Filed to story: Swallow Me Whole (Sadie & Ashton) Book Free
She shifts in her seat and faces me, propping herself against the arm of her chair. “What’s your favorite thing about Seattle?”
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling pent-up tension. “I’m not sure I could narrow it down to just one thing.”
“Top three then.”
“It’s lively. People are always on the move, and you can get around downtown without a car.”
“What else?”
“Coffee. Need I say more?”
“I don’t drink coffee. I’m more of a tea person.”
“Jules, this is very distressing news. Seattle is crying right now.”
“Hey, don’t blame the rain on me,” she says with a laugh, and I can’t help but smile. “Okay, tell me one last favorite thing.”
“I’d have to go with nature. When the sun does shine, there’s no better place. The Cascades are less than an hour away.”
An adorable furrow seizes the space between her brows. “I can’t picture you camping and hiking and doing all of that outdoorsy stuff.”
“Don’t judge a man by his clothes.”
She lowers her eyes, and I feel the heat of her gaze at my throat, where I’d left the top two buttons of my collar undone. Then her attention drifts to my slacks.
“It’s hard to imagine you in jeans.”
I’m hard, period. Christ, I hope she doesn’t notice.
“So,” I say, swallowing past the thick lump of desire clogging my throat. “Think you’ll stick around and find some favorites of your own?”
“I hope so,” she says, her voice softening. “I can’t go back home.”
I want to ask why. There is so much about this woman I want to know. What she does for a living. What she does for fun. What kind of music she listens to.
The sounds she makes when she comes.
Jesus.
Clearing my throat, I lean forward and nod toward the window. “Looks like we’re getting close.” A glittering blanket of lights breaks through the dark, and for a long while, Jules gazes through the glass, seemingly relaxed. But when the pilot announces descent into Seattle, she stiffens beside me. Holding her hand seems natural by now, and yet the spark of awareness that shoots through me as I lace our fingers together isn’t. I ignore the buzz zapping along my skin and focus on trying to keep her calm.
“We’ll be on the ground again in no time,” I assure her.
She lets out a nervous huff. “I could’ve used you on my flight to Denver earlier.”
“Was the turbulence bad?”
“Not as bad as tonight.”
Silence settles over us for several minutes as the aircraft decreases in altitude. We bank left, and she squeezes my hand. I surpassed maintaining personal space long ago. As I return the tight grip of her fingers, I lean into her, hyper aware of the warmth radiating from her skin, and watch the lights of the city from over her shoulder. That glittering ground comes closer with each second that goes by. I think she might be holding her breath.
“Jules, breathe.” My words drift across her cheek, and I’m certain she’s shivering. Gripping my hand to the point of pain, she lets out a shaky exhale as the wheels touch the runway with a jolt. As soon as we’re safely on the ground, and the plane begins to taxi, she releases my hand before giving me a sheepish smile.
“Sorry if I crushed your fingers.”
“I’m not complaining.”
We lock eyes for several heated moments, in which time seems to freeze. It isn’t until the seat belt light dings off that the spell is broken. As passengers start to move, I unbuckle and grab my computer bag, then stand to fetch my carry-on. Adrenaline is coursing through me, and I’m not sure if it’s from the woman I just spent the last three hours with, or from the impending argument I’m expecting with Monica.
“Do you have luggage up here?” I ask Jules as I pull my bag from the overhead bin.
Gripping a large purse between her dainty hands, she shakes her head. “I checked my suitcase.”
She seems so small and scared sitting in that seat. I wasn’t lying when I called her gutsy, and I’m finding her more alluring for it. Because it takes guts to be brave and vulnerable at the same time, and she does both with such openness that it makes my heart clench. Stepping back in the aisle to give her room, I gesture for her to go first.
“Thank you,” she murmurs with an endearing shyness as she slides over and stands.
Hell, she’s tiny. Her soft hair spills down her back, almost reaching her ass.
Her ass…
Don’t even go there.
We shuffle along until we reach the exit, and I follow her across the jet bridge, the wheels of my carry-on drowning out the mad pace of my heartbeat. She’s done something to me.
Made me lose my head.
As her hips sway in an understated way—a way that screams she has no clue how sexy she is, or how her petite frame is a damn weapon—I wonder how I’m going to part from this girl who draws me in and tumbles me in the eye of her storm.
All too soon, we step into the airport. As we come to a stop near baggage claim, she darts a shy glance my way. “Do you have luggage you need to get?”
“No. I travel light whenever I can.”
Her eyes seem to dim, and I’m positive the polite curve of her lips is laced with sadness. “Well…I need to grab my luggage.” A beat passes, heavy with things left unspoken. “Thanks for keeping me from freaking out up there.”
“You’re welcome.”
She takes a tiny step backward, toward the baggage claim area. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too,” I force out, wanting to say more.
Like don’t go yet.
For a few stolen seconds, I imagine us getting coffee, or in her case tea, and talking the night away in a quiet corner of one of the airport cafes. And I pretend I’m not married, and Jules…
She didn’t just break the heart of someone who probably doesn’t deserve her.
I can’t see her cheating, but I’m pretty sure she did, and she’s torn to pieces over it. Regret is thick and rancid, and it’s wafting off her in fumes. It fucking reeks because it means she still wants him. She’s so shattered by what went down that she flew halfway across the country to escape it.
If Monica displays a tenth of that kind of regret, maybe I can find it in my heart to forgive her. That’s a big maybe. Regardless, I have no business feeling this way about someone I just met.