by Dylann Crush
“I’ve got to think about this. I’ll be in touch.” Zach disconnected and took a swallow of beer, drowning the almost imperceptible twinge of guilt that nipped against the lining of his gut. He couldn’t risk Scazzoli exposing him. Plus, the asshole wouldn’t hesitate to send someone else down instead. One of those sharks wouldn’t give a shit if they had to ruin Teddy’s wedding in order to get a shot. But no, he wouldn’t sell out Teddy and Reagan. He just couldn’t.
This wouldn’t be the first time Reagan Campbell had impacted his business. The picture he’d snapped of her leaning up against the railing of the Navy Pier on their senior year field trip had catapulted him into a career in photography. He’d entered the photo into a national contest and won second place. Her silhouette had been framed by the Lake Michigan sunset. No one even knew it was her. He’d clicked the shutter while she’d had her eyes closed, the lake breeze blowing long strands of hair across her face.
He pulled his mind out of the past as Reagan made her way through the crowded bar and back to the table. The teen he had the hots for in high school was long gone. She’d grown up and filled out nicely. The honey-blonde hair was the same, although the tousled, out-of-control waves had been tamed to fall in a straight curtain that spilled over her shoulders and down her back.
Her form-fitting black jacket dipped in at the waist, drawing his attention to full hips, the kind he’d be able to grab onto in the heat of the moment. As she took her seat, he caught a glimpse of a white shirt stretching tight across her chest. The soft roundness of her face had given way to chiseled cheekbones, and she exuded an undeniable combination of confidence and sex appeal.
Yeah, she’d changed since high school. He shifted in his seat, suddenly sorry he’d been so quick to succumb to her dad’s ultimatum back then. Reagan had been the best thing that ever happened to him. But starting things up with her again wasn’t an option. They’d had their chance at happily ever after, and he’d fucked it up. She was part of a job now. A job he hadn’t gone looking for and definitely didn’t want.
“Any updates on the flight?” she asked, resuming her perch on the stool.
“Not yet.”
“You didn’t get into the cupcakes, did you?” She cracked the lid to peek inside the bakery box.
A whiff of sugar and vanilla hit his nose; his stomach growled. “Your box is safe with me. How about splitting some nachos or something?”
“Sure.” Reagan took a small sip of her drink while he signaled the waitress over again and put in their food order.
“So tell me about this wedding. Where you headed?” Just because the flight was landing in Miami didn’t mean she wouldn’t have another connection somewhere else. Smart move to hold the wedding somewhere down in Florida. With the influx of spring breakers, the Campbell family could get lost among any one of the beach side towns down the coast.
She toyed with the paper napkin ring. “Can you forget I said anything? You know my dad. We’re trying to keep this on the down-low.”
His experience photographing people had made him somewhat of an expert at studying body language. The way Reagan cast nervous glances around the bar, the constant bounce of her knee and how she mindlessly twisted the paper wrapper around her finger over and over added up to a major case of nerves.
He’d been told one of his strengths was his ability to set his photography subjects at ease. He covered one of her fidgeting hands with his and gave it a squeeze before letting go. Their gazes met. He’d always been intrigued by the color of her eyes. Not really green, but not brown enough to be considered hazel. Flecks of gold and copper contrasted with the deep jade of her irises.
He’d love to get a shot of her face. Natural light, maybe on the beach at dusk. An unfamiliar sensation settled in his chest, like a dumbbell resting on his lungs. Guilt? Apprehension? Attraction? He rubbed a palm over his heart.
“Already forgotten. So we can’t talk about where you’re headed. How about where you’ve been for the past eight years?” He gave her an authentic smile. No need to fake too much with Reagan. He actually liked her. Thought they had a crack at a future once.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Sure. College out East—”
“Harvard, right?”
Reagan’s cheeks tinted pink. “No, I changed my mind at the last minute. University of Pennsylvania. MBA from Wharton.”
“I knew you’d go Ivy League. Did you like it?”
“I needed a break from the spotlight.”
“And what are you doing now?”
“I’m in management for a luxury resort chain based out of Chicago.”
He shook his head. “I always figured your dad would suck you into politics.”
“Believe me, he’s trying. But I like what I’m doing. I’m on track for a big promotion and it’s nice not having to always be ‘on.’ You never know who’s listening or watching.” She broke eye contact and glanced around the bar. “Seems like someone’s always waiting to catch me at my worst.”
The damn twinge hit his gut again. He took in a breath through his nose and tried to unclench his jaw. “Yeah, I can imagine. Can’t be easy with your brother trying to keep his wedding under the radar.”
“Dad’s happy for Teddy and Cal. But he doesn’t want the media to paint him as a hypocrite.” She moved her drink to the side as the waitress slid an overflowing platter of nachos onto the table. The tempting scent of melted cheese, spicy chicken, and cilantro settled between them.
“You two need anything else?” the waitress asked.
“Maybe a little more water?” He glanced at Reagan who nodded. “And then the check.”
“Good idea on the food. I didn’t realize how hungry I am.” She took a delicate bite and the tortilla chip cracked, spilling salsa onto her shirt. Her cheeks flushed. “Dangit.” She swiped a chunk of tomato off her chest with a napkin, leaving a small pink circle in its wake. “I don’t know what my problem is today.”
Zach dunked his napkin into his water and leaned across the table. “Here, let me help you with that.” His hand froze in midair. There was no way he could dab at her tit with a handful of soggy napkin.
Eyes wide, Reagan pulled her blazer over her chest. “I’ve got it.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, don’t worry about it.” She took the wet napkin from him and patted the stain. “I’m sure it will come out at the dry cleaners.”
The speaker crackled and the gate agent announced, “For passengers traveling to Miami on flight 542, we’ll be departing at seven. Boarding will begin in about thirty minutes with our Premier members or anyone needing special assistance on the jet way.”
“Whew, that’s a relief.” Grateful for the interruption, Zach wasn’t about to acknowledge the awkwardness of the last ten seconds. “I thought the storm would set us back quite a while.”
Apparently willing to pretend they didn’t have eight years of questions between them, Reagan picked up the conversation and ran with it. “How about you? I heard you ended up somewhere in California?” She used a fork to lift a pile of cheese-covered chips off the platter and onto her plate.
The wet, see-through splotch on the front of her shirt provided more than a minor distraction, but he forged ahead. “Yeah. I ended up with a scholarship to California Institute of the Arts for most of my undergrad. Then I started working. Mainly magazines, some online outlets, travel assignments.”
“That’s fantastic. I always knew you had talent. I’m glad you decided to get your degree.” Her eyes took on a faraway look, like she’d time traveled back to senior year when she’d tried convincing him to apply to college.
“It meant a lot that you believed in me.” Hell, why had he said that? Sure, it was true. But he couldn’t afford to open the floodgates of the past.
She closed her eyes for a moment. A muscle ticked along her jaw. With a smile devoid of any warmth, she asked, “What’s your favorite assignment been so far?”
Good. She could
play the let’s-pretend-the-past-never-happened game, too. “On the record? I got to shoot a swimsuit calendar a few years ago. Private island in the Caribbean. Twelve supermodels. That’s usually my standard answer. Being a magazine and travel photographer, it’s kind of what people expect me to say.”
A tiny wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. He wanted to reach over and run his finger over it to smooth it away. In an effort to keep things lighthearted, he’d just made himself out to be the kind of cliché he’d always hated.
“What about off the record?” she asked.
“An abandoned Buddhist monastery in the Himalayas last year. It’s impossible to describe the complete sense of peace I experienced there. I’ve never been anywhere like that.” Her stare felt like a laser beam, focused on his lips. He watched her watch him as he spoke. Did she think about those seven minutes as often as he had over the years?
She patted her mouth with her napkin, disrupting the moment. “Sorry, you’ve got a tiny bit of sour cream on your lip.”
Shit, no wonder she’d been staring at his mouth. He swiped the napkin across his chin. “Did I get it?”
“No, let me.” She leaned across the table and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with her napkin. “There.”
His gaze slid down the opening of her shirt. Hell-o. The sight of the lacy nude bra sent a rush of blood to his dick and he jerked backward, away from her touch. What the hell? He’d spent days around supermodels in string bikinis, hours with bodies made for sin. But somehow the hint of lace struck him as the sexiest thing he’d seen in months. Or maybe even the past eight years.
“Uh, thanks.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”
The waitress set the bill down on the table, and he reached for his wallet. Reagan did the same.
“I’ve got this,” he said.
“No, my treat.”
“Tell you what. Let me get it now, and next time I’m in town you can take me out for some Chicago deep dish. Whaddaya say?”
Her lips pursed into a slight pout. “Or I could buy you a drink on the plane.”
“Deal.” She still seemed to have the need to control everything. He passed his credit card to the waitress. Reagan slipped her wallet back into her designer bag. The twinge prickled his gut again. He’d have to figure out a way to get Scazzoli off his back about getting pictures of the wedding. Otherwise, by the time her trip to Florida was over, she’d be more likely to offer him a ticket to the bottom of Lake Michigan than a slice of Gino’s deep dish.
3
Reagan placed the pink bakery box in the overhead bin and slid into her window seat. Three hours. She just needed to survive the next three hours on the plane. As she cinched the seatbelt tight around her middle, she craned her neck to try to catch a glimpse of Zach. He’d disappeared after paying the bill at the bar and she hadn’t seen him waiting to board. Thank God.
She dabbed a bit of the Calm Blend essential oils she’d picked up at the co-op onto her pulse points. Anything to take the edge off. Another one of those mind-numbing mojitos would probably do the trick. But she hadn’t wanted to over-indulge and make a fool out of herself in front of Zach or anyone else who might have been watching and waiting for a public misstep.
The re-circulated air inside the cabin weighed heavy with the stale body odor of too many passengers. Like cattle, they pressed against each other, shuffling down the aisle to cram themselves into the narrow rows of seats. Too many people in too small a space.
She folded her hands across her belly and dug in, trying to break up the hordes of butterflies beating their wings against the insides of her digestive tract. Closing her eyes, she focused on Zach, letting their encounter replay through her head and distract her from the fact she would soon be at the mercy of a complete stranger’s ability to keep them airborne.
Someone plopped into the seat next to her, and she opened her eyes. A man’s meaty paw lifted the armrest between them, and his thigh claimed a quarter of her seat cushion. She scooted toward the window, but he must have taken that as a sign that she was making more room and shifted closer. Her claustrophobia kicked into high gear and the combination of stale air and limited room to move around became suffocating. Her lungs fought to take in a deep breath.
Beads of sweat rolled down the man’s face and he swiped them away with a discolored white handkerchief. Oh no. Her stomach roiled.
“Hey, do you mind switching seats with me?” Zach stood in the aisle and addressed the hulk next to her. “My friend and I weren’t able to sit together.”
Hulk grunted. “I like the aisle.”
Zach shoved his boarding pass in the guy’s face. “An aisle for an aisle.” He leaned toward the guy and lowered his voice. “And it’s in first class. You don’t mind, do you?”
Reagan wouldn’t have thought someone of Hulk’s size could move so fast. He scrambled out of his seat, grabbed the boarding pass and his coat from the overhead bin, and pushed past Zach to the front of the plane. Her lungs expanded as she took in a full breath. The comforting scent that always seemed to surround Zach filled her nostrils, and she relaxed against the seat.
He’d changed since high school. His shoulders seemed wider. Tattoos trailed up his arms, disappearing into the sleeves of his shirt. Scruff across the lower half of his face was darker and thicker. She wasn’t usually a fan of longer hair on guys, but the shoulder-length Johnny Depp look worked for him. And she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the small mark slashing through his upper lip. The new scar lent a dangerous edge to his face.
“This okay?” Zach slid into the seat next to her.
“You really gave up a seat in first class for me?”
He shrugged. “They upgraded me at the last minute because I have so many miles. Besides, I had to collect on that drink.”
She couldn’t keep the edges of her lips from quirking up if she’d wanted to. Closing her eyes, she breathed in her fill of him. “I’ll be fine after we take off. Ignore me until we reach cruising altitude.”
“Fear of flying?”
Her eyes blinked open. “I haven’t always been so bad. When I was younger, and my dad was making his initial bid for a seat in the Senate, we had to visit a lot of tiny towns and airports. I remember during one campaign trip, a summer storm batted our little prop plane around like a piece of air-popped popcorn.”
“That doesn’t sound like fun.”
“It wasn’t. The pilot did all he could to maintain control, but by the time we landed, we bounced along the runway and slid to a stop, inches from a pasture of cows.”
“I take it those weren’t the kind of constituents your dad intended on impressing?”
“Uh, not even close.” Reagan shrugged. “Since then, if I have to travel, I’ll drive, take a train, and, as a last resort, fly—preferably on a giant, jumbo, commercial jet.”
“Lucky me, then.”
His leg pressed against hers as he settled in. The narrow airplane seat didn’t quite accommodate his muscular frame. Part of her wanted to jerk away. But after all these years, a bigger part of her didn’t mind the heat he generated between their thighs. He must not have minded it either since he didn’t lower the armrest.
No time to think about that now. Reagan closed her eyes again and focused on the calming breaths she’d attempted in yoga, letting her instructor’s voice play through her head. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Let the breath reach each area of the body. Inhale peace and calm.
The plane backed away from the gate and taxied toward the runway. After a brief pause, the pilot accelerated. They lifted into the air, and her stomach slammed into her throat. Screw the peace and calm, she needed to feel the ground under her. Her eyes flew open. She grabbed for the armrest, but her fingers clamped onto Zach’s thigh instead.
“I’m so sorry.” Not even the sight of her palm mere inches from his crotch yanked her out of her phobic-induced craze.
His hand covered hers, pressing it down
onto his firm, denim-clad quad. “Don’t you have to travel for your job?”
“Yeah, um, I’m trying to get over it. I used to be a lot worse.”
Zach peeled her hand off his leg and twined his fingers with hers instead. He squeezed tight. “Good thing we never traveled together. I’m not sure my leg would have survived.”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s silly. Just… the thought of someone else being in complete control. My life is totally in the pilot’s hands right now. Doesn’t that freak you out?”
“No. That pilot’s trained for years to do his job. Relax.”
Easier said than done. Zach had always been able to go with the flow. It was one of the reasons she’d been so attracted to him in high school. Back then, he rarely got rattled. The only time she’d ever even seen him come close to losing it was on the ice.
She thought about the Friday nights spent in the stands, watching him skate his heart out as a captain on the varsity hockey team. Everyone had been surprised when he traded in his hockey stick for a camera. He probably would have been able to play in college, maybe even made it to the minors someday.
Reagan closed her eyes again. Her ears popped. Take offs and landings—those were the worst. Once they leveled off, she’d be capable of making conversation. Until then, she’d try to channel calming thoughts: visions of the plane landing safely, hugging her family.
An image of her and Zach engaged in some horizontal snuggles took shape. She wouldn’t let herself go there.
Tired of her silent self-talk about the statistics of safe air travel, the sound of ice rattling into a cup forced her to open her eyes. Her hand still twined with Zach’s. He held a magazine with the other and dropped it into his lap to turn the page. She pulled her hand away to smooth down her blazer.
“Everything okay?” Zach asked.