Neanderthal Seeks Human(86)

I was the first to break the gaze.

I stepped back and out of his grip, letting my attention drop to the navy carpet, and unnecessarily fiddled with my glasses. I mostly succeeded gathering my wits, finding it helped to focus on how annoyed I was that, once again, the man’s mere presence turned me into a complete flustering kerfuffle.

Abruptly I thrust my hand forward in an offer to shake his hand, “Mr. Sullivan. It’s very nice to see you again.” I glanced up at him as he fit his hand into mine, ignoring how nice his skin felt against mine and that stupid- yes, stupid because it was inconvenient and my vocabulary was suffering due to his mere presence- stupid shock of something like delightful pain when we touched. I tried to give him a professional, firm handshake.

“Ms. Morris.” Even though I felt a small twist of sadness at the formalness of his greeting, his voice sent little shivers down my back and I was further set off kilter. His eyes moved over me in the same open, plain assessment that he always seemed to employ: lips, neck, shoulders, lower.

Our hands hung suspended between us, no longer moving, and I battled to keep myself from turning completely scarlet under his attention. I didn’t move to withdraw nor did I have any desire to break the contact. I felt certain this man had no idea what he did to me just by looking at me and holding my hand. For a split second I imagined that hand elsewhere on my body and I lost the battle against my blush.

I tried to cover my heated embarrassment and, as usual, started speaking without thinking, “This is a nice plane you have here.” his eyes lifted to mine abruptly, “I don’t know much about corporate or private jets. It seems like fuel efficiency is a real problem though as planes are just about the least fuel efficient means of transportation-“

Quinn tipped his head to the side, arresting my attention with his intense stare, “Are you saying you’d prefer to drive to Las Vegas?”

“Well trains can be very nice. Maybe you should invest in a corporate train. There was a study conducted by AEA Technology between a Eurostar train and airline journeys between London and Paris, which demonstrated the trains emitting 10 times less CO2, on average per traveler, than planes. Don’t forget, trains also have sleeping cars for… sleeping.”

Quinn’s mouth curved in an almost non-existent smile, the shade of his eyes seemed to darken, “Planes can have beds too. Maybe I could have one installed on this plane for the next time we travel.”

“How would you decide who gets the bed and who has to sit in a seat?” I blinked at him.

He opened his mouth as though to respond but then suddenly shut it and withdrew his hand from mine, frowning at me, “Good point.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled my attention away from Quinn; Olivia Merchant and Carlos Davies were standing to the side of us, watching our exchange. Carlos gave me a small smile, his eyes narrowed and moved between Quinn and me; but Olivia, who had been the one to clear her throat, was frowning. I hadn’t noticed them approach. In fact, I hadn’t noticed anything but Quinn from the moment I collided into his chest.

“Excuse us, Janie. We’re trying to get through to our seats.” Olivia motioned with her hand toward the empty seats across from Steven and me.

“Oh, sorry.” I stepped to the other side to let them pass then ducked around Quinn, careful to avoid further eye or physical contact, as I sprinted toward the bathroom at the back of the plane.

Once in the safety of the onboard toilet I let my head thump against the wall behind me and glanced at myself in the mirror. I admit it; I am not above talking to myself in the mirror. In fact, I do it quite often. The image I found looking back at me was covered with splotchy red patches, the remains of an impressive blush, and a grim expression.

I wanted- no, I needed to find some way to turn off my intense involuntary reaction to Quinn. He’d only been gone one week and it was like all the progress toward comfort and ease in his presence had dissipated; I was acting like a ridiculous impious teenager.

My boss.

The Boss.

I groaned.

I took a couple of deep breaths and attempted to calm the momentous beating of my heart. Why was it that I felt so painfully self-aware? Was it that I now fully understood how off limits he was? How wretchedly doomed I was to live in the state of perpetual unrequitedness? To my utter despair his presence seemed to make the invisible box in my head explode instantly upon eye contact, scattering the once neatly folded thoughts and feelings all over my pretend closet of calm.

It wasn’t just his physical superiority, not any more. Undeniably, as demonstrated during our initial elevator encounter, the magnificence of his features seemed to render me painfully inept at normal conversation. Now I knew him. I now had memories attached to him: the way he titled his head when he listened, the sound of his voice, the sound of his laugh, his ready responses to my hypothetical questions, how he teased me, the touch of his fingers brushing my hair over my shoulders, the heat of his gaze moving over my body, what his chest looked like after a shower.