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He smiled, and it made everything inside me hurt. He even released some air, sounding like a semi-laugh, and that made me ache harder.
“You can bring me whatever you’d like, Lily.” He licked the wetness off his lips, his gaze dropping down my body before he turned around and sat next to Dominick.
With his back facing me, I had a break from his eyes. I finally felt like I could breathe. But at the same time, now that they were gone, I missed them.
I wanted them back.
Because I never felt more beautiful or more wanted than when Brady was looking at me.
I couldn’t stay in this position any longer. I still had a full tray of scotch I needed to hand out. With every ounce of willpower I had, I greeted some of my other guests, setting a glass beside each of them, asking the gentlemen what else I could bring them for the flight.
Memorizing their answers, I reached Brady’s row. I said hello to Dominick and repeated the same question to him.
“I’ll take the breakfast I ordered,” Dominick replied.
“And for you?” I said to Brady.
He shook his head, his eyes not moving from mine. “Lily, you know exactly what I want.”
Me.
That was what screamed inside me.
But in addition to his response, there was something about the way he had said my name that made me want to press my legs together, giving myself the pressure I needed. The grittiness of his voice was equally as stimulating, as it was the same tone he’d used when he moaned my name.
“Right,” I whispered.
Another strange answer, but it was the only thing I could muster.
I asked the remaining passengers the same question and hurried to the back of the plane, gathering glasses of water that, once I returned to the main cabin again, I set next to their scotch. When I went back to the galley this time, the phone rang, and it was the pilot telling me we were cleared for takeoff. I hung up and finished my safety checks, letting my guests know we were minutes from taking off and requesting them to buckle their seat belts before I strapped myself into my seat.
I thought that once I removed myself from the main cabin, I would feel better. I’d be able to inhale air that wasn’t filled with Brady’s cologne, that I could exhale without the intensity of his eyes focused on some part of me. But from the angle in which I sat, I could see the left profile of Brady’s face, his arm as it balanced over the armrest, the side of his leg, his foot tapping the carpet.
If anything, the anxiety in my chest heightened.
I had one month left of my contract before Aubrey returned as the Daltons’ full-time flight attendant. I had worked with her back in Atlanta, and we stayed in touch. When she’d told me this temporary position was available, I’d jumped on it.
What I didn’t understand was why this crew couldn’t have flown to Tampa next month, after I finished out my contract and was no longer working for the Daltons, so I could have avoided this situation altogether.
Why did I have to be in Brady’s presence again, which stirred up feelings that didn’t make any sense?
Feelings that needed to stay buried.
Although a year had passed since my breakup with David, my life was no different than it had been when I met Brady.
I was still emotionally unavailable.
With shackles around my wrists, ankles, even my brain.
In fact, depending on how I looked at it, things had gotten even worse.
I made myself glance away from him, and I took the phone out of my pocket. I’d resisted for this long. So, why did I find myself typing his name into the search bar and watching the screen fill?
Articles, websites, social media accounts, his Wikipedia page—they were suddenly overwhelming me.
Brady wasn’t just some guy.
Nor was he just a well-off guy—what I’d suspected when I originally met him after taking inventory of his watch and clothes and hotel suite.
