“Moot at this point, but thank you.” He’s already picking up his magazine, the cover showcasing a sleek sports car. Typical.

“Well, then, if there’s anything you need…”

“I don’t know about him,” I cut in, “but I’d love a—hey! Hello?” I wave a hand as she saunters away, an extra sway to her hips. “Bueller?”

I can feel him smirking and give him a look. “This is your fault, you know.”

“My fault?” His brows lift, but he doesn’t look away from his magazine. “How on Earth did you come to that conclusion?”

“Your freaky good looks made her blind to all but you, sunshine.”

His expression is blank, though his lips twitch. “If only I could strike women speechless.”

I can’t help it, I have to grin at that. “Oh, I bet you’d find that marvelous; all of us helpless women just smiling and nodding. Though I’m afraid it would never work on me.”

“Of course not,” he deadpans. “I’m stuck next to the one afflicted with an apparently incurable case of verbal diarrhea.”

“Says the man who is socially constipated.”

He stills again, his eyes widening. And then a strangled snort breaks free, escalating into a choked laugh. “Christ.” He pinches the bridge of his nose as he struggles to contain himself. “I’m doomed.”

I smile, wanting to laugh too, but holding it in. “There, there.” I pat his forearm. “It will all be over in about seven hours.”

He groans, his head lifting. The amusement in his eyes is genuine, and a lot more deadly because of it. “I won’t survive it—”

The plane gives a little shudder as it begins to pull out from the gate. And Mr. Sunshine blanches, turning a lovely shade of green before fading into gray. A terrified flyer. But one who clearly would rather the plane actually crash than admit this.

Great. He’ll probably be hyperventilating before we level out.

Maybe it’s because my mom is terrified to fly as well, or maybe because I’d like to think Mr. Sunshine’s horrible behavior is fear-based and not because he’s a massive dickweasel, but I decide to help him. And, of course, have a little more fun while I’m doing it.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel

 

* * *

 

I’m in hell. It’s a familiar place: a long, narrow tube with wobbly wings. A death trap with five hundred seats, stale air, and droning engines. I’ve been here frequently. Only this time, the Devil herself is my seat partner.

I’ve been in the entertainment industry long enough to know that the Devil always appears in an attractive package. Better to lure in unsuspecting sods. This particular devil looks as though she’s stepped out of the 1950s—platinum blond hair swirling around her cherubic face; big, pansy brown eyes; red, red lips; and an hourglass figure I’m trying my best to ignore.

It isn’t easy ignoring those tits. Every time she talks, those plush mounds seem to bounce as if they have a mind of their own. Given that this strange, gobby girl never shuts up, I’m in danger of being mesmerized by a fantastic rack of what are surely double-Ds.

God, and she keeps on chattering. Like some nightmare Jabberwocky intent on driving me insane.

“Look, you—” More bouncing tits, red mouth pursing… “I know your game, and it isn’t going to work on me.”

I pull my gaze up. “What?”

“Don’t you whhhat me with that proper British accent and think I’ll fall for it.” A thin finger waggles in front of my nose. “I don’t care how sexy your voice is, it won’t work.”

I will not smile at that. Not a chance. “I have no idea to what you’re referring, but if I were you, I’d seek medical intervention as soon as we land.”

“Pfft. You’re pulling this terrified-to-fly act in the hopes that I’ll take pity on you.”

An ugly feeling crawls up my gut, and I fist my hands so I won’t shout—not that I can get a word in edgewise. She’s still at it, spewing nonsense.

“You think if you sit there, looking petrified and tense, I’ll offer a blowjob to distract you from it all.”

My humiliation comes to a screeching halt upon hearing the word blowjob. “What?”

“Well, it’s not going to happen.”

Ignore the cock. Ignore him. He’s an idiot. Focus on the problem at hand. “You are deranged. Completely deranged.”

“And you are a handsome but crafty bastard. Unfortunately for you, good looks aren’t enough. I won’t do it.”

I lean in close as I dare. “Look, even if I wanted your mouth anywhere near me, why on Earth would I ask for a blowjob here?” I wave my hand toward the aisle. “When the entire cabin can see. Who does that?”

“Not me,” she shoots back with a disgusted look. “But nice slip of the tongue. You’ve obviously been thinking logistics.”

Must not throttle headcase. Gritting my teeth hard enough to hurt, I light into her. “Madam, if this death trap of a conveyance were hurtling toward the Earth in a fiery ball of doom, and your mouth on my cock was the last bit of sex I’d ever have the chance to receive, I’d take off my seatbelt and throw myself toward death.”

She blinks, those pansy eyes large and owlish and not a bit put out. “That’s a lot of words, sunshine. But I think you’re lying. You want it bad.”

My mouth works like a fish, gaping and struggling for air. I cannot think of a single thing to utter, which is a rarity. I might not converse with most people, but I’m fully capable of a set down when the action calls.

Over our heads, a little chime sounds. I glance at it and notice that the fasten seatbelt sign has been turned off. We’re level and steady now.

By the time I turn my attention back to the she-devil, she has her nose in a magazine, happily flipping through the pages, a tiny, smug smile twitching at the corners of her lips.

It hits me like a fist to the gut: she has been, yet again, fucking with me. She distracted me from takeoff. So effectively, I hadn’t even felt the plane lift. Now I’m stuck between grudging admiration, uncomfortable gratitude, and a burning need for revenge.

Revenge is the louder voice in my head, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. Leaning forward, I crowd her space, ignoring the scent of lemon tart that floats around her.