Aileen laughed at that image. “Gross.”
Killian’s voice dropped a few octaves. “Raw meat. Keeps Killian strong. Ug.”
Reveling in the playful side of Killian, she bumped shoulders with him. “Raw meat make Killian’s stomach sad.”
“Good point.” He settled back, a little more at ease. She wondered if this was her cue to give him some space and go back to her designated media area. But he didn’t seem inclined to kick her out, so she tested the waters and settled back in her seat. When the plane hit another pocket of air, she grabbed for the armrests. Only his forearm was covering the one to her right, and she grabbed that instead.
“Sorry!” She snatched it away as if she’d been burned. All she needed was him thinking she was making a move on him on the plane, for God’s sake.
She folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes as the plane continued to shudder.
Chapter Ten
Killian mentally cursed for making her so uncomfortable. He had to, as his main purpose was to get her to quit following him around and doing the story. But one look at her bone-white knuckles clutched in her lap, the way her freckles stood out in stark relief against her milky complexion, how her throat kept swallowing with every little shake of the plane made his heart clutch.
He reached over without thought and unfolded her hands from her lap. Taking one in his bigger hands, he rubbed until the color returned. “It’s just some turbulence. No biggie.”
“We are thousands of feet above the ground in a flying piece of metal and you want me to think that’s no biggie?” Her voice was tight, forced through her teeth. “Pardon me for calling you crazy.”
“I’ve heard it before.” He rubbed again. “Have you always hated flying?”
Her head drooped a little and she shook it, but didn’t answer.
“Haven’t done much as an adult?”
She nodded this time. Then, so quietly he thought at first he’d imagined it, she whispered, “My parents died in a plane crash.”
His hands tightened instinctively around her fingers, his instant reaction to protect and preserve. “Aileen . . . I’m sorry.”
“I thought doing this for work would keep me preoccupied enough I wouldn’t freak out. I tried once before, on a vacation.” She looked up now, her eyes a little glassy, but somehow still holding a bit of humor. “I hyperventilated. I think the air marshal on that flight was seconds away from putting me in a headlock.”
“You’re not hyperventilating now,” he pointed out. “So you’re doing better.”
“I can’t hyperventilate while you’re talking to me.” Her eyes narrowed. “Oh.”
He smiled momentarily. “I’m brilliant, I know.” He rubbed the back of her hand again. “Tell me something else about you. It’s your day,” he reminded her.
She looked uncomfortable, but didn’t back down. “I’m allergic to everything under the sun.”
“Really.” He waited a beat. “Even me?”
She laughed at that. “No. But nature in general has it out for me. I pop allergy meds like candy in the spring and summer. You should see me, though, trying to report during a baseball game. I’m a red-eyed mess. It’s probably a good thing I haven’t gotten a network job. They’d take one look at me on camera during spring training and fire me. Between that and my freckles . . .” She rubbed at her nose again, like she was trying to wipe them off. “I really picked a stupid career, didn’t I?”
She was gorgeous. How could she not see that? “No more stupid than mine. Remember, I’m the guy who kicks things for a living.”
That seemed to make her smile. “That’s true. What a weird pair we make.”
A pair. Was that what she saw them as? He glanced down and realized, though she’d stopped trembling and seemed to relax a little more with the smoother travel, he still held her hand. And she hadn’t taken it back.
He dropped it so fast her wrist hit the armrest with a thunk. Damn it.
“Sorry.” He rubbed her wrist where it had made contact. “Didn’t mean to do that.”
Her grin told him she wasn’t offended. “Do I have cooties?”
He ignored that and turned to look out the window again. Why did she get to him like this? What was it about this tiny, auburn-haired woman who crawled under his skin, into his heart and just sat there without moving?
It couldn’t happen. He loved Charlie too much—respected Emma too much—to lead danger right to their doorstep.
* * *
They’d won. Holy shit, they’d won.