Managed: A VIP Novel Part 3

"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 a.s.sumes 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 embarra.s.sed. 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 a.s.sumes 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, s.n.a.t.c.hing 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 a.s.shat 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 s.h.i.t 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 b.u.t.t 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 b.l.o.w.j.o.b 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. G.o.d, 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 s.h.i.t. 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.

The contact feels good. Too good. Because, holy h.e.l.l, touching him-really touching him-sends a jolt of warm pleasure through me. All the sensitive nerve endings in my body seem to perk up and pay attention. Which is wrong in this situation; I'm here to help the poor man, not get off on him.

I have no idea what he's thinking. For a second he holds me. Or, rather, he holds on to me like a lifeline. Tremors rack his body, but it's clear he's fighting it.

"Shhh," I murmur, stroking his chest. It's a nice chest, broad and densely packed with muscle beneath the proper clothes. His heart thuds against my palm, and I feel him take a deep breath. "Just think of me as your friendly neighborhood cuddler."

He's quiet again before another question bursts from him. "Are you telling me you'd do this for anyone?"

I snuggle down. "No. That you're insanely hot is a huge factor. I get to cop a feel under the guise of civic duty."

"Oh, for f.u.c.k's sake."

A smile pulls at my lips. "Can it with the outrage. I know for a fact that most people would rather snuggle up to a hot dude. If it makes me shallow for admitting that, so be it."

He grunts even as his hand slips to the top of my arm. Long fingers stroke once before stilling. "Your honesty is astounding."

"I know. Now hush, I have feels to cop." I run my hand just a little down his firm pec, loving the way his abs suck in with his. .h.i.tched breath. I'm teasing him, but d.a.m.n, he's nicely built. I force myself to stop. Only when I do, he tenses, and the tremors return. I realize my petting actually does soothe him.

I consider this a green light. Sinking into his hold, I stroke his chest and hum under my breath. He slowly eases, his body turning more toward mine, and my b.r.e.a.s.t.s press into the side of his ribs. The plane continues to jump and shake, and it's a battle to keep him calm. Every inch of ground I gain, stupid turbulence pulls it back from me.

"I think we should name our kids by number," I tell him.

His muscles clench and shift under my cheek. I can almost hear him internally debating how to respond.

"Dare I ask why?" he says finally.

"Because we'll have so many, numbers seem easier. We can do like the king in Stardust. Una, Secundus, Septimus..."

"That seems inordinately cruel. Think of the s.h.i.t they'll receive in grammar school."

"They'll be too tough to be bullied. And I see you're warming to the idea."

I grin when he grunts. It's not a no-more like a you're crazy. I can work with that.

"I hate this," he says.

"Snuggling?" But I know what he means.