Wishful Sinful (Rock Royalty Book 5) (7 page)

“Oh, Honey,” he said, his tone mild but scolding. “You should have said something.”

Such as,
I have the hots for you?
Or,
I’m sitting here thinking about what you’d look like naked?
How about,
I’m wondering what one of your hair-roughed thighs would feel like sliding between my legs to press against my hot and achy center?

Did he really expect she could express that? She squirmed in her seat and swallowed. “How could I?”

“Easy. You say, ‘Walsh, I’m a nervous flyer,’ and then I take your hand—” he did this now, “—and I promise to reassure you for the rest of the flight.”

“Um.” She stared at their entwined fingers, now propped on the armrest between them as tingling heat raced up her arm and spread across her chest. Her nipples hardened and she blessed the practical poly/cotton blend of the jacket she wore over a sleeveless shell.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, leaning his head close.

Oh, but she
was
worried. Her pulse was beginning to race, there was an odd flutter in her middle, and she might have to drag one of those airbags down because she was experiencing a definite shortness of breath.

“Honey, I’ll keep you safe.”

This wasn’t safe! This was in no way safe! Especially because the only thing she was nervous about was being near to him like this. With her hand cradled in his protective hold, who knew what she might say or do?

Closing her eyes seemed like a good idea, and he didn’t speak again as their turn for take-off arrived. But he held tight as the plane sped up and clasped his free hand over their interlaced fingers as the aircraft lifted off. The climb seemed endless.

“Breathe,” Walsh said into her ear.

Goose bumps broke over her scalp, but she obediently sucked in oxygen. Her anxiety leveled off as the plane did, and after a few more minutes she managed to wiggle free from his grasp.

“Thanks,” she said, without looking at him. “I’m good now.”

She felt his assessing gaze as she extricated her e-reader from the seat pocket. Her cheeks heated, and she shot him a quick glance. “Really.”

“You’d let me know if that wasn’t the case?” He cleared his throat. “You can’t keep secrets from the boss.”

“Of course I’d let you know,” she said lightly. “I won’t keep secrets from the boss.”

That seemed to satisfy him. He returned to his newspaper while she forced her attention to her book. Instead of a tale of love and romance—her favorite—she’d selected a gruesome murder mystery, just in case Walsh happened to get a look at the text. A book about mayhem somehow struck her as more professional than a book about marriage.

But when the serial killer took on a beloved pet, she couldn’t stifle her bleat of distress.

Walsh looked over, a question on his face.

“The Slayer of Staplewood is chasing the family shih tzu with a corkscrew.” She turned off the reading device. “I can’t stomach it.”

His lips twitched. “The perfect time to put it away then. Lunch is being served.”

As food went on airplanes, this was pretty spectacular. A salad of papaya, mango, and avocado. Cold grilled chicken and a rice pilaf with lime accents. A side of tortilla chips with a mild salsa.

“Wine?” Walsh asked her when the flight attendant stopped at their row.

“I…well, sure,” she answered. Maybe it would relax her. “I’m still a bit keyed up.”

“After lunch you should take a nap.”

No, she shouldn’t. Long ago she’d been told she was a sprawler in sleep. As self-contained as she might be in an awake state, once in the Land of Nod she tended to flop in a loose sprawl of arms and legs. Her siblings Lucy and Jeb thought it was hilarious and had shown her photos of herself a dozen times, her head lolling, her limbs akimbo.

“I’ll try not to,” she told Walsh.

His brow lifted.

“I’m not a tidy sleeper,” she confessed.

He laughed as he passed her white wine, a very healthy pour in a real glass. She could get used to this first-class thing, she thought, taking a swallow.

“I might pay to see you messy.”

She shot a look at him. That sounded a bit…improper?

Glancing over, he grinned. “You looked shocked, Honey. Did that come out wrong?” His voice lowered. “Or did you just take it that way?”

Eeek.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said in a prim voice, then tossed back the contents of her glass. When the flight attendant came by with the bottle again, she didn’t refuse a second pour.

When the third was nearly gone, she began to regret drinking with lunch. Feeling a bit owl-eyed, she blinked as Walsh lifted one of the warm cookies they’d been given for dessert. Breaking off a piece, he lifted it to her mouth.

“I know this is your favorite,” he said.

“I—” Her words were muffled by the brown sugar and oozy chocolate chips.
Yum.
She swallowed. “That’s yours,” she protested as she watched him break off another bite.

“You wrapped your cookies in a napkin and put them in your bag.”

“To save for later.”

“Never put off pleasure,” Walsh advised, feeding her another piece.

Her lips felt hot and swollen, and when she tried to capture the crumbling treat her tongue accidentally brushed the pads of his fingers. His nostrils flared, and his intense gaze locked with hers. More heat flash over her skin.

When she swallowed, his forefinger touched the corner of her mouth—fire snapped!—and came away with a crumb…that he licked away.

Oh, God.

She swallowed the moisture pooling in her mouth and told herself to redirect her attention. But that proved impossible. With the high seatbacks in front of them and with his big frame half-turned toward her, it was as if they were in their own private bubble. A bubble thousands of feet above the ground and far, far away from MadSci and all the reasons why Honey Brooks and Walsh Hopkins shouldn’t be sharing a cookie much less a sexual attraction that just
couldn’t
be one-sided.

Could it?

She startled as the flight attendant appeared over his shoulder. “Tray tables up, seats in their upright position please. Seatbelts fastened.”

It shattered the tension between Walsh and her and gave her a reason to shift away from him. She busied herself with the pre-landing tasks, then pressed her nose to the window. From what she’d read, the airport below was on a flat plain surrounded by a spiky range of mountains. They’d have an hour-long drive after landing to get to their resort destination on the coast.

The attendant stopped by again. “Just a warning, folks. This flight might get a little rough as we come in over the mountains.”

As she moved off, Walsh pushed up the armrest between them. Honey stiffened.
What is he doing
now
?

“Relax,” he said, easing as close to her as his seatbelt allowed. “I’ve got you.” His arm looped her shoulders, and he drew her in to his body.

A smarter woman would protest and push him away. But a smarter woman wouldn’t have let her boss imagine she had a fear of flying in the first place.

“Um, Walsh,” she said, trying to work up some vague dissent.

“Relax,” he said again.

And so she did, leaning into him while half-pretending she wasn’t doing such a thing by keeping her focus out the window. Despite that, she was most aware of what was behind her. His big body, the warmth of it, the way his breath stirred her hair. Her stomach was all jittery again, and she pressed her thighs together, trying to assuage the needy ache between them.

The plane flew lower and she could make out civilization on the stark mountainsides. It looked like brightly-colored dots that became rudimentary shacks. The aircraft turned, and she made out vehicles and dirt tracks and then people moving about.

She could almost see their expressions.

Honey sharply turned her head to Walsh. “Aren’t we too close?”

And just as she said that, they seemed to hit a pothole in the air. They lifted in their seats, were plopped back down, and then, in an abrupt move, the plane tilted onto one wing in a 45-degree right bank.

Belongings shifted. She gasped. Behind her, Walsh stiffened as they hung sideways in the sky. The aircraft drew closer to the mountainside, the mass of earth and rock seeming to act like a magnet. Honey could see a woman hanging clothes on a line.

She could see a red shirt, blue pants, the woman’s widening eyes.

Oh, God. They were going to crash.

We’re going to die!

Yet the cabin remained eerily silent as Walsh’s hand tightened on her shoulder. Paralysis had set into her body, but her mind was racing.

This was it.

Say something in these last moments! Tell him how much you admire him! Tell him about the crush! You promised you wouldn’t keep secrets. Tell him you lo—

And then, in the blink of an eye, the plane leveled out, flying away from the mountainside as if shot by a rubber band.

The cabin continued its crushing quiet for another long pause, then someone cheered. A second person whooped.

A crackle over the speakers announced the pilot was about to speak.

“That, ladies and gentleman, is known as wake turbulence. We do our best to avoid the stirring of air caused by the aircraft in front of us, but like everything else in life, it can be unpredictable. However, it’s smooth sailing ahead. We’ll be on the ground in only a few minutes.”

More cheering ensued. Then a flight attendant got up to check on the passengers, and the man in the row in front of Honey and Walsh jumped to his feet, yanked her into his arms, and pressed a lavish kiss on her lips.

Laughter and applause broke out, then all around them people who moments ago had faced the seeming end of their lives in total silence were embracing and kissing.

“Honey?”

She turned her head.

Walsh’s mouth met hers.

Adrenaline was speeding through Walsh’s blood like a shot of the best small-batch bourbon whiskey. When the flight went out of his control, there’d been only fight left in him, and he’d wanted to beat his fists against Fate.

Die like this?
he’d thought,
on a fucking
business
trip?

He’d heard Brody’s voice in his head as the mountainside came much too close, too fast.
Your workaholic ways are sucking the humanity out of you.
Then the plane had re-righted, and the crisis chemical flooding his body needed an outlet. Bad.

Honey’s mouth had just…been there.

Her taste was sweet and hot and now, when he touched his tongue to her bottom lip, she let him in without a question. He fumbled with her seatbelt, yanking the buckle free so he could haul her onto his lap. She settled there with a moan, and he swallowed his own as her ass pressed against his hard cock.

His head angled and hers tipped to allow them a new fit. Thrusting his tongue deeper, he shoved his hand beneath her jacket and found her breast. Her body jerked, and he gentled his touch, cupping the soft weight and grazing the hard tip with the edge of his thumb.

God, he wanted her naked.

She pressed into his touch, driving his need higher. He pushed into her mouth with an aggressive rhythm. She moaned again and he swallowed the sound.

A throat cleared. A hand touched his shoulder.

Shit!
Walsh tore his mouth from Honey’s and glanced around.

The flight attendant looked at him with a blend of amusement, sympathy, and authority. “Sir, you both need to be in your seats and buckled up. We land in under five minutes.”

Honey buried her face in his shoulder.

“Sure,” he said to the uniformed woman, cupping the back of Honey’s head with his palm. “Will do.”

His admin scrambled off him and resettled into her own seat. Her face was flushed, her hair disheveled, and when she threw him a glance he saw the wet brightness of her blue eyes.

Oh, hell,
he thought.
Tears?
“Honey—” he began.

She put up her hand. “No, don’t say anything. We both had a scare—”

“No shit.”

“—and overreacted. I apologize.”

She
apologized? “Honey, it was me.”

If he’d had his way, they’d be members of the Mile-High Club this very instant.

“It was
us
. Now it’s over.”

As if to punctuate her words, the plane’s wheels touched down, a jolt to his body and his common sense. Okay, okay. He pushed his hands through his hair. Maybe it was best to end this her way. It wasn’t going anywhere in any case, right?

Not to mention they were on this trip for business.

Your workaholic ways are sucking the humanity out of you.

Ignoring the voice, he shoved his fingers once more through his hair. “Let’s just forget about it.”

“Yes.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Great idea.”

Truer words and all that. Because even though his blood continued to boil and his cock had yet to stop clamoring at him, he had to remember this was
Honey
. As if she heard her name, she glanced at him again, and the anxious expression in those big blues nearly did him in.

He wanted to haul her close once more. Pet her and soothe her and take the blame for things getting out of hand. Except she’d been with him all the way. Her hot mouth and her melting body attested to it.

Shoving the memory of that out of his mind, he managed to calm his cock while they taxied to the gate. Then he stood up and ushered Honey out of the plane and toward the terminal. While they’d left a mild Southern California climate, the air filtering through the covered jetway hinted at temperatures well into the eighties.

Signs pointed the way to baggage claim, and there they encountered a man in a crisp white shirt and a ball cap with the resort insignia. He held a placard with Walsh’s name on it. After introductions, he placed Walsh’s bag on a metal carrier, and they made their way to the appropriate luggage carousel.

Honey kept stealing looks at him, the kissing still clearly on her mind. How much he regretted going off the leash like that. The way to begin this weekend wasn’t to make his admin uneasy.

In an attempt to diminish her discomfort, he strolled to a vendor and bought each of them an ice-cold can of a thirst-quenching mango drink. Her grateful smile relaxed him a little, and she seemed calmer, too.