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As they prepared to land, the seat belt sign lit up and Ryder buckled himself in. Macy had no need to—she’d been buckled in the whole journey—but she reached for the armrests. Her grip was a little tighter than necessary. Looking across at her, he saw the slightest tension in her jaw, the empty look in her eyes as she stared straight ahead. As if she was anxious but trying to cover it from him.
“Not fond of landings?” he asked.
She shrugged casually, belying the rigidity of her body. “They’re not my favorite part of the flight.”
She didn’t elaborate, and knowing Macy she’d never admit a weakness. But her body language drew him in. “Had a bad experience with a landing?”
Her eyes flicked to his then back to the front. They were starting to slowly descend now and her knuckles whitened on the armrests. “No.”
He placed his hand over hers and stroked the back with his fingers. Then something clicked in his brain. Her mother had been relatively famous, with her acting career just taking off, when she’d been killed in a plane crash. He kicked himself for not thinking ahead and connecting the dots. For not realizing this could be hard for her.
The world had seen the images of the crumpled plane, had been flooded with photos of her mother on a movie set one week before her death, and had moved on. But this was Macy’s private pain—completely removed from the public circus. He was almost reluctant to pry into something so personal. But another glance at her clenched hands and he knew he couldn’t leave her as she was.
“Your mother? “ he asked softly.
She nodded once, still staring ahead, her body radiating tension now—as if his insight had given her permission to feel the fear more fully.
He peeled her fingers from the armrest and gripped her hand tightly in his, his heart ripping open for the little girl whose mother hadn’t come home. For the woman here and now. He wanted to shield her, gather her against him and tell her she’d be all right.
But he couldn’t let her see that—his pity would only make her feel more vulnerable, a fate worse than death to Macy.
He cast around for a way to take her mind off the situation. Something … distracting. She desperately needed a life raft. No question, she’d hate grabbing onto it, but she needed one nonetheless. And he was the only one here.
He looked at the scenery out the window, and found an idea. “Have I told you about my ideal Australian holiday?”
Her eyes darted to his, confused, then back to the front of the plane.
“Obviously I’ve failed to mention it. Perhaps I’ll get time for it after we’ve finished with the business from your project.” He settled into his seat, bringing her hand—still wrapped in his—to lie on his thigh. He liked it there. “You might like to come with me. It starts with a field of grass surrounded by mountains.”
Her eyes turned to him, lingered a moment this time, a corner of her mouth twitching before she returned her scrutiny ahead.
“We’ll be there alone with a picnic basket. No one for hundreds of miles. The grass is peppered with bluebells and the sun is warm.” He tried to assess her reaction. How thick should he lay it on? “Surrounding the field is a rainforest and—”
Without turning, she interrupted, a reluctant smile on her face. “What planet has rainforest and a field of grass with bluebells growing beside each other?”
Okay. Perhaps he’d gone too far. But at least she was smiling. “I said it was an ideal holiday, Macy. Work with me.”
The tension in her shoulders relaxed a little. “Okay, keep going.”
“As I said, we’ll be alone and we’ll run through the field toward the clear lake. When we reach it we strip off to our bathing suits and dive in.”
“Do we check for crocodiles? Because if we’re in the north of Australia where a lot of the rainforest is, I think we should check for crocodiles first.” She faced him as she asked and the tension around her face had softened.
His chest swelled. It was working. He nudged a little closer and whispered, “There are no crocodiles in my lake. It’s safe and the water’s always warm.”
“Good.” Her hand released its death-grip on his to a more companionable clasp.
“We swim lazily until we’ve had enough.” This near, he could smell the scent of her skin, wanted to lean across that last space separating them and kiss her neck. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath. “Then we drag ourselves from the water and lie on towels on the grass, letting the sun dry our skin.”
The plane slowed for the final approach, engines straining and Macy jerked back into the tense position of earlier, her hand almost cutting off the blood supply in his.
“The setting looks good, but you look better in your bathing suit. It’s red.”
Ryder could see the battle in her body, between the fear and interest in his story. He decided to give his side an advantage over the enemy. Leaning that last inch, he whispered in her ear, “You roll over and run a hand down my bare back and I invite you onto my towel.”
He felt it, he was winning—there was a change in the energy her body emitted.
“Do I go?” she breathed.
“You do. And you lie so close I can’t think straight. All my mind registers is the feel of your body.”
The plane’s wheels hit the tarmac and the plane wobbled as it found its balance. Macy didn’t jerk away, instead seeming to lean into him.
“I wrap my arms around you, wanting you so badly—”
Macy turned to claim his mouth as the plane raced along the tarmac, her tongue plunging in to meet his and he matched her move for move. He clasped her face with both hands, having turned himself on as much as her with his story.
He pulled at the pins in her hair and let it tumble gloriously down around his hands. The silken feel raised his blood pressure another notch.
He tasted her lips, her mouth, not able to get enough. Both of them were jostled as the plane pulled up but he barely felt it. Barely noticed a thing other than Macy until the lights came back on and the door to the cockpit opened.
“Macy,” he said against her lips. “We need to leave.”
The fog of lust in her eyes gradually cleared and then she bit down on her swollen bottom lip.
“Thank you.” She said it quietly, but the heartfelt meaning in the two words couldn’t have been clearer.
“You’re welcome.” He stood and they both collected their carry-on luggage. He grabbed her hand and squeezed before they filed out of the plane and across the tarmac to their waiting limousine.
He knew she’d probably erect more barriers between them now he’d seen her vulnerable. But he’d be damned if he’d regret that kiss. It’d been incredible.
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