I knew it.
He knew it.
The freaking stewardess probably knew it.
He sat on the foot of the bed, his elbows on his knees. The presence emanating from him didn’t feel like regret, but something very, very thoughtful. Deliberative. I imagined this was how plans for world domination were made.
I sighed and stretched out like a cat. “Gosh, I’m starving.”
“You have no idea what starving is.” The words were soft and pensive, like he wasn’t even aware he’d said it.
I was momentarily stunned.
Because now I knew, at some point in this man’s life, he’d gone hungry.
I didn’t let myself dwell on it or else the questions would explode from me like confetti, and we all knew how he felt about opening up.
He was still stuck in his thoughts while I grabbed his dress shirt and slipped it on. I was buttoning it up and walking past him to the door when he grabbed my wrist.
“Where are you going?”
“Going to find some peanuts. Crossing my fingers the Bureau splurged with the hard-working man’s money and have some covered in chocolate.”
He pulled me closer, until I stood between his legs. “We landed ten minutes ago.”
“We did?” I frowned. “How did I miss that?”
Something sexy played in his eyes. “You were too busy calling out for God.”
I wished it didn’t happen, but I couldn’t stop it.
I flushed.
When he ran a thumb across my cheek, warmth crept into my heart and melted.
“Tell me you hate me, malyshka.”
The way he said it, so deep and vehement, slowed the blood in my veins. It reminded me of the heavy weight of his body against mine. Of his hands holding me down.
I tried to say it. I really did. However, as much as it confused me, I couldn’t physically push those words past my lips. So, instead, I pulled away from him, flustered with myself.
“This is ridiculous.”
“You don’t hate me,” he said, voice low and resigned. “But by the time this is over, you might.”
“This?”
“Us.”
Déjà vu played down my spine with something warm and electric.
He watched me with an unsettling conviction in his eyes, while my heart chugged to keep up with the feelings warring inside. The last one to crawl out of the shadows of my mind—the one I was most familiar with—won. Panic. I’d been stuck in two unwanted marriages for the last eight years of my life. The idea of any kind of commitment embodied a fist that wrapped around my lungs and squeezed. I tried to mask it as best I could, but I knew he saw it all over my face.
His jaw ticked, a shutter coming down over his eyes. “I’m talking about sex, Gianna.”
Oh.
“You mean, like, just sex?”