Chapter 2 Istared at the partition between our seats like I had a vendetta against it. We'd taken off thirty minutes ago, and now we were flying high at 35,000 feet, the seatbelt light off and temptation bristling my neck. She was sharp, Sienna. Not just the way she looked-though that yellow sundress was now burned into my goddamn brain like a brand-but the way she held her ground. Like she'd been knocked too many times and had decided staying down wasn't an option. I liked that. I wasn't supposed to particularly like anything about this flight. I'd booked last minute on whatever international StrathOne A380 still had a suite seat left this morning, so that I could see firsthand what our newest first-class rollout felt like for regular passengers. It should have been boring. Quiet. Work. Instead, I was sitting ten feet away from the most unexpected part of my year so far, with a chunk of plastic blocking my view of tied-up, brunette hair I wanted to sink my fingers into, lightly tanned skin that looked soft enough to feel like sin against mine, and a face that could easily drop grown men to their knees. And her body. God, her body. She had to be nearly half my age. Couldn't have been much more than mid-twenties. But it wasn't stopping me from thinking. I bit my knuckle as I pulled out my tablet, flicking through a handful of flight operations reports to try to take my mind off the button glaring at me from the other side of the suite beneath the partition, but I barely absorbed any of it. I knew what that button did. I knew how to use it. Passengers weren't meant to, but I wasn't a standard passenger. I fought myself through the dinner service, up until the moment when the cabin lights lowered and I could hear the rustling of people getting ready for sleep. I unbuckled my seatbelt and moved to the foot of the bed, glaring at that stupid button like it owed me something. Maybe it did. She'd either hate me for it, or we'd get what we both wanted. Worth it. I pressed it, just enough for the partition to lower a few inches, just enough that my entire head was visible over it. Sienna jumped like a startled rabbit. "Fucking-Christ," she cursed, her brown eyes wide as she stared at me from her seat, her phone in her hand and her legs crossed. God, those legs. "I could have been naked in here. What's wrong with you?" I raised a brow at her. "Planning to get naked in your suite?" I asked, lowering the partition just a little more. "No, but-" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Don't make scaring the living daylights out of me a habit, please." "Is twice a habit? Thought it was three times," I mused, resting my forearms on the top of the partition. "You free?" She blinked at me. "Unless there are scheduled events on this flight, then yes?" I tilted my head toward the lounge bar on the other side of her suite's privacy walls. "Let's get a drink." "So you can hit on me again?" I chuckled. "I haven't hit on anyone." "So lying is a habit of yours, too?" I rolled my eyes. "Fine. You caught me," I said, raising my hands palm-out. "Let me chat your ear off a bit more, and you can keep shooting me down in style." She made a face. "It's three in the morning Italy-time," she said. "Shouldn't you be trying to sleep? They gave out those little eye-masks and everything." "I don't sleep much." "Shocking." The corner of my lips twitched up. Feisty. "Just one drink, Sienna." She hesitated, her lips pressing together in thought, and I didn't push. I didn't need to. I knew the power of silence, of offering space and waiting until someone filled it. And sure enough, she finally opened that pretty mouth again. "Okay," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt and uncrossing her legs to stand. "But I'm not putting my shoes back on. You're dealing with vacation-Sienna." I grinned. "Vacation-Sienna," I said, pushing back off the partition, "is already my favorite." She rolled her eyes and opened her suite door. A second later, I was following her down the hall, her bare feet padding against the carpet. The bar was empty. Sleek marble countertops, soft lighting with the cabin lights dimmed, a handful of bolted-down leather stools that wouldn't fall over in turbulence. I gave the bartender a nod, and he snapped into motion like I'd ordered it. "Do you do this often?" Sienna asked, hoisting herself up onto the barstool half with grace and half with the kind of chaos that made me glad the stools were bolted down. "Invite women to drink with me on flights?" I asked, leaning against the barstool on her right. "No. Charm them into ignoring their better judgment," she clarified, shooting me a glare as she looked at the little leather-bound cocktail menu. I chuckled. "Only when they look like they could use it." She leaned onto the bar as she hooked one leg over the other, her bare foot nearly colliding with my thigh without a hint of remorse. No shoes, no fucks given - I'd seen heiresses and influencers try to command attention with far more effort and far less effect. The bartender slid over without a word, looking between us expectantly. Sienna glanced at me before meeting his gaze. "In the first-class lounge, they had these... elderflower and gin things," she said, setting the menu down like it had personally offended her. "Can you make one of those?" "Of course," he smiled, then turned to me, opening his mouth to-what I could only imagine-address me formally. Didn't need to have the I own the airline conversation right now if she inevitably asked about the why, so I cut him off before he could even speak. "Lagavulin 88," I said. "Double. Neat." "Of course, Mr.-" "You're not what I expected," I said to her, cutting off the bartender before he could say another word. She looked at me like I'd grown another head, a little crease forming between her brows. "You said that like it's a threat." I reeled back a little. "Did I?" She hesitated. "People don't usually say that like it's a good thing," she said. "At least not in my experience." A second of quiet fell over us, nothing but the sound of the drinks cart rattling as we hit the smallest bit of turbulence. Then her drink arrived in a highball glass with a sprig of mint on top, and mine appeared beside it, and she lifted hers to her mouth. I opened my mouth to change the topic⁠- Her tongue darted out to catch a stray drop from the rim of her glass without even thinking, and I felt heat crawl down my spine like a warm, lightly tanned hand. She caught me staring and tilted her head. "What?" I blinked. "Nothing," I said, willing myself to put the lingering image away. "Just thinking you wear vacation well." Her eyes narrowed, amusement twinkling. "That's the second time you've said something weird about vacation-Sienna. First she's your favorite, now I'm wearing it well." "I meant both." She rolled her eyes at me, and for a second, all I could picture was the way they'd roll back in her head with her mouth parted⁠- "Let me guess," she said, turning to face me a little bit more, her voice swiping through my thoughts like a knife. But I caught the way her eyes darted to my hands, just quickly, just a glance. "You work too much, don't date seriously, and use words like 'a distraction' and 'inconvenient' when women ask what we are to you." I snorted as I lifted my glass to my lips. "Not bad." "I've met your type." "I doubt that." She arched a single brow at me. "Older? Check. Rich? Check. Annoyingly composed? Check. Walks into a room like gravity bends for him, keeps things neat and tight and exactly under control until someone like me steps in and messes everything up? Check and check." I let my grin stay as I lowered my glass. "That's a flattering take on yourself." She shrugged. "You haven't denied any of it." "No. I haven't." She leaned in just a little, just a fraction, but it was enough to catch the scent of her perfume-light, floral, sweet, with a hint of something sharp underneath. "Why are you really flying commercial?" she asked. I dragged my finger along the rim of my glass. Her eyes flicked to my hand again. "What do you mean?" "You probably have more money than most people ever dream of having. Am I wrong?" "No, you're not." She smirked. "Then why not take a private jet?" Shit. "It's cheaper. I don't mind it," I lied coolly. "Economy's tanking, saving where I can." She let out a low laugh. "That's either bullshit or both of us are pretending to be rich." "You are pretending." I leaned onto the counter and let my fist take the weight of my chin. "I am not." "And yet here we are," she said, swirling the ice in her glass like it was a wine needing to be aerated. "Same seats. Same drinks. Same flight. Me in a sundress I bought at TJ Maxx on clearance, and you in... Christ, what is that, Tom Ford?" "Custom," I said simply. She rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue like she was gagging. God. "Of course it is." There was something about her that refused to be intimidated, even when she knew exactly how far out of her depth she was-it wasn't desperation. It wasn't the wide-eyed gold-digging I was used to. It was stubbornness, and it was fucking sexy on her. Her gaze flicked over to me again, lingering on my hand a little longer than the last couple of times. Then it shifted, moving across my chest, my arms, my neck. She wasn't subtle, but she wasn't trying to be, and that was one thing I was used to. Her eyes came back up to mine, and I saw it there, the tiniest crack in her armor. The moment to strike. She knew it too. I leaned in slightly, letting my voice drop. "You keep looking at my hands." She blinked. Slowly. "You're imagining things." "Am I?" I smirked, knocking back the last of my whiskey and setting it down with an audible clack. "Or are you just very bad at hiding how much you're thinking about what else they can do besides holding a glass?" She held her drink near her lips, staring me down, a little patch of fog springing up on her glass. Her gaze flickered for the briefest of seconds down to my mouth, then back up again. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Matt." Matt. Was that the first time she'd said it? It sounded good from her lips. Something about the way she looked at me, the way she let my eyes drag over her again, made me want to push. I leaned in a little further, voice lower. "Have you ever done something you weren't supposed to on an airplane?" Her stubborn expression faltered just a hair. "Define 'wasn't supposed to'." "You're smart, Sienna." I held her gaze. "You already know what I mean." She set her glass down slowly, deliberately, and turned fully toward me, her bare foot bouncing. Her knee brushed against my thigh, and I nearly had to restrain myself. "Is that your line?" "I don't use lines. I make an offer," I said casually. "And you say yes, or you don't." She tilted her head. "What exactly are you offering, Matt?" There it was again. My name. It sounded fucking sinful. "A distraction." She blinked. "That partition between our suites," I drawled. "It goes all the way down. The beds connect." I watched as her throat worked. My lips split into a grin. "How good are you at being quiet, Sienna?" She stared at me, her lips parted, her pupils dilating, for what felt like a lifetime. "You're serious." "Dead." "What makes you think I'd say yes?" Another breath from her, and I leaned a little closer, just enough for her to hear the gravel in my voice. "Because your ex is somewhere getting fucked by God knows who, and you took this pre-booked trip to remind yourself that you're not broken." Her breath hitched. "And because," I continued, "you're looking at me like you're desperate to know what I'd feel like inside of you."