Nothing Like Love

by Abigail Strom

  It was already wrinkled, and when she’d made the mistake of trying to eat, she’d spilled salad dressing on it. Her blue top was in slightly better shape but there were sweat stains under her arms.

  “Of course I’m pale,” she snapped. “I’m having a panic attack.”

  She swatted at his hand and he pulled it away. “What can I do?” he asked.

  “Get the images of plane wrecks out of my head.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “I’ve been assuming this whole time that your fear of flying isn’t related to an actual experience. Was I wrong? Did someone you know die in a plane crash?”

  She shook her head. “No. Why would you ask that?”

  “I’m just trying to get at the whys and wherefores. Did you have a bad experience on a plane as a kid?”

  “No, nothing like that.” She ran both hands through her sweat-dampened hair, half wishing Zach wasn’t seeing her like this and half grateful for his company. “Are you seriously interested in talking about this?”

  “Of course I am.”

  They were facing the windows, and now she looked out at all the airplanes, big and powerful and gleaming in the setting sun.

  She slumped a little lower in her seat. “I actually loved to fly when I was a little girl. We went to Florida a few times a year to visit family.”

  “So what changed?”

  “When my mom first got her ALS diagnosis, I still believed in miracles. I convinced myself that a disease that was always fatal wouldn’t be fatal for her. That God would save her, or medical science would save her . . . that researchers would come up with a treatment in time to help. I was thirteen years old, and I couldn’t imagine a world without my mother in it. I was sure the worst wouldn’t happen. And then . . .” She shrugged. “It did. I finally gave in to the inevitable when I was fifteen, about two years after my mom’s diagnosis. That summer a friend of mine invited me to spend a week with her family out in California, and my parents insisted I go. We were in the airport waiting to board when I got my first panic attack.”

  At some point while she was talking, Zach had taken one of her hands in his.

  “Were you were worried about leaving your mother? In case something happened while you were gone?”

  “No, that wasn’t it.” She paused. “You know how they talk about young invincibles? Teenagers don’t believe in death. They don’t believe in disaster. I hadn’t wanted to believe in it either, but . . . there it was. Ugly and inescapable. Death is coming for us and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. And as I sat there in the airport that day, it took shape in my mind. An airplane. A metal cage you can’t control that will take you down and destroy you.”

  She took a breath. “Everyone always quotes those statistics to me about how flying is safer than driving, you know? But being afraid to fly isn’t about statistics. In a car, you feel like you have some control. You feel like there’s a chance of survival even if you crash. But in a plane, you have no control at all. And there’s no chance of survival.” She shrugged. “Just like in life.”

  Zach didn’t say anything after she finished speaking. He just held her hand.

  Talking about this old fear had reminded her of old, miserable emotions . . . the hopelessness and despair of watching her mother deteriorate as she inched closer and closer to a terrible death. But piercing through those memories was the warm, solid reality of Zach beside her, listening with quiet attention to her ramblings.

  He didn’t rush to reassure her or put his own spin on things. He just listened.

  Which was really nice of him, but . . .

  “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “This isn’t a very jolly conversation.”

  He twined his fingers with hers. “You do that a lot,” he said.

  “Do what?”

  “Apologize if your conversation isn’t cheerful. Why?”

  She frowned. “Isn’t it obvious? I don’t want to burden anyone else with the morbid inner workings of my brain.”

  “You’re not morbid. Everyone thinks about illness and mortality and disaster sometimes—especially if they’ve actually had to face those things. Don’t you think it’s better to share those thoughts with someone instead of keeping them inside?”

  She looked at him skeptically. “Come on, Zach. I don’t believe you spend a lot of time thinking about the harsh realities of life. Tell me the truth. Haven’t you always gotten everything you ever wanted?”

  For one brief moment, a flicker of pain passed over his face.

  Could she have been wrong about him? Was there something Zach wanted that he couldn’t have?

  It was hard to imagine that anything could be out of Zach Hammond’s reach.

  But whatever she’d seen in his face was gone now. When Zach spoke again, his voice was light. “I wanted to kiss you last night,” he reminded her. “And I didn’t get that.”

  She waved that away with a dismissive gesture. “If not kissing me is the worst deprivation you’ve suffered in your lifetime, I think you’re doing all right.”

  At that moment the speaker system at the gate crackled to life. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to flight six eight three to Shannon.”

  This was it. It was really happening.

  She took a deep breath. “Is anyone else from the company on this flight?”

  Zach shook his head. “They’re coming out tomorrow. I booked you on my flight so I could pamper you.”

  “Pamper me?”

  “At this time, we would like to invite our first-class passengers to board.”

  Zach rose to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. “That’s us,” he said.

  “First class? I don’t think so. You go ahead, Mr. Moneybags. I’ll be sure to say hello when I pass you on my way to coach.”

  He smiled. “This is where the pampering begins. You’re in first class with me, so get a move on.”

  Ten minutes later, Simone was curled up in a first-class window seat with a blanket over her knees while Zach, sitting beside her, was being charming to a flight attendant.

  She was trying hard to stay calm, and she was failing.

  Once the flight attendant had moved away, Simone tossed the blanket on the floor and sat up straight. “I can’t do this,” she said, feeling the clawing of panic in her belly. “It’s not too late for me to get off the plane, right?”

  “Simone. Look at me.”

  She turned her head and met Zach’s blue eyes.

  “I’m going to get you through this,” he said.

  She wasn’t mad at him, but he was the only person available to snap at. “You are, huh? And how exactly are you going to do that? By waving a magic wand? Throwing some money at the problem? What?”

  He picked up her discarded blanket and put it back on her lap. “I’ll think of something.”

  She closed her eyes and slumped back down in her seat. “Good luck with that.”

  It was nighttime, and the bright, flashing lights on the runway seemed to say, Don’t worry. We know what we’re doing. We’re so good at this we can even do it in the dark.

  It took technological mastery to operate all these giant machines at night. Radar, computers, mechanical engineering, and physics . . . none of which she understood, none of which she could control, all of which she was supposed to trust, but which, nonetheless, sometimes tragically failed.

  She’d once thought about science with almost desperate reverence as her mother’s one chance for a miracle. But science, like everything else in life, will let you down . . . and it can’t stop bad things from happening.

  Things like plane crashes.

  Fear was starting to pull her under. In the maelstrom of emotion there wasn’t anything solid to hold on to. Her terror wasn’t rational, it wasn’t logical, and it was all she had.

  But then, su
ddenly, there was something else.

  A warm hand on her bare thigh.

  Her eyes snapped open. Zach was looking big and solid in the seat next to her, his eyes fixed attentively on the stewardess at the front of the cabin as she went over safety procedures. He seemed to be completely focused on the oxygen mask demonstration.

  But his hand was most definitely on her leg.

  She shifted a little, and his grip tightened.

  A pulse of sensation went through her.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  “Trying to distract you.” His hand moved higher. “Is it working?”

  An electric shiver went from her toes to the top of her head.

  She opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but then she realized that, for the first time all day, she wasn’t thinking about plane crashes.

  “We’re supposed to be colleagues,” she whispered. “Nontouching colleagues.”

  “Right, so we don’t get attached. I know. But this isn’t about that,” he said, his voice low and persuasive.

  He kept his eyes on the flight attendant while he was talking, but the left side of his mouth quirked up.

  He was enjoying himself.

  She felt warm all over. “What’s it about, then?”

  “Emergency measures. To get you through the flight.” His hand moved softly up her leg, underneath her skirt, until he was only inches from the edge of her panties. “You haven’t told me if it’s working or not.”

  His fingertips stroked softly over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

  She swallowed. “I know I’m freaking out and I appreciate that you’re willing to go above and beyond to help me. But you don’t have to actually—”

  They started to taxi down the runway, and her throat tightened in sudden panic.

  She grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t stop,” she said. “Please don’t stop.”

  He turned his head sharply, his eyes lasering into hers. “Are you serious? You want me to keep going?”

  She stared at him. “You were only fooling around. You didn’t really want to . . . oh, my God, I am totally mortified. I—”

  “Simone. Shut up.”

  He shifted in his seat so he was facing toward her, creating an oasis of privacy. Between the bulk of his body and the blanket covering her, she was well protected from anyone who might glance their way . . . and since the seats opposite theirs were empty, the risk was small.

  “I want to distract you,” Zach said, his voice husky. “Let me distract you.”

  The plane was going faster.

  “Yes,” she managed to say, her throat suddenly dry. “Please, Zach . . . distract me.”

  She looked out the window and saw the runway lights flashing by in a blur, and she gripped her armrests until her knuckles turned white.

  “Don’t look out the window,” Zach ordered her. “Look at me.”

  She turned her head. Zach held her gaze as the plane gathered speed, and when they lifted into the sky, his hand slid all the way up until he was between her legs, his palm covering her through her panties.

  The terror of taking off was lost in an erotic surge. She tried to catch her breath, but before she could recover, Zach was massaging her in firm, slow, deliberate circles that took her from zero to sixty in seconds flat.

  But he didn’t stop there. As the plane rose higher into the air, leaving the lights of the city far below, Zach slipped his fingers under the edge of her panties and stroked her bare skin.

  Oh, God.

  She closed her eyes as sensation washed over her.

  Zach was relentless, teasing her with wicked precision until every nerve ending in her body started to thrum. She was so wet . . . she should have been embarrassed, but she was too turned on to care. His fingers slid easily over her sensitive skin, circling and stroking and massaging until she started to squirm a little, restlessly, her body longing for release.

  Not that she would get it, of course. Zach wouldn’t take this all the way. Would he?

  No. That would be insane. Zach Hammond was not going to give her an orgasm on this airplane.

  Then he slid two fingers inside her.

  She gasped. “Oh, God, that feels so good. Oh, God, you have to stop.”

  “Not a chance,” Zach told her, sounding as blasted by lust as she was.

  He pushed his fingers in deep and withdrew them slowly. Simone wanted to thrash her body around, to arch against him, to writhe. But the need to stay still, to pretend nothing was happening, only added to the feverish excitement of this mad, impossible moment.

  She couldn’t hold back a low moan when Zach added a third finger, stretching her and invading her. He settled his thumb on the bundle of nerves that ached for his touch, rubbing in hard, quick circles that drove her higher and higher until—

  She threw her head back. Blinding waves of ecstasy swept through her as her nerves pulsed and throbbed. Zach drew his fingers from her body, but he pressed his palm against her, heightening the spasms of her climax until she thought she might fly to pieces.

  Her heart thundered in her chest as she gasped for breath. Every inch of her skin was deliciously warm and every cell in her body quivered.

  “Oh, my God,” she said when she was finally capable of speech. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

  Zach’s talented hand was gone. She curled up in her seat to face him, her lap still decorously covered by the airplane blanket. A feeling of extravagant well-being suffused her and tiny aftershocks made her fingers and toes tingle.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” she said, unable to stop smiling.

  He ran the backs of his knuckles over her cheek. “Your face is flushed,” he told her, his blue eyes more wicked than she’d ever seen them.

  “No kidding.”

  He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on the side of her face.

  “You look so beautiful,” he said softly. “How do you feel?”

  Ten minutes ago she’d been terrified to the point of panic, certain she was about to die in a fiery inferno. Death had loomed in front of her, ugly and inevitable.

  And now?

  Zach’s touch was making her shiver. Pleasure coursed through her, but it was more than pleasure.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “I feel alive.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Zach had brought a lot of women to orgasm in his twenty years of dating, but he could honestly say that this particular encounter had been the most satisfying.

  Not just because it had happened on an airplane, although that had contributed to the thrill. But it wasn’t the circumstance that had made this so exciting.

  It was the woman.

  Simone had said she felt alive, and that one word captured what drew him to her. She was more alive than anyone he’d ever met—more dynamic, more vital, more original. She was brilliant, funny, sexy . . . and she never did or said what he thought she would. The more he got to know her, the more he wanted to know.

  There was no shyness or embarrassment about what had just happened between them. She wasn’t wondering what he thought of her now or second-guessing what they’d done. She loved how he made her feel and she was happy to let him know it.

  Simone wasn’t a game player. She was as open and honest about her sexuality as she was about everything else.

  He spoke without thinking. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve seen pictures of some of the women you’ve dated.”

  “You,” he said again, “are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met. The. Sexiest. Woman.”

  She still didn’t believe him. “You can’t be serious.”

  He picked up one of her hands in his. “You’re like
fire. Like lightning. I get turned on just looking at you.”

  She smiled at him. “Yeah? Well, you may not know this, but I get a little turned on by you, too.”

  She looked so gorgeous curled up on her side like that, her big brown eyes sparkling and her face glowing with satisfied desire.

  “I just have one question for you,” she went on.

  “What is it?”

  Her gaze dropped below his belt before she met his eyes again. “When do I get to return the favor?”

  A rush of heat made him even harder than he was already. “Not on the plane,” he said huskily. “Too messy.”

  She grinned at him wickedly. “Some things are worth getting sticky for.”

  His whole body tightened. “Simone.”

  “Yes?”

  “Here’s the thing.”

  “There’s a thing?”

  “Yeah. So, you made it clear you don’t want anything to happen between us in Ireland.” He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I’ve already told you I want to change your mind. The thing is, I’m going all-in. I want to sweep you off your feet and give you the most romantic two weeks of your life. I want to—”

  “Yes.”

  He blinked. “Just like that? I thought I’d have to work harder to persuade you.”

  “Are you kidding? After the way you made me feel just now?” She shook her head slowly, her full mouth curving up in a smile. “If that’s a preview of coming attractions . . .”

  “Oh, no,” he murmured, kissing her hand again. “I can do much better than that.”

  “I’m not sure my body could handle anything better than that.”

  He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I look forward to finding out.”

  “Good evening,” a cheerful voice said behind him. “May I offer you something to drink?”

  Zach settled back in his seat and cleared his throat. “Yes, please,” he told the flight attendant. “We’d like a bottle of champagne . . . and fresh strawberries, if you have them.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Simone had her eyebrows up when he turned back to her. “Champagne and strawberries? Wow.”

  “I wanted to give you a taste of what the next two weeks are going to be like.”