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Out of all people …
Brady?
What was he doing here?
Why was he on this flight?
How was I going to survive this trip when I’d barely made it through Tampa?
Oh God.
While the driver brought his luggage toward the back of the plane, Brady walked toward the steps.
His eyes didn’t leave mine. They stayed fixed, sucking every bit of breath out of my body.
But his presence didn’t just mess with my breathing.
Or my stomach.
Or my chest.
It tugged at my emotions in a way where they were skyrocketing out of control.
He halted at the bottom of the stairs, silence building between us.
Something told me I needed to say something, that I needed to be the first to break the quietness because he was too stubborn to do it.
My lips slowly parted, and, “Hi,” came out in a voice so soft that I didn’t even feel it leave my mouth.
He was so close that the word could have hit his face. If he swung his arm in the right direction, it would have grazed mine.
But there was no movement from him, not even his eyes—they just stared at me.
He didn’t even blink.
And as time passed, his gaze grew, reaching beneath the surface of my eyes and skin and hitting the deepest, farthest part of me.
Once it penetrated, it stirred.
It stormed.
What felt like hours went by, and then, finally, he said, “Did you intentionally give me the wrong number, or is there a reason an asshole answered my call and hung up on me? Twice.”
Shit.
He was calling me out.
A situation I hadn’t anticipated happening because I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.
I’d hoped that once he called the number I’d randomly made up, he would realize I didn’t want to be found, and by the time he rode the Daltons’ plane again, I’d be long gone.
I should have known that Brady didn’t give up that easily.
It actually seemed as though he didn’t give up at all.
I mashed my lips together, searching for a reason.
An excuse.
