by Christa Wick
"It's in my wallet," she said, standing up and reaching slowly toward her back pocket despite the man's gaze urging her to move faster.
Once she had the wallet out and her hands in plain sight, she quickly removed her driver's license and handed it to him.
"Very good," he said, retaining her license. "Come with me."
"Why?" Her mouth clamped shut as soon as the question issued, but she couldn't get her feet to move. Dread that she was about to spend a few hours in a TSA holding cell began to finger its way through her stomach.
With a snort, the man reached forward, grabbed the handle of her rolling suitcase and began walking, tossing an explanation over his shoulder as he picked up speed.
"Because I've got fifteen minutes to get you cleared and to your gate."
Chapter Eight
The man took her through the VIP security area. She felt the gaze of passengers in the other security lines on her as she stood, arms and legs outspread while the body scanner buzzed and beeped. Not even on her best day did she look like a VIP. Plus, the last person to go through the special line was probably Declan.
The other passengers had probably stared at him, too, but with entirely different thoughts running through their heads.
"Let's keep moving," the TSA officer urged and grabbed both her backpack and rolling carryon from the x-ray machine.
Instead of walking deeper into the terminal, he cut a quick left, slid a security card through a reader alongside a door and pushed it open, his head jerking in a silent order for her to hurry up and follow him.
She hadn't mustered up the temerity to ask him if JetFly had changed its mind. It seemed unlikely as she had the vague sense boarding for that flight wouldn't have begun for another twenty minutes, giving her at least half an hour to reach its gate.
That left Declan as the one who was coming to her rescue, the very man she had just been swearing at inside her head between moments of self-loathing.
She quickened her steps, catching up with the TSA officer. He led her across a long hall, down one flight of stairs, across another hall and to a door that led outside the airport. An attendant was there waiting to take her bags, the woman's age approaching that of Melanie's mother.
"We'll stow these in the cabin," the stewardess said as she headed for a wheeled staircase attached to the side of a small jet.
Melanie followed her up the steps, heart hammering in her chest from the rush to reach the gate and, more so, because she was about to spend the next two and a half hours locked inside a plane with Declan Bain.
Stepping into the main passenger area of the aircraft, she quickly took in the lay of the land while simultaneously looking for Declan. There was a group of heavily padded bench seats facing one another with a worktable between them. A long couch stretched along the same wall with cushions deep enough that a person could comfortably sleep on it. On the opposite side of the plane were an entertainment center and a loveseat that faced the couch.
Declan wasn't anywhere, but an expensive leather laptop bag was resting on one of the benches at the worktable.
"If you'll pick a spot--"
"She promised to stay invisible and silent," Declan interrupted as he entered the cabin behind them.
Melanie turned to look at him and saw the cockpit door open when it had been closed before.
"That's where you'll stay," he said, pointing down the plane to the loveseat.
She nodded, uncertain she could speak directly to him without sounding too meek or too bitchy, her emotions zigzagging through her after hearing his tone and curt instructions.
Looking at the stewardess, Melanie gestured at her rolling case. "You said you could store this?"
"Of...course," the woman answered with a side glance at Declan.
Seeing his stern face, she headed toward the front of the plane while Melanie headed toward the tail, her backpack clutched against her chest.
Clearly the man hadn't taken pity on her. He just wanted to lord his superiority over her.
Biting lightly at her tongue, she sat down at the end of the loveseat furthest from Declan, opened her bag and pulled out her tablet and placed it beside her. Her hand dipped into the pocket on her hoodie. Her fingers brushed against the phone, hesitating to pull it out, especially while she sensed Declan was staring at her.
She should let her mom know she would be traveling on a different flight. Only her mom would want to know the airline and number. Telling Nancy the truth would open up a fresh can of worms that was best kept tightly lidded.
Leaving the phone in her pocket, she picked up her iPad and turned the Wi-Fi off. She would put the phone in airplane mode once one of the plane's crew issued the order to do so.
At the edge of Melanie's awareness, the stewardess returned to the cabin and asked Declan if there were any refreshments she could get him. He asked her what scotch was on board and, satisfied with her answer, told her to bring him one.
"Very good, sir," the woman acknowledged before turning in Melanie's direction.
"No alcohol for her," Declan chided. "She can't handle it."
Melanie jerked her head to stare at him, her entire face feeling like it was about to burst into flames. Yes, she had gotten drunk the only time he'd seen her have any alcohol, but that was because she never really drank the stuff. She would never, ever be drinking anything that sweet again, either. It had been all too easy to treat it like a flavored coffee or some kind of soft drink, taking a sip each time a nervous twinge echoed through her as the awkward night progressed with her new stepfather and his famous, estranged son.
"Coffee," she managed to ask as the stewardess was struck silent. "As black and strong as you've got it."
Peeling her eyes away from him, she kept them glued to her iPad until the attendant returned with Declan's scotch and the coffee.
"Thank you," she said, her voice as low as it could go without actually becoming a whisper.
"My pleasure, miss," the woman said, her eyes kind. "If you have any cellular devices, it's time to put them in airplane mode. The captain will let you know when it's okay to turn them back on."
Melanie nodded and snaked her free hand into her pocket to fish out the phone as she took her first sip of coffee. With no cream or sugar, the dark roast's bitter flavor ravaged her tongue. Her jaw tightened and then her chest.
The request had been a bad choice, except she wanted to make sure she stayed awake the entire flight. No way could she risk another dream like the one she'd had on the plane ride into Denver.
Taking another drink, she managed to keep a straight face, but could have sworn she felt hair growing on her chest and testicles sprouting between her legs.
The co-pilot came over the intercom and announced they would begin taxiing shortly. Then he gave them their current estimated arrival time for Los Angeles -- but not at LAX!
Crap, she hadn't thought of that. She would have to tell Cammie to pick her up at the private airfield -- if Cammie would even be allowed onto the airfield in her decades old Honda.
Melanie shot a glance toward the front of the cabin to find Declan studying her. He did nothing to hide his attention, either. She looked away, losing her nerve to ask him about Cammie being able to pick her up.
The plane started moving, pulling away from its gate and giving her something new to focus on. She'd never been in a plane this size, just the big jets that held hundreds of passengers. She didn't know if it experienced turbulence differently or landed harder or softer than the giant planes.
Sticking her coffee in the cup holder built into the loveseat's armrest, she gripped the front edge of her cushion and tried not to look worried.
Why the hell was he staring at her anyway?
The plane picked up speed and then she felt that first bit of lift as the wheels separated from the ground. She felt the drag at her center of gravity and the tickle it produced low in her belly. An enjoyable tickle, but unwelcome with Declan nearby.
She risked a side gl
ance and damn her if he wasn't still watching!
Jerking her head in his direction, she glared at him. It wasn't as if he was going to make the pilot circle the airport, land again and kick her off. Now that they were airborne, she could call him on his rudeness.
Although maybe she should apologize first for her behavior that morning.
Nope, she thought, shaking her head at the idea while still looking at him. He no longer deserved an apology. He'd been rude so many times over, embarrassing her in front of the stewardess about the alcohol, directing her like she was some disobedient dog that had peed on his thousand dollar rug, and letting her hang in the airport while he made up his mind to have someone fetch her at the last minute.
Before her stomach could finish unknotting, the captain announced they were at their cruising altitude and could use their devices, including texting on their phones. He also told them they were free to move around the cabin.
Melanie got up before she could lose her nerve and walked over to Declan. A smirk lit up his face and grew bigger with every step she took.
If he thought she was coming over to thank him or grovel, he was misreading her face. Right at that moment, she wanted to kick him in the balls. But first she needed to know if Cammie could pick her up at the airfield.
"My roommate was supposed to pick me up at LAX--"
Declan cocked an eyebrow at her. "Are you trying to mooch a ride home from me now?"
Her hands landed on her hips and she answered with a snort. "No. I need to know if the place will allow mere mortals to park their decrepit, non-luxury cars there so she can pick me up."
The gray eyes got all flinty again and his mouth danced a thin line. "How are you going to explain landing at a private airfield?"
"Right," she said, realizing she was facing the same dilemma as when she had wanted to let her mom know she would be on a different plane. She couldn't do so without lying or mentioning Declan.
She shrugged. "I suck at lying. What do you think I'm going to tell her?"
He shifted in his seat, his head tilted as he eyed Melanie's body from top to bottom and back up again. It felt weird having his eyes crawl over like that, especially since there hadn't been an ounce of interest flickering in them, just cold calculations -- like he was measuring her for a casket.
"What time is your scheduled flight supposed to land?"
"It lands at three-thirty," she answered. "I got bumped, so I assume it's still landing about then."
"That should give me plenty of time to drop you at whichever baggage claim area at LAX."
Finished talking, he pointed his chin at the loveseat, dismissing her all over again.
She didn't obey like a good little girl. She kept her feet planted and her hands on her hips, her stance anything but conciliatory as she started to apologize despite all the arguments running through her head against doing so.
"I'm sorry about what I said this morning--"
"You said a lot of things this morning," he reminded her, his words stiff and his gaze boring into the back of her skull.
"I'm sorry I freaked out when I woke up and saw you in bed--"
"So, that's not a regular occurrence after you drink -- waking up next to a man?"
Damn him! He was trying to get her riled up and it was working. She mashed her lips together.
"I'm sorry I asked whether it was you or Bujo who peed on the couch..."
She thought she detected a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his sensuous lips, like he was laughing on the inside.
Which meant he was laughing at her, not with her.
Melanie pulled a long breath in before she launched into the last of her apology.
"And I am particularly sorry I implied that you are the kind of person who would take advantage of someone after they've had too much alcohol."
Declan pushed into the back of his chair, his broad shoulders denting the soft leather as he stared at her. Once again, his gaze made a trip from head to toe to head, this time without the clinical coldness.
"I have a very hard rule, Melanie Lee," he teased as he sunk the first hook into her. "No matter how much a drunken female is trying to seduce me, no matter where her hands or lips try to roam on my body or the dirty promises she whispers in my ear, I always say 'no.'"
Melanie stared at him, mortification spreading through her chest and out her limbs.
Was he telling her she had done just that? Tried to seduce him? Put her mouth on him?
"Wh-what are you saying?"
He smiled a canary eating grin then jabbed a finger at the tail end of the plane. "You don't want to know what I'm saying. Now go sit down."
Chapter Nine
Exiled to the loveseat, Melanie woke her iPad and dug out her art stylus from the bottom of her bag. Opening a drawing application, she started to sketch, the lines seemingly random and angry with the way her wrist whipped her hand across the screen.
Art was the only thing she could ever concentrate on when her mind was in turmoil. Not just lines on paper or pixels on screens, but the physical manifestations of her drawings, especially the costumes. Despite having her blood in a boil over Declan's arrogance and rude behavior, she managed a small smile as she remembered the first fancy dress of her mother's that she had altered -- completely without her mother's permission, of course.
She had been six. The dress had been layer upon layer of some gauzy material she hadn't yet learned the name of. With no access to needles and thread, she'd used scotch tape to piece her creation together. Lots and lots of scotch tape.
Her mother had been horrified and it had been Melanie's first lesson that when mommy said "yes," or "okay" while her nose was in a book, it really meant "not now."
Her father had bought her mother a replacement dress, but he had also taken Melanie to a fabric store and found someone to give her sewing lessons and then, for her seventh birthday, he bought Melanie her very first sewing machine.
The small smile she had nurtured grew bigger but also turned sad. She missed her father, even if he had always put her mother first. Being George Archer's second best girl was still more than most daughters got from their fathers.
More than most women got from any mean, really.
Returning to the cabin, the flight attendant stopped in front of Declan. Forcing herself not to look, Melanie kept her eyeballs glued to the plump female archer who was finally emerging from the lines she had been laying down.
Over the low mechanical hum of the plane at cruising altitude, she heard Declan talking to the woman, the words haphazardly reaching her ears and in too small a quantity to make sense.
Out...cabin...PA...remainder...flight...
Studiously avoiding turning her gaze toward the front of the cabin, Melanie saved the file, closed the drawing app and imported the sketch into a painting app. She fiddled with colors, trying to decide on a palette for her archer, something that would be both strong and feminine.
Absorbed in the process, she didn't realize Declan was heading toward her end of the plane until he was a few feet away. She pulled her outstretched legs closer to the loveseat, absently glancing to her right where the door to the restroom was located.
Declan slid onto the loveseat next to her.
She dropped her art stylus, the slim pencil like device landing on the curve of her stomach. She grabbed at it, fumbled and sent it tumbling toward Declan.
Capturing the stylus, he half-offered her to it, the look in his eye and the shape of his mouth threatening to play a game of keep away.
No, no, no, no. What the hell was he doing? She needed him to ignore her, for her own sake.
The half heard words came back to her.
Out...cabin...PA...remainder...flight...
"You ordered her away?" she asked about his conversation with the flight attendant.
"Yes," he said and tucked the stylus behind his ear, confirming her suspicion he had no intent of returning it to her any time soon.
"Why?"
<
br /> Her brain couldn't come up with a reason. A very specific reason would have occurred to her if he'd been giving a ride to Cammie, who was curvy and thick but not nearly as big as Melanie, or to one of the starlets on set who were always trying to capture his attention. But she wasn't one of them and there was no reason for him to send the attendant away for the duration of the flight.
"Why?" she repeated.
"We have some things to discuss."
His face was as cryptic as his answer. The gray gaze was smudged with an uncharacteristic softness, but his mouth was a thin, stern line.
"About our parents?"
With the movie and its promo done, they had nothing else connecting them.
He chuckled grimly. "You mean Sir Roger Ivory and your mother? I don't plan on ever thinking of them again."
His shoulders lifted and his mouth pinched forward. "No offense to your mother. She seems perfectly fine."
Melanie could have dwelled on the lukewarm compliment for hours, but she didn't.
"Seriously, if it's what I said about Wikipedia and TMZ, I was just trying to figure out why you were looking at me like that."
She shifted in her seat, his body too close to let her turn and stare him directly in the eye, but she tried to. "I want you to know I would never, ever, ever do that."
Declan said nothing for a few seconds. His lips twisted in strange contortions, her stomach knotting in equal turns as worry built inside her over the reply he was clearly holding back.
"Looking at you like what?" he asked at last.
She blinked as she remembered the look. He had seemed so remote and she had felt so small, despised even.
"I really don't want to say it, please."
She drew her bottom lip in, chewing at it mercilessly to keep from blurting out an answer.
Or a question -- like what had she done that truly deserved his disdain?
All through Declan's short interrogation of her, Melanie had kept her hands wrapped around her iPad. He took it from her and gently slid it into the bag, followed by the stylus he had tucked behind his ear.