She patted her stomach after a couple seconds. “I get nervous. Airplanes. My stomach is trying to tell me I shouldn’t have had all those eggs for breakfast.”
I put the back of my hand to her forehead, but she tried to swat it away.
“What are you doing?” she asked, ducking as I tried again to feel her temperature.
“Checking to make sure you’re well. Stay still, dammit.”
“I’m fine,” Jules ducked and weaved like a prize fighter while I tried to get my hand on her forehead to check her temperature. “It’s just nerves.”
I put one hand on the back of her head and pressed my palm to her forehead, locking her in place long enough to make sure she didn’t feel like she was running a fever. “You feel clammy,” I said.
She wriggled free, then gave me a dirty look. “Maybe it’s because my boss is manhandling me.”
I shrugged. “Maybe your boss doesn’t want regurgitated eggs in his lap for two and a half hours.”
“It’s only two hours and twenty minutes.” She held up her phone. “Just checked.”
I started walking toward the plane. “If you have time to check useless information like that, you’re not working hard enough.”
Jules jogged to catch up to me. God, the woman smelled fantastic. I had to fight the urge to lift the hand I’d just had in her hair to my nose to see if the scent of her shampoo was still lingering there. It was like strawberries and sugar.
It had been literal years since I’d allowed myself the distraction of a relationship. Being around Princess Jules was making me realize I should’ve been taking the time to get laid every once in a while. My libido was running on overdrive, and I could hardly look at the woman without imagining the things I would do to her if circumstances were different. Imagining how I’d take a fistful of that thick blonde hair and kiss her rough—or how I’d like to toss her down on my bed and push her legs apart.
All those fantasies needed to stay firmly out of the real world.
Hiring her had been a mistake. It had only been a little over a week and I was already sure of that. The fact that I’d had to lock my office door and fuck my hand while I thought of her yesterday was a damning sign. I could maybe blame that on the alcohol, but I’d never been this way. No woman rattled my determination to do what needed to be done, and yet Jules was already seeping into parts of my brain that were supposed to be completely off limits.
We took our seats and she plopped down beside me. It was first class and we were supposed to have all the leg room we needed, but somehow her seat still seemed too close to me. I could smell that strawberry shampoo again.
I lifted my hand to my nose, trying to discreetly block the smell without letting her see I was bothered.
She tried to fit her carry-on under the seat a few times, cursed under her breath when it wouldn’t work, then stood up and started jamming it into the overhead compartment. I sighed in defeat when I looked to the side and saw her white blouse had untucked itself from her tight-fitting skirt and her navel was on display. It was just an innocent sliver of her stomach, but apparently every hormone in my body was on overdrive. Her skin was milky smooth, and I had a sudden overwhelming impulse to put my palm there and push her back into the seats across the aisle. I wanted to take two greedy fistfuls of her ass and press her into me.
I tried to discreetly shift in my seat as the growing pressure between my legs became uncomfortable. This fucking woman. I’d planned to work on my phone for the full flight, but I was starting to wonder if I’d even be able to think about anything except who was sitting next to me.
Thankfully, old habits died hard, and I managed to get myself sucked into the task of going through my emails and attacking the problems they held.
When the plane’s engines fired up for the takeoff procedure, I noticed Jules stopped scrolling on her phone. She was frozen there, apparently trying to look like she was working.
I waited a little while, then looked over to her. “Something wrong?”
“Nope,” she said. “All good.” Except when she lifted her finger to open an email, her hand was shaking.
I sighed. The smart thing to do would be to let her tough it out. The worst that was going to happen would be she’d throw up. She wasn’t going to suffer any actual harm, but... Dammit.
“Look,” I said. “If you’re scared of flying, you’ve got to distract yourself.”
She glanced over towards me, and she was comically tense. Her fingertips had gone white with how tight she was squeezing her phone. “Who said I’m scared of flying?”
I put my hand on her wrist and got her to let go of the phone. She seemed happy to be gripping the arm rests instead. “The fact that you look like you’re sitting on one of those cheap vibrating beds they used to have in motels.”
She gave a fleeting smile. “I’m just cold. That’s all. And those eggs.”
She was full of something, but it wasn’t eggs. “Try imagining all the successful takeoffs that happen every day,” I suggested.
She swallowed, then sank into her seat a little lower. “I just pictured a seagull flying into our engine and us all dying in a huge fireball.”
“Good news. We’re in Asheville and we’re two-hundred and fifty miles from the ocean. I think it’s much more likely to be something like a heron or a hawk flying into the engines.”
“A hawk wouldn’t fly into an engine. They’re too smart.”
“I don’t think any birds try to fly into engines. They’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Jules turned to look at me in disbelief. “Are you trying to help me or convince me that a bird is going to blow our engines up?”
“Okay,” I said. “Just breathe. Let it all out and count to eight. Then breathe in for four seconds. Then hold your breath for four and do it all again.”
Jules let out a shaky, panicky breath that lasted about three seconds.
“Eight,” I said. “Slow it down.” I waited while she got the hang of it and our plane neared the final stage of takeoff. I watched her full lips as she gradually got a handle on her breathing. Once she had it somewhat under control, I tapped the back of her hand. “Relax your grip. Just keep breathing.”
She nodded, then squeezed her eyes shut when the plane rapidly gained speed a moment later. I nearly yanked my hand back when she reached out and gripped my wrist. But I decided it was harmless. She was terrified, and I needed a functional PA for this trip, not a nervous wreck. That’s all. I wasn’t being kind. I was fixing a malfunctioning piece of machinery I needed to get the job done.
Once we were airborne and the main drama of takeoff was behind us, she seemed to realize she was still holding onto my wrist and let go with a nervous chuckle. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Now that you’re done, you need to take advantage of the time we’re in the air to get caught up on my emails. And be more careful about which messages you sort as “critical.” I don’t need to know about authors who forgot to sign their contracts. Send that to Mike. He does author relations.”
She nodded, but I saw her keep glancing at me over the next few minutes like she was wanting to say something.
It was distracting, so I finally sighed, setting my phone down. “Is there something you want to say?”