Page 46 of Mile High Ruin

Her body tightens against mine. She turns her face into my shoulder to muffle the sound, and I hold her through it while she shakes, one hand at her waist and the other moving more slowly now because I can feel how sensitive she has become.

When it passes, she stays where she is for several seconds. Neither of us speaks. I can still feel her breathing against my neck.

Then something in her changes.

She steps back, and I release her at once.

Sloane fixes her skirt with hands that are suddenly unsteady, smoothing the fabric down as though the act of putting herself back together has become urgently important.

I watch her. “Sloane.”

“I’m fine.” She turns toward the counter.

The words come too quickly. And I know that tone now. It’s the one she uses when she wants to make something disappear.

I stay where I’m instead of moving closer. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“That is not true.”

She presses both hands against the edge of the counter and lowers her head. For several seconds, the only sound between us is the faint hum of the aircraft.

Then she whispers, so quietly I almost think I imagined it, “What am I even doing?”

The question is not meant for me. That makes it worse.

I look at her more carefully. Her eyes are bright. She’s not crying yet, but she’s close, a whisper away from a drop trickling down her perfect cheeks.

Something inside my chest tightens.

“Sloane.”

She shakes her head. “I barely know you.”

“I know.”

“And every time we’re alone, this happens.” Her voice trembles slightly on the last word.

I don’t answer because I’m beginning to understand that anything defensive will make this worse.

She turns to face me. There’s anger there now, but it’s tangled with embarrassment and something that looks painfully close to regret. “You follow me when everyone is asleep, you touch me, and I let you, and then suddenly I’m standing here wondering when exactly I became the kind of woman who does this with a man she barely knows.”

“You are not that kind of woman.”

Her expression hardens. “You don’t know what kind of woman I am.”

“That is fair.”

The answer makes her pause.

I keep my voice low. “I’m not judging you.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not judging myself.”

For the first time since I came into the galley, I have nothing useful to say.

She looks away again. “I need this job.”