
“What?”
His big shoulders lift, then fall. “We’ll need to use yours.”
My eyes follow the same path his just did. “Why?”
Dom unfurls the headset he got from the flight attendant. “Because, Shorty, one of us is gonna need to lean over a bit to make this work. And I think it will be more comfortable for me to do it.”
I widen my eyes at him. “Because you’re such a big guy?”
He narrows his eyes. “Keep teasin’ me, see where it gets you.”
Pretty please, let it be pinned to his bed.
I banish that thought and turn my screen on so I can search the thriller titles.
I’ve only just started to look when our dinner trays arrive, and we eat in silence while I scroll through the titles—the chicken and couscous with a side salad and bread roll way better, and way more, than I expected.
By the time we finish eating, I’ve decided on a movie. When Dom is distracted by the trays being taken away, I hit play and then pause it after the title screen so it’ll be a surprise for him.
Dom hums, seeing what I’ve done. “Sneaky girl.”
Having finished my drink with my meal, I’m feeling more than a little flushed, and his voice is affecting me more than it did before.
Instead of handing me the earbuds, Dom stretches across me, bringing his masculine scent back into my space.
He slides the metal tip into place under the screen.
And I don’t even question why, but that action makes me press my thighs together.
Uncoiling the cord, Dom hands me one of the little plastic earbuds.
I slide it into the ear closest to him, and he does the same. With his face so close to mine, he asks, “Are you ready?”
The question has my breath catching. And he doesn’t wait for an answer, just hits play.
The movie starts, and all my attention is on Dominic Gonzalez as he gets comfortable next to me.
His elbow goes to the armrest between us, and he puts his chin in his palm, propping his head up. But since he’s not a shorty, he has to hunch over. And it puts him in my space.
His exhales skitter across my skin, and my arms break out into another round of goose bumps.
Just act normal. This isn’t a big deal.
Sure, we could just watch our own movies. Or agree to watch the same one at the same time. But this giant sexy man wants to share a screen, so that’s what we’re gonna do.
I’m trying to remain calm when one big, inked finger reaches out and pauses the movie.
I look at him, but he just holds up that same finger in a one sec gesture.
And then I watch him take his clothes off.
Okay, so it’s just his suit jacket, but he might as well be getting naked with the way my panties are soaking themselves.
“Here.” Dom holds out his jacket.
“What?” My voice is so breathy it sounds like I’m panting.
“You’re cold.” Dom glances down, and at first, I think he’s referring to my nipples that are surely trying to break free of my bra, but then I remember the goose bumps on my arms.
“Thank you.” I accept it. Because if anyone thinks I would skip the opportunity to be wrapped in his warmth and scent, they’d be wrong. They’d be so goddamn wrong.
Plus, I shoved my jacket into my checked luggage when I got to the airport because I hate having extra things to carry.
I drape the material, still heated from Dom’s body, across my front, covering myself from my shoulders to the middle of my thighs.
Dom restarts the movie, and we watch the opening scene. I can tell he recognizes it almost immediately, and his murmur of appreciation fills me with satisfaction.
I haven’t watched this movie in forever, but who doesn’t love a classic Harrison Ford and Tommy Lee Jones film? Plus, it’s the perfect level of excitement without a bunch of sexy-time scenes that would make it uncomfortable to watch on a plane.
As time passes, I relax into my seat.
And as more time passes, Dom lowers, his head sinking until he’s resting his temple against my shoulder.
And after a few more minutes, his head gets heavier—with sleep.
Because this big, beautiful man just fell asleep against me.
