Managed:a VIP novel(5)

Glancing back, I finally notice what he's talking about. I'd been so  happy about the existence of a bed, I hadn't realized that our two seats  have been converted into one smooth double bed. There's even a tray  with an ice bucket of champagne on it.

A laugh escapes me before I can hold it in. "Honeymoon special?"

"You find this amusing?" His nostrils flare in annoyance, though he's  not looking at me, just mentally destroying the bed with his laser gaze.

"Honestly? Yeah, I do." I kick off my shoes and crawl over the bed. It's  firm to the point of being stiff, and there's a small ridge down the  middle. But I'm not about to complain. Sitting cross legged on my side, I  look up at his looming figure-he still hasn't fully entered the  compartment. "Come on. You have to admit it's a little bit funny."         

     



 

"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.

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.

I don't blame him this round. The turbulence is awful. The plane rattles so hard, my butt is in danger of leaving the bed.

"Sunshine," I whisper.

He doesn't acknowledge me. I'm pretty sure his jaw is locked shut.

Edging closer, I tentatively touch his shoulder and find his body trembling. "Hey," I say in a soothing voice. "It's okay."

The cabin drops a few feet to mock that statement, and he closes his  eyes, turning his head away from me. He's gone utterly pale, his breath  coming faster. "Go. Away."

"I can't." I move closer. "Look, I know you don't want me to witness this. But I'm here. Let me help you."

He sucks in a breath through his clenched teeth. "Distracting me with blowjob jokes won't work right now."

"I know." I'm actually worried about him. He appears to be on the verge  of an outright panic attack. "Here's what we're going to do." I push  back the covers and crawl toward him.

He snaps out of his terror, his eyes going wide. "What are you doing?"

"Cuddling," I tell him.

If anything he grows more alarmed, and I'm sure he'd back away if he was capable of moving. "What? No."

"Yes." I settle down at his side. God, he's cold. I sit up. He gives a  sigh of apparent relief, but I merely pull my end of the covers over his  legs before lying back down.

He squirms, making a half-hearted attempt to move away, but he's already  at the edge, and there's nowhere for him to go. "This is highly  irregular … "

"Yep. But we're doing it." In normal situations, I wouldn't dare force  this on a person. But he's already focused on me instead of the  turbulence, which is a step in the right direction. I rest my cheek  against his biceps. The muscle is rock hard and quivering.

He clears his throat. "I don't-"

"You're one breath away from totally losing your shit. Accept the torment that is physical comfort."

His arms twitch as if he's trying not to lift them but really wants to.  And then he gives up the fight and raises an arm, making room for me to  come closer. Victory. I lay my head on his shoulder, wrapping my body  against his side.